7. Bella

7

BELLA

T hursday morning, Clara is at my house, having insisted she was going to call in sick to work in order to come over and help me finish packing, and see me off. I told her she didn’t need to—I was only moving a few miles away, not to another state—but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Truthfully, I hadn’t expected her to. She’s my best friend for a reason, and I know her well.

My bedroom doesn’t look as empty as I would have thought, considering that I’m effectively moving out. Gabriel said everything I need would be provided—including a furnished room and everything that goes along with that—so all I really need to take are things that are personal.

“So it wasn’t a date at all.” Clara shakes her head, taking a stack of books from me and setting them in a box in front of her. “He asked you out to dinner to give you a job ? You were worried for nothing.”

“I definitely didn’t see that coming.” I sort through the books, handing her another few. “He asked me how I felt about children. I didn’t think it was because he needed a nanny.”

“Well, all your problems are solved now, right?” Clara shrugs. “At least for a little while. You don’t have to get married, you move out, and your father will leave you alone.” She wiggles her eyebrows, smirking at me. “Is he hot?”

I roll my eyes at her. “He’s good-looking, yes. But that doesn’t mean anything. He hired me to do a job.”

“A job that requires you to live at his house.” Clara’s smirk widens. “You’re going to live with him, Bella. This young, good-looking?—”

I throw a sweater at her, and she catches it, laughing. “I’m just saying?—”

I shake my head. “It’s not that at all. It’s just a job. He was really clear about not wanting to marry again, too, so it’s not like he’s doing this as some kind of trial run either, in hopes I’ll come around to the idea.”

Clara purses her lips. “I get it. But I stand by what I said the other night, when you thought it was a date. If you like him, and he could be your choice, instead of your father’s?—”

“It doesn’t matter, because he’s not interested either. That’s what makes it perfect,” I insist. “Neither of us wants marriage, so it’s completely off the table. I don’t have to worry about that at all.”

“You’re really excited about this, aren’t you?” Clara looks at me questioningly. “You seem genuinely happy.”

“I’m going to have more freedom, so yeah. And being away from home for the first time, I’m excited about that.” I bite my lip. “It’s a little scary. But I just want to know what it’s like to do something different. To be on my own. And if it works out—” I shrug. “Maybe I can get out of this whole arranged marriage thing for good.”

Clara frowns. “You really think that’s going to happen? That your dad is just going to give up on making you marry someone and ‘build your family legacy’?” She says the last in a sarcastic imitation of my father’s voice, and I can’t keep from laughing, as much as the thought sends a queasy wave through my stomach.

“I don’t know,” I admit. “Truthfully, no. I don’t think I’ll get out of it forever.” The admission twists the knot in my stomach tighter. This is a reprieve, not an escape. But even a reprieve is better than nothing. “Maybe he’ll find someone I don’t hate. Maybe?—”

I trail off, because deep down, I know that even if my father found someone tolerable, that doesn’t change everything else that’s wrong with me now. Things that no one wants to deal with. Things that my future husband won’t know about until after he’s said I do , and then I’ll bear the blame for keeping them quiet, when the truth is that my father would lose his mind if he thought there was a chance I’d be upfront about any of that with a potential husband.

But I can’t even bring myself to talk about it with Clara, so I don’t think there’s much danger of that.

“This is good for now,” I say firmly, trying to maintain my optimism. “I’ll be on my own for the first time. I’ll have a job . My life will be different, for a little while, at least. And maybe that’s all I’ll really need to be happy.” I say it with as much conviction as I can muster, wanting to convince myself as well as Clara. And although I know I’ll have to deal with my father’s wishes and all of the complications of my life later, for now, I just want to be happy about the reprieve that fate has thrown my way.

“Will I be able to come visit?” Clara cocks her head to one side, closing up the box of books and taping it shut. “I want to see this new place you’ll be living in.”

“I’ll ask,” I promise her. “And I’ll let you know. But I’m sure I’ll have time off, so I’ll still come see you, too. I’ll ask Gabriel about getting around. He drives himself places mostly, I think, but maybe he has a driver employed for the kids, or something like that. I’ll find all that out after I move in.”

Clara stands up, dusting her hands off on her jeans as she takes the last couple items of clothing I hand her and zips them in a garment bag, before turning back to look at me. There’s an odd expression in her blue eyes, and her usually teasing smile goes serious for a moment.

“I don’t entirely know what’s been going on since you came back from that wedding that fell through,” she says quietly. “And it’s been pretty clear to me that you don’t want to talk about it, so I didn’t want to push. You can tell me as much or as little as you want to, you know that. But I’m here for you, Bella. I want you to be happy. And all jokes aside, if this makes you happy right now, then I’m all for it.”

Tears spring to my eyes at that, and I give her a small, watery smile. “I think it’s going to be good,” I whisper, and Clara nods.

“You getting out of this house will be good. I definitely believe that.” She puts her arms out. “Hug?”

That, I can manage. I give Clara a quick, tight embrace, wiping my eyes as I pull back. “This is silly.” I laugh, shaking my head. “I’m only moving a few miles away. We’re acting like I’m going across the country.”

“Hey, this is a big deal! And I’m excited for you.” Clara glances at her phone. “They’re going to be here soon. Do you want me to hang out, or?—”

I shake my head. “I need to talk to my dad before I go. So it’s probably better if it’s just me.”

“Okay.” She flashes me another smile. “Text me once you settle in and tell me how everything is.”

“I will,” I promise.

Once Clara leaves, I push the handful of boxes and bags containing my things to the middle of the room, and head downstairs. My father is in his office, as usual, and I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans, glad for the heavy knit sweater I threw on.

“The movers will be here soon.” I don’t sit down, just pause halfway between the door and the chairs in front of his desk. We haven’t talked about the situation much, other than for me to tell him the morning after the dinner that Gabriel had offered me the job, and I accepted. Now, standing here on the cusp of leaving, I don’t really know what to say. I don’t know how he feels about all of this—about me essentially circumventing his plans for me. But Gabriel said that they discussed it first, and if my father hadn’t wanted me to take the job, I can’t imagine that he wouldn’t have just refused outright to let me go to the dinner.

“Do you need my help with anything?” He looks up, and I shake my head, pushing my hands deeper into my pockets.

“I don’t think so. I think they’re just going to—grab everything.”

“I’ll tell the driver to take you to Mr. Esposito’s home. Unless you and he have made other arrangements?” My father looks at me, his gaze turning shrewd, and I wonder if he’s hoping for the same outcome that Clara has teased me about. That my living with Gabriel will lead to something happening between us.

I feel a fresh wave of relief, knowing that he isn’t thinking that. That both Gabriel and I are equally uninterested in any outcome that involves marriage. At least, even if my father is angling for that, I know that the man I’ll be living with isn’t. It gives me an odd sort of feeling of camaraderie with Gabriel.

The front door opens, and I hear the sound of the movers. “I should—go tell them where to go to get my things.” I bite my lip, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, waiting for my father to say something. To give me some indication of how he feels about the whole situation.

But he just nods. “Alright then. Let me know once you’re settled in. Or Mr. Esposito will. Either way.”

I stare at him for a moment, caught off guard by his dismissal. My father has never been an emotional man, so it’s not as if I expected tears and hugs from him. But I had thought there would be something more than this brush-off.

I’m almost certain that it’s because he’s upset that I’m going to work for Gabriel instead of following through on the engagement that he wanted for me. But he agreed to it, so I don’t know why.

I hesitate for a moment, wondering if he’s going to say anything else, but he’s already gone back to his paperwork. So I slip out of the room, feeling an ache in my chest that dulls the excitement I felt before.

But the alternative to this was to marry another man I don’t know. I can’t do that, now more than ever.

By the time I make it back to the foyer, the movers are carrying out the last of my things. My phone buzzes, and I see a text from Derrick, telling me that he’s bringing the car around. My stomach tightens, and I feel a flood of anxiety.

I want to do this. This is going to be good. Just because it’s scary doesn’t mean it’s not good.

I take a deep breath, and glance back once more down the hall, towards my father’s office. The door is still closed.

Outside, I hear the sound of the SUV pulling up. It’s time to go.

I gather up all of my nerves, and walk outside to the waiting car.

—

Gabriel is waiting when Derrick and the movers’ van pull into the driveway. He’s dressed more casually than he was for dinner, in dark brown chinos and a sage-green button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair is slightly messy, tucked behind his ears, and for a brief moment, I can’t help but notice how handsome he is all over again. And just as quickly, I push the thought away.

Derrick parks the car and glances back at me. “You gonna be alright?” he asks, and I nod, tugging the sleeves of my sweater down over my hands so that I’m holding the fabric in my clenched fists. My nerves are jangling, a jittery feeling just beneath my skin, but I take a deep breath. I can do this. I want to do this.

“I’ll be fine,” I tell him, with more confidence than I actually feel, and slide out of the car.

Gabriel smiles at me as I walk up the driveway towards him. “I’m glad to see you made it alright. I would have sent someone to pick you up, if you needed it.”

“Oh, it was no trouble to have Derrick drop me off.” I’m glad he did, actually—it felt better having someone familiar with me for the ride over.

“I’ll have the movers take your things up to your room. And I’ll show you around in a few minutes, but I thought you might like to meet the children first. And I’ll introduce you to Agnes.”

I nod quickly. “That sounds great,” I tell him, ignoring the fresh flutter of nerves that washes over me.

The moment I follow Gabriel into the house, I’m instantly struck by how homey it feels. The outside of the tall Georgian structure looks very grand, but inside, it feels warm and cozy. I smell vanilla, and something faintly flowery as I walk in. The foyer has warm wood paneling along the lower part of the walls, with dusty blue wallpaper above that. The floor is a light hardwood, and as we walk further into the entryway, that soft flowers-and-vanilla scent grows stronger.

“They’re in the living room,” Gabriel says, and I follow him into a room that has that same soft, cozy feeling. Everything is done in tones of pale wood, dusty blue, and cream, and the furniture looks soft and plush, with chenille throw pillows and knitted throw blankets tossed over the surfaces of the sofa and armchairs. There’s a fireplace on one side, made of whitewashed brick, with candles set on the mantle. Two armchairs are on either side of the fireplace, and there’s a long sofa and a loveseat as well. I see two children perched on the loveseat, a girl and a boy, and an older woman on the sofa next to them, sitting primly and saying something to them in a low voice.

“Agnes,” Gabriel calls out as we walk into the room, and the older woman looks around immediately, a warm smile spreading over her face as she sees him. She looks over to me, and the smile stays on her face, though I see an appraising look in her eyes as she glances up and down. I can’t blame her, but it makes me feel a little as if I’m intruding.

“This must be Bella.” She smiles at me. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Agnes—I keep house for Gabriel. And I help with the children, but I hear that you’re here to help with that.”

“Agnes is being modest,” Gabriel says. “She’s been around since I was a child, working for my parents. I’ve known her all my life, and I don’t know what I’d do without her.”

“It’s nice to meet you too.” I glance over towards the two children sitting on the loveseat. The younger one, the boy, is kicking his feet back and forth, a dark lock of hair falling into his face that he keeps blowing away. The girl is sitting stiffly, her expression impassive, her sandy dark blonde hair gathered into a high ponytail that faintly moves behind her.

The boy seems to lose his patience, jumping up from the loveseat and making his way over to us before either of us can say anything else. “I’m Danilo,” he pipes up, looking up at me. “But everybody calls me Danny.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Danny.” I smile at him, and he rocks back on his heels, giving me a brilliant grin.

“Dad says you’re staying here now. Is that true?”

I feel another flicker of nervousness. “Yes,” I tell him, even though I wonder if I should sound quite so sure about it. I have no idea how this is going to go, and if Gabriel is unhappy with me after the first few days?—

I very much don’t want to disappoint this eager little boy who is so excited to meet me. His sister is watching me warily from the loveseat, and I take a deep breath, walking past Danny to go and greet her.

“Hi.” I sit down on the couch where Agnes was a moment ago, smiling at her. “I’m Bella.”

She presses her lips together. “Cecelia.”

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Cecelia gives a quick, sharp nod, as if she’s not sure whether it’s nice to meet me or not, but she doesn’t want to be rude. I hear Gabriel let out a breath from behind me, and I force myself to keep my attention on Cecelia, and not look back at him. I’m anxiously curious to find out what he’s thinking, if he’s pleased with how all of this is going so far, but I can already tell that out of the two children, Cecelia is going to be harder to win over.

“We’ll get to know each other better,” I tell her. “It’s alright if you’re not sure about all this at first. I’m nervous about it, to be honest. But I’m glad to be here.”

She’s still watching me warily, her hazel eyes fixed on me, but I think I see her soften just the slightest bit.

“Danny, Cecelia.” Agnes claps her hands. “Why don’t you come and help me with the first bit of dinner? We’ll get it started while your dad shows Bella around the house.”

Cecelia pushes herself off of the loveseat at that, making a beeline for Agnes, and I turn around just in time to catch the grateful look that Gabriel shoots her. He gives Danny a quick hug, and then glances over at me. “Would you like a tour, Bella? And then I’ll show you your room.”

I nod, getting up. The entire atmosphere of the house is different from anything I’ve ever known, and it’s going to take me a minute to get used to it. I can see what he meant when he said at dinner that Agnes was more like family. If I hadn’t known she was his housekeeper, I would have thought she was an aunt or a grandmother, someone actually related to the family. Gabriel certainly interacts with her as if she is. And watching him with his children, the way he hugs Danny and murmurs something to Cecelia before they follow Agnes out of the room, makes me like him more than I did already.

There’s something warm and familial about all of it, a feeling that’s never been there in my own home.

Gabriel leads me out of the living room, and back out into the entryway. “My office is down that hall,” he says, gesturing to the left. “I leave the house for normal work days most of the time, though—I find I work better at an office in a different location. But if I’m home and you need me, and can’t find me, you’re welcome to come and knock and see if I’m in there. There’s also a movie room on this floor—” He leads me further down the hall, opening a door into a large, dark-wallpapered room with a huge sectional sofa and a television that takes up most of one wall. “Danny likes to spend a lot of time in here, but of course, there are limits on all of that. We’ll go over it, and Agnes can help fill you in if you forget anything; she knows all of their schedules. There’s movies, game consoles—” He shrugs. “Whatever entertainment you might want.”

I nod, looking around. It has a very old-school den kind of feel, but far more luxurious. There are two retro arcade machines on one wall, one Pac-Man and one Mortal Kombat, and an old-fashioned popcorn machine next to it, along with a small table that has a basket filled with boxes of movie candy. On one side of the room, there are built-in bookshelves full of movies and games, and a small refrigerator with sodas and other drinks inside.

“This is really cool,” I offer, turning around again to take in the room. “I would have loved to have something in our house like this when I was a kid.”

Gabriel chuckles. “I’m surprised there wasn’t.”

“My father isn’t particularly interested in fun.” I shrug, as if it doesn’t matter very much to me, even though seeing this makes me feel an odd ache for the kind of childhood I didn’t know to miss. “This is great, though. Do you use it, too?”

He nods. “Sometimes. I don’t often have a lot of spare time, but we’ll have movie nights. Occasionally, I like to play a game, but again—it’s hard to find time to get into anything. My work keeps me busy, and then, of course, Danny and Cecelia do too.”

“Well, maybe now that I’m here, you’ll have a little more spare time.”

Gabriel laughs a little at that. “Maybe.”

“There’s two bathrooms down there, as well as a spare room that’s empty,” he continues, gesturing down the hall. “I have a fully-equipped gym downstairs, in the basement—weights, boxing bags, all of that, if you’d like to see it.”

“I just like to run,” I admit. “I’ve never really gotten into anything else for exercise.”

“There’s a good path for that. Loops around the back of the estate.” Gabriel gestures towards the back of the house. “You can get a good run in, and no one will bother you. Agnes’ husband Aldo runs the groundskeeping, and no one he hires will give you any problems.”

“Thanks.” I give him a small smile. “So what’s in the rest of the house?”

He shows me the dining room, which looks out to a small garden behind the house, and we peek into the kitchen, where Agnes is walking Danny and Cecelia through the process of making homemade pasta. There’s a pool that Gabriel points out to me as well, letting me know there’s a hot tub, too, if I want to make use of it. He tells me where some of the other structures on the property are, including a greenhouse where he says Agnes has been teaching Cecelia to garden.

“There’s a reading room down here as well,” Gabriel says, leading me down the hall past the movie room and opening a door. “Cecelia and Danny come in here to do their homework sometimes during the school year. And it’s a nice place to relax. You’re welcome to use it, just like anything else in the house.”

It’s very similar to the living room, only with more bookshelves—two walls of them, floor to ceiling. The entire house somehow simultaneously has a feeling of being very luxurious and cozy all at once. Everything is clearly expensive—high-quality furnishings, sumptuous textiles, the entire house is spotless and full of that floral vanilla scent—but at the same time, it feels like a home in a way that mine never has, even though my father goes to some lengths to make it seem to anyone looking that we’re wealthier than we actually are.

I can easily imagine hiding away in here, or curling up in the movie room with a handful of snacks and an old movie, or going for a run around the estate. My childhood home has always felt cold, monolithic, but I can already feel myself growing more at ease here. And it’s only the first day.

Maybe I could be happy here, I think as I look around the room, and turn back to Gabriel.

“Your house is beautiful.”

“Thank you.” He gives me a half-smile. “I can’t take too much of the credit for it. I didn’t have much of a hand in the decorating, that’s for sure. But I wanted it to feel like a home. I don’t particularly like flashiness, or overt displays of wealth.”

“Except for the car,” I say without thinking, and immediately want to bite it back, because it feels too intimate. Like an inside joke, just between us. And I don’t know him well enough to make a joke like that, not really.

But he’s not offended. Instead, he laughs, a deep, easy sound that makes something tingle along my spine, a feeling that I don’t dare look too deeply into. “You’re right,” he says. “Except for the car. And the Ferrari isn’t the only one I have, either. Maybe I’ll show you some time—the garage off of the house holds a few of them. I have the rest parked elsewhere.”

“Sure,” I say offhandedly, because the thought of being alone with him in a quiet, warm garage as he shows me his favorite cars feels like another thing that’s too intimate for who we are to each other. I feel a flicker of unease, not because he’s done anything to make me feel this way, but because I don’t want that tingle that I felt running along my spine to return. I don’t want to feel any attraction to him. It’s confusing and unsettling, and those are emotions I absolutely, unequivocally do not need.

“Come on.” Gabriel motions for me to follow him. “I’ll show you your room.”

He takes me upstairs, to where the guest rooms are. “My room and the children’s rooms are on the third floor,” he says, gesturing upwards. “The guest rooms are on the second. I’ve set one aside for you, but if anything isn’t to your liking, just let me know, and I’ll see what we can do to move things around.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” I say quickly—and it absolutely is.

The room he shows me is as big as my bedroom at home—maybe bigger. It’s fully furnished, as promised—there’s a fireplace along one wall, which I find absolutely delightful, and a large four-poster bed made up with crisp white sheets and an emerald green velvet duvet. The room is entirely done in shades of green and white, from the thick white rug on the floor next to the bed atop the hardwood, to the deep green velvet wing chair next to the fire, and a green and blue tartan armchair sitting between a bookshelf and the window, with a soft white chenille throw tossed over the back. There’s a desk, a dresser, and a closet, and I see a closed door to the far side of the room.

“There’s an ensuite bathroom,” Gabriel says, gesturing towards it. “Which is part of the reason I had Agnes fix this one up for you; I thought you would prefer that.”

“Definitely.” I turn in a circle, taking in the gorgeous room. Everything looks and feels as lush as the rest of the house, and I feel comfortable here. It doesn’t feel as if I’m out of place at all. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re working for me. And I do my best to make sure everyone in my employ, especially those who also live here, are comfortable. If there’s anything at all that you need, just tell me, and I’ll do my best to get it for you,” he says sincerely.

“Thank you.” I don’t know what else to say. I’m on the cusp of a new type of life, doing things I’ve never done before, and I’m filled with a mixture of excitement and nervousness. All I know is that I hope it works out. I want to stay here for as long as I can.

“There’s everything you need to light a fire, too, if you want,” Gabriel adds, nodding at the fireplace. “It’s summer, but you seem to get cold easily. So, like everything else here, feel free to use it as you please.”

His offhand comment about the cold strikes me, because he doesn’t say it as if he’s judging me, or even particularly curious about why. He just accepts that I do something that seems out of the ordinary, and it doesn’t seem to bother him.

Don’t you think it would bother him if he knew why? An insidious little voice in my head whispers, but I ignore it. I don’t want anything to spoil the day.

“If there’s nothing else—” Gabriel shifts on his feet, and I’m suddenly snapped back into the moment, and very aware that he’s standing here alone with me in what is now my bedroom. That uneasy feeling skitters up my spine again, my skin tingling with an awareness that I don’t want, and feel uncomfortable with. It makes me feel bad, because he hasn’t done anything to make me feel that way—none of this is his fault. But I feel panicky at being alone with him all the same.

When I don’t respond, Gabriel continues. “I’ll let you get settled in. We usually have dinner around seven, and you’re not required to join us, but I’d like it if you did. Agnes and Aldo eat with me and the children a few times a week, and anytime you can be at dinner, I think it would be good for them.” He pauses. “I would very much like for it to feel as if you’re a part of the family.”

Something tugs in my chest, and I nod. His green eyes meet mine, and that awareness grows, the knowledge that he’s standing in my room, of the bed a handful of feet away from us, of the intimacy of having him here in my space. I think he realizes it, too, because he steps back, putting even more physical distance between us as he goes to open the door.

“I’ll come down for dinner,” I tell him quickly. “I’ll do some unpacking, and then change and come down.”

“That sounds good.” He smiles once more at me, and then slips out of the room.

I spend the next few hours unpacking, putting my books on the shelf, and hanging up my clothes. When it gets close to seven, I change into a pair of jeans and a long, tunic-style knit sweater in dark blue, slipping on my rose gold jewelry to go with it. I don’t know how much Gabriel likes everyone to dress up for dinner, but the house has seemed fairly casual so far, so I hope that’s fine.

I didn’t need to worry. When I come down, it’s just Gabriel, Danny, and Cecelia at the table, and Gabriel is wearing dark jeans and a short-sleeved, henley-style shirt. He glances up when I walk in, and smiles appreciatively.

“I’m glad you came down.” He gestures to one side of the table, across from the children. “Go ahead, sit. We already brought everything out.”

Someone had set a place for me, and I sink down into the chair, looking at the dishes of food in the center of the table. There’s a large bowl of what looks like a creamy pasta, topped with shrimp, blistered tomatoes, and feta cheese, and another wooden bowl with a green salad in it, next to a small glass pitcher of some sort of vinaigrette. Cecelia eyes me from across the table, glancing over at her father.

“Is she going to eat with us every night?”

“Cecelia.” Gabriel’s tone isn’t sharp, but there’s a hint of reprimand in it. “You shouldn’t talk about Bella as if she isn’t sitting right here. And yes. She’ll be taking care of both of you, so she’ll be sharing most of your meals. I’ve asked her to have dinner with us as often as she likes.”

Cecelia bites her lip, but she says nothing else. She just sits there, her hands primly folded in her lap, her hazel eyes surveying the dinner table as she waits. Gabriel glances over at me, his expression smoothing. “Can you pass me the salad, Bella?”

I swallow nervously, nodding. It’s just a salad, but my hands feel shaky; this first dinner sitting at a table with this family that I now work for makes me anxious. It feels like there’s so much riding on this—if Gabriel is happy with me, I’ll get to stay. I’ll get to keep taking care of these children, living in this house, and—the most important part of all of it—I’ll stay unmarried. My continued freedom entirely hinges on how long this job goes on for, and how long my father can be convinced that this is a good idea. Gabriel is his business associate, so if Gabriel is pleased with my performance, this will just be another sort of business, keeping me here. But if he’s not?—

I’ve been sitting holding the bowl for too long, I realize. Cecelia is watching me quizzically from across the table, and I quickly pick up some of the salad with the tongs, depositing it onto my plate before passing it to Gabriel. He dishes up his and the children’s, and I take the bowl back, doing the same with the pasta and then the dressing for the salad until we’re all sitting with our dinners in front of us. Only then does Gabriel pick up his fork, and I see the children take that as a sign to start eating as well.

I take a small bite of the pasta, knowing I won’t be able to eat much, but not wanting to be rude. It’s absolutely amazing—creamy and flavorful, with the lemony shrimp and the tang of the feta cheese mixed in with the silkiness of the pasta and sauce. “This is delicious,” I tell Gabriel, glancing over at him. “Agnes is an amazing cook.”

“We helped,” Cecelia informs me archly. “Agnes showed me how to make the pasta from scratch. And Danny stirred.” She glances over at her brother, who looks very proud of his contribution to the dinner.

“Pasta from scratch is impressive. I don’t know if I could do that. Do you like cooking?” I can’t imagine ever having gotten to cook at their age. I still don’t know how. My father would have been horrified if Gladys had ever allowed me in the kitchen for more than just to grab a quick snack. The normalcy of it, in a family that’s actually above mine in terms of wealth and status, both startles me and makes me feel a little envious. Cecelia and Danny will grow up with very different feelings about the world than I did, and their place in it. And considering Gabriel’s reaction to my impending engagement, I find it hard to believe that Cecelia will grow up to be pushed into something like that.

“I do.” Cecelia nods, spinning some of the pasta onto her fork. “Agnes says she’ll keep teaching me more.” She glances over at Gabriel, a suddenly concerned expression on her face. “I can keep learning from Agnes, right? That’s not going to change now that she—” Cecelia glances at me, and then back at her father. “That’s not going to change, right?”

“No, of course not,” Gabriel says gently. “Not much is going to change, Cecelia, other than the fact that Bella is here to help Agnes. Cooking is not one of the things she was hired to do, so of course, it will still be Agnes who teaches you all of that, for as long as you’re enjoying it. Bella is here to just make sure that Agnes isn’t overworked.”

I listen to all of this quietly as I take small bites of my pasta and salad, absorbing the information. It’s clear to me, both from my first meeting with her and from this conversation, that Agnes is very important to Gabriel and to his children. A family member, not an employee. I know I’ll need to be careful not to step on her toes, to make sure that I keep up the rhythms of the house, instead of disrupting them.

The rest of the dinner is spent in quiet conversation that’s so incredibly normal that it catches me off guard. Gabriel asks Cecelia about her reading list for the summer from the school, and talks to Danny about trying out for a summer youth baseball league. The kinds of things that I’ve never pictured a man with such close connections to the mafia discussing with his children, let alone taking an active interest in what they’re doing. My father never discussed much with me when I was younger, other than to occasionally check in on my schedule of ballet and piano lessons. Dinners were always silent and formal and cold, and the comfortable warmth of this dinner table is something I’d never even imagined before, let alone experienced.

Another surprising thing is what happens after dinner. Agnes is nowhere to be seen, and I had assumed she was in the kitchen, waiting to bring out other courses. But instead, Gabriel gets up when we’re finished eating, gesturing to the children to help him clear the plates. I sit there confused for a minute too long to help, stunned by the fact that this man is doing anything for himself. When he comes back with dessert—a small bowl of custard studded with fresh berries for everyone—I can’t manage more than an awkward thanks.

“Agnes and her husband eat dinner with us a few times a week,” Gabriel explains as he sits down with his dessert, and I flush pink, realizing how clearly my confusion must have shown. “The rest of the time, they go back home at the end of the day. Agnes can be a little stubborn when it comes to it, but I consider all of my staff off at the end of the normal workday. That includes you too, Bella—other than getting Danny and Cecelia ready for bed at the end of the night and overseeing anything they need, then, you’re effectively off once I get home. I would love for you to participate in dinner or sharing the evenings with us, but you certainly don’t have to.”

His tone is formal, but there’s a warmth to it that lets me know he’s sincere. “I like for Danny and Cecelia to help out with as much as they can,” he adds. “It’s good for them to feel capable and independent.”

The underlying tone beneath the words is clear—Gabriel loves his children, but doesn’t want to coddle them. As someone who was coddled all my life, but never really felt loved, I can appreciate that. I feel like they’ll be happier for it as adults, knowing their father cares very much about them, but wants them to be able to stand on their own two feet.

I like that he applies that to Cecelia, as well. That it’s not just Danny that he wants to grow up to have his own independence, but also his daughter. It only underlines my earlier thought that Cecelia won’t be pushed into an arranged marriage—a girl who grows up with that kind of upbringing isn’t going to quietly walk into a situation like that. And Gabriel, I think, is smart enough to know that.

I didn’t eat as much of dinner as I know I should have, but I manage about half of the dessert, taking small bites and trying to ease the nervous queasiness in my stomach. If Gabriel notices that, he doesn’t say anything, clearing the dessert afterward and then coming back into the dining room where I’m still sitting, my hands twisted in my lap.

“I’ll handle cleanup and putting the children to bed tonight,” he says, giving me a look that makes me think he knows I need a minute to adjust. “Go ahead and spend your evening however you like, Bella. You can start your official duties in the morning.”

I nod gratefully, getting up from the table. “Thanks,” I manage. “I think I’m just going to make it an early night. Try to get some rest before tomorrow.”

“That’s a good idea. The children sleep in a bit later than usual now that it’s summer, but you can still expect them to be up around eight or eight-thirty. Agnes handles preparing breakfast, but you can help her serve it and oversee the meal.” Gabriel pauses, taking a slow breath. “I’m sure this is all overwhelming,” he adds. “But you’ll settle in before you know it. I know it will take a minute to get used to the routine, so don’t worry if you make mistakes at first. Agnes is happy to help, and in time, you’ll relax, and it will all feel like second nature.”

I’m startled to feel the prick of tears behind my eyelids at how patient he’s being. He hired me to do a job, after all, and he’s giving me plenty of time to adjust to that new job. I can’t imagine all employers would be like that.

Gabriel leaves me to go back into the kitchen, and I head upstairs. It’s my first night away from home, and I go to stand at the window, looking out over the view of the front yard. There’s the half-moon driveway in front of the house, empty now, the gravel smooth. That driveway leads out to a fringe of trees, keeping the house back from the road beyond, shielded from anyone who might drive by. I feel a sense of peace at that, of being hidden, and I let the curtain fall closed. I have no reason to think anyone will come into my room, but I go and lock the door anyway before I start to get undressed, folding up my clothes before I wander into the bathroom.

Once I saw it earlier, I was even more grateful that Gabriel picked this room to give me. There’s a large shower and a clawfoot tub, and I go to the cabinet where I unpacked my toiletries earlier, finding a bottle of jasmine bath oil. I turn on the hot water, pouring a generous amount of the oil into it, and sigh as the fragrant smell starts to fill the bathroom, the air turning warm from the water.

I lock the bathroom door, too, for good measure, and then slide into the tub. I know it’s a foolish thing to do—Gabriel is hardly going to come into my room without an invitation, much less my bathroom, and no one else is going to wander in by accident either, especially since the children are about to go to bed. But the locked doors between me and the rest of the house finally allow the tension to drain out of my muscles, the only way I feel comfortable being naked and exposed in a house where I’m living with near strangers. Even so, I have to actively push away the thoughts that try to crowd in—the feeling of unwanted hands on my skin, of hot breath and rough stubble against my face, of fingers touching where they weren’t invited to go. The memories surge up, threatening to choke me, to send me fleeing from the comfort of my bath and into a small ball in my bed, but I take a slow, deep breath, trying to calm myself down.

I focus on the silky heat of the water against my skin, the smell of the jasmine, the cloying warmth all around me, wrapped up like a blanket. I tilt my head back against the cool porcelain, feeling the hard shape of it against the back of my head, running over all of those sensations until the bad memories slip back into the shallow darkness where they always lie in wait, and I feel like I can enjoy my bath again.

When I finally get out, I feel calmer. I slip on a pair of soft pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt, unlock the door, and slide into bed. Next to me, in the nightstand drawer, is a small orange prescription bottle. I take it out, looking at the tiny white pills inside.

I don’t really like taking the sleeping pills I was prescribed. The sleep they throw me into is strange, one where I’m completely insensible until I wake up, without any dreams at all, not just the bad ones. When I wake up, I always feel a little groggy, like coming out of an anesthetic sleep.

But I don’t want to have nightmares here. I’ve woken up crying, even screaming from them before, and I can only imagine what Gabriel would think if that happened. More than likely, he’d send me straight back home, and any chance of this job working out would end. He’d be furious I didn’t warn him in the first place, and that would be that.

Just the thought makes my chest tight. The thought of going home already and having to submit to whatever arrangement my father wants for me, sending panic coursing through my blood. So I pour a glass of water from the covered pitcher next to the bed, and shake out one of the tiny pills into my palm, quickly swallowing it.

It only takes a matter of moments for it to take effect. I slide down under the covers, sinking into the soft pillow beneath my head, and disappear into a dark, dreamless sleep.