Chapter 3
MARA
“This is a pirouette,” Sylvie says, moving through the sunroom in her socks.
“Be careful you don’t slip,” I tell her, smiling as I look down at the knitting in my lap for a moment. Just one, then my eyes are back on Sylvie.
She beams, then sits on the floor letting out a big breath.
It’s my third day on the estate, and already, it’s the best job I’ve ever had.
Sylvie is cute, enthusiastic, and so bright.
She’s a little haunted too. But I can relate to that.
It’s a nice change not having to rush from job to job.
I drive here in the morning, spend time with Sylvie, take her to playdates and practice, then drive home at night.
It’s simple, clean, and easy. When she starts school next week, it will be even easier. It’s a dream job.
“Can you teach me to knit, Mara?”
I grin. “We tried that yesterday.”
“I know. But the needles are like chopsticks when you try to eat noodles. Have you ever eaten noodles with chopsticks?”
“No. I tried. But I’m terrible at it.”
She stands, shaking her head, giggling. She adjusts her sleeves when the laughter stops. That seems to be a tic of hers. Like she’s reminding herself not to get too happy. “How can you be good at knitting but bad with chopsticks?”
“A girl can’t have it all,” I say with a shrug.
“Why can’t she?” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
I’ve put my foot in it. She’s probably thinking about the fact that she rarely interacts with her dad. I don’t know if that’s fair. I haven’t been here for a week. Livia mentioned something about a big business deal, but I still don’t know what he does. Ettore Bellandi. What a name.
I push that thought away. “Do you want a nap, Sylvie?” I ask.
“I’m not tired,” she says, then yawns. She meets my eyes and laughs. “That wasn’t a real yawn.”
“No? What’s a real yawn?”
“Like this.” She puts her all into it, stretching her arms over her head. “Will you carry me?”
“Sure.”
I scoop her up, carrying her through the house. She clings to me tightly. Her bedroom is a princess’s wonderland, a dream-come-true bedroom for any girl her age. But appearances can be deceiving. When I put her on the four-poster bed, she looks tiny and alone.
“Don’t let me sleep forever,” she says.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Hey, was that a pun? Dream? You dream when you sleep.”
“I think it might’ve been. I’m learning from you,” I say, tapping her on her cute button nose.
I leave her to her nap, then walk down the tall, wide corridors.
I can’t help but look at the photos on the walls.
In the pictures, Sylvie and Ettore seem to have a good relationship.
He’s always smiling in what seems like a genuine way, and Sylvie looks at him with pure love.
Whenever she mentions him, it’s always confidently, happily.
Daddy wears such funny and nice suits.
Daddy tells me I can be anything I want.
Daddy is the biggest and best person.
Where is he, then? Does he interact with her when I go home? But I’m here for her bedtime. I doubt any good father returns home to wake his daughter in the middle of the night, disrupting her much needed sleep. Perhaps it is that he’s just busy, then. With business, whatever that means.
I grab my workout bag, deciding I’ll use the gym. Livia said I could, so why not? I’ve been wanting to get into exercise for a while now, but never found the time or money for the gym.
As I walk, I caution myself. I’ve got to be careful here. There’s a big chance I’m pouring all my insecurities onto that little girl. I don’t know enough about her or her father to pass judgment. Just because my own family didn’t care, it doesn’t mean the same thing is happening here.
Outside the gym door, I stop. I hear a man groaning in there.
Hot, husky groans, like he’s making love to someone.
Don’t be stupid. Is it one of the staff members?
I’ve noticed people coming and going from the estate, delivery drivers, cleaners, butlers, men in suits, men in leather jackets.
Sylvie doesn’t react like anything strange is going on, so it must be routine around here.
I knock on the door. “Hello?”
“It’s open,” a man grunts.
I push open the door…
And quickly close my mouth before my jaw hits the floor.
It’s shock because he’s here, working out, when his daughter is in the same house.
Sure, it’s huge. Two people could spend a year here and never run into each other.
But when Sylvie said her dad was working, I thought that meant somewhere else.
Yes, there’s another reason. Just… him. The steam rising from his body. His sheer physical presence.
Ettore Bellandi sits up on the weight bench, a wet tank clinging to his chiseled body. His body glistens, the shirt showing glimpses of his toned arms and chest. His sweat drenched hair is wild compared to the slick style I’ve seen in pictures.
“Uh, sorry,” I murmur. Where has my confidence gone?
“Don’t be,” he says casually. “That was my last set. Mara?” His eyes fix on me. I think. Do I imagine the way they flit up and down my body, like he’s assessing me? And perhaps I want him to do that.
Which is ridiculous. It would mean risking this job. And I’m probably misreading the situation anyway.
He walks over, offering me his hand. He’s smiling, but there’s some tension there. “Ettore.”
I take his hand. It’s hot and rough. A strange warm sensation rushes up my arm. I snatch my hand away quickly.
He smirks knowingly. “Should’ve thought of the sweat.”
“I don’t mind.”
Oh, God. I didn’t mean to say that.
He raises his eyebrows in amusement. It takes a herculean effort not to look down at his gym shorts again after my initial glance. They’re loose fitting except for a certain area. Looking again would be highly inappropriate. Even thinking like this is highly inappropriate.
“The door, Mara. Or is this a hostage situation?”
“Oh, sorry!” I quickly step aside, and he walks past me, almost touching. He must’ve been working hard. He’s radiating heat.
I look at the weights and sigh. I’m going to have to remove every single one.
But just as quickly as he left, Ettore is back.
“Old habits,” he says as he moves towards the weights.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” he says gruffly, looking up at me for a moment. I can’t decide if he’s a gentleman or a devilish. Maybe a little of both. “But my mother taught me manners.”
He removes the weights. I try to look anywhere but at his big, tanned muscles moving as he slides the last plate onto the bracket, then moves toward the door again.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Don’t mention it.”
I want to ask why he’s home. And if he’s home, why hasn’t he spent time with his daughter? Or maybe he did, before I arrived. Does he work from home? Maybe that’s why people keep coming and going.
“She’s having a nap,” I say.
He pauses at the doorway, his back to me. Tension ripples across his shoulder blades. “Good,” he says. “It’s tiring work, being so insightful and imaginative.”
He leaves. I drop onto the bench and blow out a long breath. Those compliments were something else, so much kinder than the generic stuff many dads would say. Sylvie is insightful. She is imaginative.
I take out my cell phone to put on some music, when a crazy, reckless idea hits me. Livia gave me Ettore’s number, with strict instructions: “This is for emergencies only. Anything else will come through me.”
My heart thundering, I take the risk.
Mara: I’m teaching her to knit. Maybe she can make you something for the fall.
My thumb hovers over the send button. This is not my job.
But it feels so right. Surely he’s not going to get mad over a message about his daughter.
I click send, then place my phone face down and get on with my workout.
I don’t do much. I just do what I can, some weights, then some walking on the treadmill.
I go to the nanny’s quarters, a clean, characterless guestroom.
After a quick shower, I change into my regular clothes, then finally check my phone.
He hasn’t replied, but he clearly did read it by the read notification next to the message.
That means he could be pissed. He might even be ratting me out to Livia right this second.
I sit on the bed, tapping my foot. I need to wake Sylvie soon but not before I apologize for my misstep.
I start typing again.
Mara: I’m sorry, sir, that wasn’t appor
I stop. He hasn’t replied, but he’s reacted with a thumbs up to my text.
Letting out a sigh of relief and stand. Okay. I got away with that. But I shouldn’t do that again.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling… Ettore had that same haunted look in his eyes, past the smirk, the politeness, and firm body. The same look Sylvie sometimes gets, like she’s waiting for it all to go wrong. Maybe I can help with that. Maybe I can make a difference.
Livia knocks heavily on my door. “Sylvana is awake. We’re not paying you to sleep.”
“I wasn’t…” I trail off. There’s no point correcting her. She strikes me as someone who enjoys being mad.
I open the door and walk into the corridor. Livia is already gone. Sylvie is in the sunroom, looking down at my knitting with intense concentration.
She’s got a pink ribbon in her hair.
“That’s beautiful,” I say, nodding to it.
She beams up at me. “Thank you. Daddy gave it to me!”
“Oh, wonderful,” I say. “When?”
“Just now, silly,” she replies.
I smile. Okay, time to calm down, Mara. This girl is loved and cared for. No more bringing your baggage into the workplace.
“Can we try again?” she asks, pointing to my knitting.
“That’s the only way to get good at something. Let’s do it.”