Chapter 18
CHAPTER
EIGHTEEN
Reece
Rita keeps piling food onto my plate like she thinks it can solve every problem in existence.
Maybe it can. I haven’t tested the theory properly. But I’m certainly not in the mood to experiment now.
“Eat,” she insists. “You’re skinnier than a string bean.”
“I am eating,” I say, waving the buttered roll in my hand. “See?”
“Picking at bread doesn’t count as eating.”
I sigh and tear off another piece just to satisfy her.
The old woman narrows her eyes at me from across the kitchen counter, clearly unconvinced.
The kitchen smells like fresh rolls and cinnamon. Afternoon sunlight spills through the windows, painting golden rectangles across the floorboards. It’s peaceful here. Safe.
Usually.
Today it gives me too much room to think. And thinking is dangerous because every road leads back to Mari and what happened between us at Highbridge Hall.
Back to the look on her face when she realized who I was.
I hadn’t expected anger. Shock, maybe. Confusion. But not anger.
“I thought you were my friend. But I guess you were just pretending to be that too.”
The words still hit like a punch to the ribs.
The worst part is that she wasn’t wrong.
I did lie.
I rub a hand over my face. Days have passed since the ball. Days. And Mari still hasn’t spoken to me once.
If she sees me in the hall, she turns around and heads in the opposite direction. If I’m helping in the gardens, she suddenly remembers something she needs inside and disappears. If we’re somehow forced into the same room, she leaves as quickly as possible.
She’s avoiding me. And honestly? I deserve it.
“You’re doing that thing again.”
Blinking, I peek up at Rita who is regarding at me intently. “What thing?”
“The staring into space thing you do when something is on your mind.” Rita slides another square of lasagna onto my plate. It’s going to be tonight’s dinner for the Gardeners, but she always makes extra for the staff. She’s considerate. “You look like someone kicked your puppy.”
“I don’t have a puppy,” I say dully.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
I look down at my food.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not really…”
She leans back in her chair and raises a brow at me. “Well, if you don’t want to talk about whatever has your face looking like that, tell me about what’s going on with your invention. Have you got it working yet?”
This, at least, is an easier subject.
“Almost. I need to find a way to increase the electromagnetic pulse. And even if I do, I don’t know if it’ll be enough to influence the CRN in the brain. It may do nothing.”
“It sounds impressive,” she replies. “And I don’t think it’ll do nothing. You said the Stockton fellow seemed interested.”
I find myself sitting up a little straighter. Despite everything, I can’t help my excitement. Talking about the possibilities my invention can bring always lights something up inside me.
“I’ve managed to stabilize the rebound of the vibration this time. I added a small cushion that should help.” Rita nods as if she understands every word, even though I know she absolutely does not. “And there’s a small overheating issue I have to figure out…”
“So how much longer until you call him up to show him what you’ve got?”
I shrug. “Two months, maybe? Or a few years.” I slump again at the prospect.
“A product to help people,” Rita says with a smile.
“That’s the idea.”
The invention sits at the center of everything now. I’ve been working every spare second I can on it. Not only to get the thing done, but because it helps me stay distracted and keeps my thoughts off Mari.
As Rita covers the lasagna tray in foil, she hums. I watch her put things away as I continue to poke at my food. It’s delicious—it really is—but my stomach is still in knots. But if I know Rita, she won’t let me off this chair until I’ve eaten what she deems to be an acceptable amount.
“Oh! Pen was asking about you the other day,” she says suddenly, catching my attention again.
I glance up. “Pen?”
“Mm-hmm. She had stopped by to visit Mrs. Gardener and caught me in the kitchen,” she says. “She mentioned how she’s looking for more help for the summer.”
“At the Ashford estate?” I ask and frown. “Are you going back?”
She shakes her head. “Like you, I thought she was hinting that she wants me,” Rita says with a chuckle. “But I’m too old to keep bouncing between places.”
“You’re not old.”
“I am absolutely too old.”
I laugh. “No way.”
“Fine. I’m slightly seasoned then.” She laughs so hard she nearly snorts. When she settles, her expression softens. “But no, she wasn’t talking about me. I think she was hinting to see if anyone I knew wanted to make the transfer.”
I look at her. “Pen has enough money to hire new people.”
“True. But you and I both know good help is hard to find. And Pen would rather stick with who she knows and trusts. She’s probably offering it to us first.”
Offering it to me, she means. “What about Elise? What did she say?”
“I’m bringing it up to you first,” Rita says. “In case you want some space from…well…”
Mari and her Season.
The idea of leaving feels wrong. I have a routine established here, and people I care about.
And yet...
I stare down at my plate.
Ashford estate is only two hours away. It’s not too far. I wouldn’t have to see Marigold every day. It wouldn’t be as painful to see her marked and living her life the way she was meant to—with an Alpha.
And most importantly, I wouldn’t be around to complicate things for her. No proximity means no lies.
“I guess I can talk to Derrick,” I blurt out instead of all the thoughts going through my head.
Rita’s expression hardens. “Don’t you dare. He can survive without you.”
I know she’s dead serious, but Derrick and I have never been apart. It’s been me and him, him and me, through everything.
“Pen is offering a pay raise for the few months,” she goes on. “It may be the boost you need to get yourself ahead.”
I hesitate.
“Reece.”
I look up.
“I know taking care of others is what we do for a living, but at some point, you’re allowed to build something for yourself,” she says in an undertone.
The kitchen falls quiet.
I think about Dominic Stockton and the invention, my plans. There’s a big opportunity waiting in front of me; I can feel it. But then I think about Mari. About the way she looked at me like I’d broken something precious.
Maybe I did.
Maybe the kindest thing I can do now is leave her alone, and let her find someone who belongs in her world and who won’t drag her into scandal.
Someone who can give her everything she deserves.
The thought feels like swallowing broken glass, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe doing the right thing isn’t supposed to feel good.
Reaching across the table, Rita pats my hand. I don’t realize how long I’ve been staring into space.
“Think about it,” she urges, her eyes bright. “Okay? It could be good for you.”
I force a smile that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. “Yeah… I will.”
Before Rita can continue trying to sell me on running away to the countryside, the kitchen door swings open.
“Reece’s Pieces!”
I stifle a groan, my jaw locking in place on instinct.
Derrick strides inside like he owns the place, already grinning. The second he spots Rita at the counter, though, his smile falters.
She narrows her eyes at him. Derrick narrows his right back.
The silence stretches.
“Well,” he says after a long, tense moment, “it’s always nice to see you in your natural habitat, Rita.”
Rita snorts. “I’d say the same for you but I don’t check under rocks.”
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing.
Derrick points at her. “See? This is exactly why I don’t visit you.”
“You don’t visit because you know I don’t put up with your bullshit.”
Derrick pretends to be offended. “Rita! What crude language coming from an old woman!”
She lifts a wooden spoon with a menacing flourish. “Let me teach you some other words I know—”
“Why are you here, Derrick?” I interrupt before this exchange gets way out of hand. I can already see Rita’s fingers inching tighter around the handle of the utensil. She should have gone for metal. Wood won’t even dent Derrick’s thick skull.
She turns toward the sink, suddenly becoming very interested in a dish towel. Derrick watches her suspiciously before redirecting his attention to me.
“I’m here to find you.” He drops onto the stool beside me and slaps a hand on my shoulder. “How’re the glamorous servant duties going? I heard you spent all morning polishing silver.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“Windows?”
“No.”
“Scrubbing toilets?”
“Also no.”
His grin widens. “So definitely toilets.”
I shove his hand off my shoulder. “You came in here just to mess with me?”
“Aw, don’t be embarrassed,” he says, knocking his shoulder against mine. “Every great inventor starts somewhere.”
“Leave the boy alone,” Rita bites out. “Or you’ll be scrubbing red sauce out of your clothes for a week.”
“Boy? Did you hear that, Reece? Even Rita thinks you’re a youngster.”
Right as Rita snatches a metal whisk this time, the kitchen door opens again. This time it’s Heath, and he looks exhausted. His tie is crooked, sleeves rolled up, and there’s a tension around his eyes that wasn’t there this morning.
What is going on with him? Even I have noticed him missing most of the day. And when he is here, he looks very much like this—ready to collapse at any moment.
“There you are,” Heath says to me as he steps further in to the kitchen. Something in his tone makes me straighten.
He’s looking for me?
“Do you need me for something, Mr. Gardener?” I ask.
“Yeah.” He rubs a hand over his face. “I’m going to be tied up this afternoon, and I need someone to accompany Mari on an outing. Someone I can trust.”
My head spins.
Oh no. No.
Absolutely not.
Every instinct in my body screams for me to find an excuse. Any excuse. But I can’t. I’m a servant and Heath is my employer.
“Of course,” I hear myself say, voice scratchy.
“Good.” Relief briefly flashes across his face, but when he glances down at his phone to read something, he frowns instead. “I knew I could count on you.”
Apparently, the universe thinks I haven’t suffered enough lately. It’s decided to heap on an extra helping of misery.
But before I can ask any questions, Derrick practically launches out of his chair.
“I can go, too, Mr. Gardener,” he says.
Everyone stares at him.
Derrick shrugs. “I finished all my work already for the day. I don’t mind chaperoning.”
Rita makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a horse choking. And I don’t blame her. It’s common knowledge around the help that Derrick hates chaperoning any of the Gardener children on their excursions. Actually, he’s known to do anything he can to get out of it.
This sudden interest can only mean one thing. He’s up to something.
“That’s fine,” Heath says while he continues to stare at his phone. “The more eyes, the better today.”
The more eyes? What kind of outing is this going to be?
My heart sinks another inch. Derrick, though, looks delighted. He shoots me a grin. Not a normal grin; one that says he has ulterior motives and usually ends with me apologizing to someone.
I close my eyes briefly.
This is going to be a disaster. I can already feel it in my bones.
And judging by Rita’s suddenly nervous look and Derrick’s satisfied one, I’m not the only one thinking it either.