Chapter 40 – Rae
“Rae, can you come upstairs with me?” Arabella asked as I cleared the Sunday dinner plates.
I paused, looking down at her. Those black eyes flashed wide for a second. Whatever she was silently trying to communicate, I decided to follow.
“I’m sure she’s busy,” Mrs. Grimaldi clipped. “Don’t bother the staff, Arabella.”
“It’s no trouble, ma’am,” I said. “Should I bring the vacuum?”
Arabella nodded. “I made a mess.”
The high lady let out an exasperated sigh. “You and your clutter. You should really think about purging it, Arabella. No eighteen-year-old plays with glue and paints.”
The girl’s jaw tightened, but she bowed her head and kept silent.
Nico, ever the gentleman, jumped in. “Nonna, that’s hardly fair. Even the Van Ness girls sew.”
“They have a fashion line,” Mrs. Grimaldi retorted, dismissing him. “That’s hardly the level Arabella competes at.”
There was a rough laugh from behind the newspaper. I had the distinct urge to rip it out of the old man’s stubby fingers as I passed by to dump the dishes. The fact that I made it to the kitchen without an incident was a miracle.
Franky met my scowl with an arched brow.
“Don’t get me started,” I mumbled.
He snorted. “That bad, huh?”
Going to the fridge, I plucked the plastic baggie from where I’d hidden it behind the milk cartons. At least the pockets on the apron were deep enough to conceal the contraband. “You have no idea.”
“Wanna bet?” Franky called after me as I headed back into the dining room.
Arabella politely declined Uncle Theo’s tray. “I don’t care for dessert.”
After running into her in the dead of night, I couldn’t unsee things. She never took dessert. The wine was always limited, which made sense given her age, but now I wondered if that wasn’t part of the signora’s protocol. The tiny amounts Arabella ate certainly were.
“I’m at your disposal,” I told her.
Braving the old mistress’s scowl with a blistering smile, I waited as Arabella scooted from her seat and followed her from the room. The air in the hall became breathable again.
“Hurry, hurry!” I urged, falling into step beside her and racing up the stairs.
Once we were alone in her room, Arabella sagged against the door. “I hate them.”
With a laugh, I hopped onto her bed. “Here. This will make it better. You’re just hangry.”
Arabella squealed and lunged for the plastic bag of chicken strips and fries.
“Sorry they’re cold.” I lay back on the bed. My eyelids closed, and I could have fallen asleep.
“This is the best,” Arabella swallowed. “Thanks, Rae.”
“Don’t mention it,” I yawned.
Arabella munched happily while I began to doze off.
“Actually, I do have something I need your help with.” Her slight frame slid from the bed.
I muttered and rolled onto my side, resting my head on the crook of my arm. “I’m not cleaning your craft cave.”
“As if,” Arabella snorted.
She rummaged around in the closet, but I was too tired to care. My midnight visitor had been an hour late. He’d made up for it with two blinding orgasms, but now not even the delicious memory seemed worth the lost hours of slumber.
“What do you think?”
I groaned and cracked my eyelids open. Pale silver that glowed blue-white shimmered in front of me. I blinked. The material fluttered to the floor in a…skirt. In her other hand, Arabella held a top, with threads dangling from the piece.
“I was going to stitch them together,” she explained, the excitement vibrant in her voice. “But then I thought it might be cuter as a two-piece. Showing the belly is in right now, and with your figure, it would look dynamite!”
“It’s very pretty—” I stopped and the yawn cut off. “My figure?”
“Well, I certainly can’t wear something this big!” Arabella pressed the skirt to her hips and shifted back and forth as if dancing in place.
“Arabella,” I groaned. “That’s beautiful. It really is. But where the fuck am I going to wear something like that?”
“To my birthday party, of course!”
My heart panged sadly in my chest. “You know I’m not on the invitation list.”
The topic of this girl’s eighteenth birthday had been discussed repeatedly.
The kind of money the signora was shelling out for the spectacle was ludicrous.
Normal people spent half as much on a wedding, and still the Grimaldis worried it wasn’t extravagant enough to compete with their social circle.
“That’s the best part!” Arabella continued. “I changed the theme to Venetian Carnival. Everyone will be in masks.”
I sat up straight. Sleep zapped from my veins. The possibility began to crackle through me.
“I want you there,” the girl insisted. “I don’t have any real friends beside you and Nico. Even if we can’t talk or interact, it would still be awesome if you came.”
The dress. The excitement in her voice. The enchanting idea.
A pro-con list rapidly developed in my brain, but before I could talk myself out of it, I nodded eagerly. “Okay, yeah! I’ll come.”
Arabella squealed again and pounced on me. I returned her hug with a fervent one of my own.
“That’s the best present you can give me,” she said in my hair.
I let out a light laugh. “Oh, I’m still going to get you something.”
“You don’t have to!” she rushed to say, pulling back.
Pressing my lips in a tight pucker, I gave her a mischievous look. “Already was planning to.”
Arabella blushed. “Well, I’ll love it whatever it is.”
“You will.” I pulled the gossamer-fine material through my fingers. “Where did you find a half-made dress?”
Her cheeks darkened even more. “I made it.”
The signora was a stupid cunt. This was the most beautiful dress I’d ever seen, and just a few minutes ago, she’d been shitting on Arabella’s craft skills.
“You made it for me?” I breathed. “Thank you, darlin, it’s so very pretty.”
“Try it on!” Arabella urged, pushing the material at me.
I began unbuttoning my uniform. “That door had better be locked.”
“It is.” Arabella went to double check while I ripped the rigid material off my body and replaced it with the smooth, cool satin of the lining material. The sheer layers fell over the top like a dream.
Hurrying to the full-length mirror, I twisted my hips. Arabella came over with pins and a marking pen. I struggled to stay still, loving the way I shimmered. When she tugged the bodice over my back, adjusting the sleeves, I broke her concentration with a full spin.
“You look like a princess,” she gushed.
I grinned. “That must make you my fairy godmother.”
“Ew, that makes me sound old.”
I plopped a kiss on her cheek. “Fairy godsister then.”
We fell into a fit of giggles.
“Let me see the hem a moment. Stand still,” the princess ordered.
I flicked the material of the bodice. “What are those supplements you make into tinctures for?”
Arabella stilled. A few pins fell out of her mouth.
“You sneak the glass bottles around,” I added, fearing the worst. “Is it—Are they things the old bat makes you take?”
“Oh,” Arabella breathed with a light laugh. “No, I don’t take them.” She fidgeted with the dress again.
I crouched and caught her wrists gently. “Arabella.”
Her midnight eyes were wide. “Rae.”
“You can tell me,” I insisted. “We’re friends.”
The words came out softer than a whisper. “I put a few drops in the don’s oatmeal.”
I frowned. “The don’s oatmeal?”
The girl nodded. “My godfather is so unhealthy.”
“Oh, I get it,” I breathed, giving her a small squeeze. “You’re just trying to make him well.”
“Something like that,” she muttered. If the look on her face told a different story, the strange look was gone a moment later.
“Now stand up so I can fix this,” she commanded.
Relieved that she wasn’t dosing herself with supplements to be thin, I rose and changed the topic to something lighter. I managed to stay still long enough for her to mark a few more places on the gown, before I reluctantly had to change back into the sweaty, icky reality.
But the maid uniform wasn’t forever. I’d seen the possibilities reflected in the mirror. And the woman staring back at me had more potential than the girl I left behind in Georgia.