8. Bella

8

BELLA

W hen my alarm goes off, I’m jolted awake so sharply that it takes me a minute to remember where I am and why I’m here. I look at my alarm, realizing that I’ve hit the snooze button a number of times—I remember now that I set it for seven-thirty, and it’s ten minutes after eight now. Gabriel said Danny and Cecelia wake up around eight or a little after, and I throw back the covers, all of the grogginess from the sleeping pill instantly vanishing as I jump up, panicking that I’m going to be late to get started on my very first day.

I throw on a pair of jeans and a loose, long-sleeved shirt, tossing my hair up into a bun on top of my head before going to the bathroom to wash my face, brush my teeth, and quickly put on some moisturizer. It’s the quickest possible version of my morning routine, and I bolt out of my room as soon as it’s done, hurrying to Cecelia and Danny’s rooms. I knock on Cecelia’s door first, and she opens it a second later, already dressed with her face scrubbed pink and her hair braided. She looks at me narrowly, with an expression too sharp for a girl her age. “You slept in, didn’t you?” she asks, her gaze quickly sweeping over my clothes and hair.

It’s pretty clear that I’m not going to get anything over on her, and I have a feeling she’ll respect me more if I don’t try to. “I might have,” I admit, and the smallest of smiles appears on Cecelia’s face.

“You’re not used to getting up early, are you?” She crosses her arms over her pale pink shirt, as if she’s interviewing me for a position I’ve already gotten. But I play along, because there’s a part of the nanny position that I don’t already have—the part where the children I’ve been tasked with taking care of actually like me, and are happy to have me here.

“I’m not.” I lean against the door, giving her a small smile. “I usually sleep in pretty late. But now that I’m here to take care of you two, I’ve just got to get used to it.”

Cecelia gives a small nod, as if accepting my explanation. “I don’t like sleeping in. I’m a morning person ,” she informs me firmly. “But Danny isn’t. He complains every day when he gets up for school.”

“Is he sleeping in now?” I ask, and Cecelia shrugs.

“Probably. But we should go down for breakfast. Agnes gets grumpy if we let the food get cold.”

She pushes past me out of the room, and I follow her to Danny’s room, where she knocks on the door. “Danny! Hurry up! ” she insists, and the door cracks open a few beats later, Danny sticking his head out. He has a toy car in one hand, his hair sticking up wildly, and he’s still in his pajamas.

Truthfully, I don’t really know how to take care of kids. All of this is entirely new to me. So I just go on instinct.

“Breakfast is just about ready,” I tell Danny, nudging the door open a little wider. “So why don’t we pick out something for you to wear, and then we’ll go find out what Agnes made for us this morning?”

He considers for a moment, and then nods. “Okay,” he says cheerfully, letting the door swing wide open. “Look at my Batmobile!”

Danny holds up the car, waving it at me, and I take it to inspect it as he goes to the dresser to find clothes. His first attempt is wildly mismatched, but fifteen minutes later, we manage to make it downstairs with him respectably dressed in jeans and a Batman t-shirt. Cecelia leads the way, taking us down to the dining room, where I smell pancakes.

My mouth waters as we walk in. There’s a platter of pancakes in the center of the table, a bowl of fruit salad next to it, and three different types of syrup alongside a dish of whipped butter. Agnes is setting the butter down when we walk in, and she straightens, glancing over at me.

“Do you like coffee, Bella? I can make you some. And there’s creamer, too—I think we have hazelnut from the last time I went shopping.”

“Coffee sounds good,” I tell her gratefully, reaching for a plate to start fixing one for Danny. Cecelia is already serving herself, and I help Danny butter and add syrup to his pancakes before putting one and a scoop of fruit salad on a plate for myself, sinking down into a chair opposite them. Cecelia pours herself and Danny glasses of orange juice from a large pitcher—it looks fresh-squeezed, a darker orange than anything I’ve seen before with pulp floating on top—and Agnes brings me the coffee a minute later.

“Thank you,” I tell her gratefully. “Are you going to sit down and eat? Is Gabriel still here?”

Agnes blinks at me, pausing, and I have a moment’s panic that I stepped out of line by calling him Gabriel rather than Mr. Esposito . But he didn’t tell me to call him one or the other, and it’s hard to think of a man who took me on a speeding car ride down an abandoned road after a dinner out by anything other than his first name. We didn’t exactly have the most traditional beginning to our acquaintance as employer and employee.

“Gabriel leaves early in the morning,” Agnes says, the familiarity of his first name as easy on her tongue as if they were actually family. “He’s only here for breakfast on the weekends. And I’ve eaten already. I’m going to get a headstart on the chores, I think. Since you’re here now, I’m able to do that.” She gives me a smile, the lines on her face creasing. “I’ll have a bit more time now all around, I think.”

She leaves, and I pick at my breakfast while Danny and Cecelia eat, trying to eat as much as I can with the nerves tangling in my stomach. It’s strange having a job for the first time in my life, but it feels good, too—like my hours are more purposeful. For a long time, I’ve felt like I was rattling around in my home, with so much empty, pointless time. I could only fill so many hours with photography or reading, and I wanted something to give me a purpose. My father thought that would be marriage, but I wanted something else. There wouldn’t have been anything more fulfilling, to me, about going from being a daughter to a wife. All that would have changed is that I would have had a household and staff to oversee, parties to arrange, but nothing that really mattered . Nothing that made me feel like there was a reason for me to keep going.

Now, I do feel like there’s a reason for me to get up, rather than sleep in until I finally drag myself out of bed, something for me to apply myself to. The day is still just as long and in need of things to fill the hours as it ever has been, but now I get to do that with the two children I’m in charge of.

After we finish eating, I have them help me clear the table and take the dishes into the kitchen, remembering what Gabriel told me last night. I have a feeling that Agnes usually takes care of the dishes themselves, but I suggest that maybe we can give her one less thing to do, and Cecelia agrees. We rinse the dishes off and put them in the dishwasher, and then I turn to the two of them.

“Is there anything you’re supposed to do specifically during the day?” Gabriel gave me some idea of what their days should look like, but I want to give them both the opportunity to tell me themselves.

“Just some of my reading,” Cecelia says. “Danny doesn’t really have anything to do until baseball tryouts, but we can practice with him if you like.”

“Okay. Let’s go curl up in the living room and read for an hour, and then we’ll go toss the baseball around.” I’m not a particularly athletic person—I run, but I never did sports at the private school I went to, and I don’t lift weights or anything like that—but I think I can manage tossing a baseball back and forth with a nine-year-old and an eleven-year-old.

Cecelia goes to get her assigned book for summer reading, and I get the novel I’ve been working my way through out of my room. Danny comes running down the hall a few minutes later with his own book that he picked out of the library—not wanting to be left out—and the three of us go and settle into the living room. I set the alarm on my phone, and we sit there in relaxing silence for an hour. The only sounds are the birds outside the window and the crisp, brushing sound of pages turning.

It’s remarkably one of the best afternoons I’ve had in a while. I feel peaceful, sitting there on the soft sofa and working my way through the thriller that I bought a couple of months ago; the dark, twisty roads in the book are a sharp contrast to the cozy, warm space that I’m sitting in. The hour goes by before I know it, and my alarm goes off.

Cecelia sits up and shuts her book. “I’m going to go change,” she announces. “Can we go out to the pool after we play ball with Danny?”

“Sure,” I tell her, even though the thought of putting on a bathing suit makes me feel shivery and anxious all over again. But I don’t have to get in to oversee them swimming.

We go out to the backyard, where we form a sort of triangle. Danny brings a baseball with him, and we take turns tossing it and catching it out in the sunshine. On the other side of the house, I can see a couple of guys working on landscaping, and it makes me shrink back into the lightweight hoodie I’m wearing, tugging the sleeves down over my hands as I catch the ball again and toss it back to Danny.

“You dress weird,” Danny observes, tossing the ball to Cecelia, who gasps a little.

“ Danny . You can’t just say things like that!” she exclaims, tossing it back to him.

“Why not? It’s true.” He throws it back to me. “It’s hot out.”

“I get cold easily.” I throw the ball to Cecelia, feeling guilty for essentially lying to them. But I guess I do feel cold, even though it’s not exactly the kind of cold that would make sense to them.

Danny gives me a look that says he doesn’t entirely believe me, but he’s nine, so he lets it go. We toss the ball back and forth for a little while longer before Danny throws it to me, and then bounces up and down on his toes, looking at me pleadingly. “Can we go to the pool now?”

It’s after noon, and getting hotter by the minute, the perfect time to go out and swim. I nod, and both of them tear towards the pool house, running inside to retrieve and change into swimsuits. I manage to corral them long enough to make sure they put on sunscreen before they both go cannonballing into the water. I retreat to one of the lounge chairs, sitting under the umbrella in my jeans and long-sleeved shirt as I watch them swim.

I would love to be in the water, too. It’s hot out, and the clear blue water shimmers like crystal, bright in the sunlight. The air smells of chlorine, and I know the water would feel good, cool, and refreshing. But the landscapers have moved around to the back of the house, and I tug the edge of my hoodie up closer around my neck, feeling anxious. None of them have turned around and looked at me, but I still want to edge further out of view, to make sure that they don’t. That none of those men have a reason to look.

The last time men like that looked at me—big, muscled men with dark hair and stubble, broad, calloused hands, they slid those hands all over me. They tore at my wedding dress and laughed, saying I didn’t have any use for it any longer, as they shoved me into a room. They took bets on whether or not Pyotr would still fuck me, even though it had been established by that point that he wasn’t really going to marry me. Then they took bets on whether or not he would let them fuck me, once he was done with me.

Nausea rises up in my throat, hot and thick, and I clench my hands into fists, letting the bite of my nails in my palms bring me back into the here and now. Back to the present, where the men trimming the hedges around the house are just normal, innocuous men who have no interest in me, where my focus needs to be on paying attention to the two children chasing each other around the shallow end of the pool and splashing.

Several deep breaths, and I manage to push the memories down, the panic subsiding. I tuck my legs under me and lean back against the lounge chair, enjoying the sun despite how overheated I am as I watch Danny and Cecelia play in the water.

After a little while, Agnes comes out to tell us lunch is ready. I get the two of them to dry off and get back into their normal clothes, and then we head inside, where Agnes has tuna melts and potato chips with onion dip and lemonade waiting. All four of us sit down for lunch, eating in amicable silence until we’re finished, and I help Agnes clean up.

I know they’re supposed to take a nap after that, so I get the two of them upstairs, tucked in for an hour. I have nothing to do for a little while, so I take the opportunity to wander the house, going to the library to look through the bookshelves.

The selection is endless, enough for me to spend the next year or more working my way through them, without ever having to buy anything else. It occurs to me then to wonder if my father is still putting my allowance on the card that I have—Gabriel hadn’t said anything about my getting paid directly for this job. I assume the money is going to my father, to put into a trust for me. I feel a small twist of anxiety, wondering if my father might just decide that I have no need for an allowance any longer, since everything is provided for me here. But I still want to be able to go out and see Clara, to shop or have lunch, or do any of the things I used to do. It occurs to me that I’m not certain if I have access to a driver any longer either—and I can’t exactly drive myself.

Don’t worry about that right now, I tell myself, taking a deep breath. Worry about it when the time comes. For now, just spend this hour relaxing.

I’m not done with the thriller I picked out yet, so I go and get it, retreating back into the library to read by myself for a little while longer. I can feel myself starting to relax a little more, getting more used to what is now, really, my new home.

For a while, at least. Today has gone well, so far. It gives me hope that maybe this place will continue to be my home, that Gabriel will be happy enough with the job I’m doing that he’ll want me to stay. That Danny and Cecelia will like me, and they’ll want me to stay, too.

I sink into one of the comfy chairs in the library—big enough for me to sink into it and tuck my feet up under me—and lose myself in my book for a little while. The book is scary, and tense, which might be a surprising choice considering the fact that not so long ago, I was in a horrific, scary situation. But this feels different, removed from what happened to me, someone else’s fear and panic—and a distinct impression that in the end, the final girl will win the day. She’ll escape, and in time, she’ll be okay.

When the hour is up, Cecelia comes into the library, her hair frizzing out of the braids she put it in after the pool. “Danny is still sleeping,” she says, with the air of an older sister getting some satisfaction out of tattling on her younger sibling, and I laugh, setting my book on the table next to my armchair.

“Okay. Let’s go wake him up, then,” I tell her, and we walk companionably out of the library together, already a little more at ease than she was with me last night.

Cecelia wakes Danny up by bouncing on his bed, something that I’m not sure if I’m supposed to allow but seems harmless enough, and then we go to the movie room to watch something semi-educational. Danny plays with the Pac-Man arcade game while I sift through the National Geographic channel, finally settling on a nature documentary about the Galapagos while the two of them pop popcorn and come to sit on the long, comfy sectional couch next to me. The time flies by, and I’m so relaxed that I nearly jump out of my skin when Cecelia pops up suddenly, looking at the clock.

“Dad should be home!” she says, making a beeline for the door, and Danny follows her. I switch off the television, following them out to the entryway, where I see Gabriel taking off his shoes and setting down his messenger bag.

I’m struck, in that moment, by two things. One, how utterly normal this all feels—at this moment, Gabriel is just a father coming home from his job, greeting his children after a day at work. Not a white-collar criminal, or an associate of the mafia, or a man who likely engages in sketchy and shady business dealings with men like my father. And I feel certain, even after just this brief amount of time with this family, that he does this on purpose. He’s making certain that his children, robbed of their mother so early, have as much normalcy as they can in a life where they’re still living in a privileged position of extreme wealth.

And the second thing that strikes me is how gorgeous Gabriel is.

I shouldn’t notice it. Truthfully, it surprises me that I do, because I haven’t noticed a man’s looks in a long time—not since my wedding. But it’s impossible not to. His soft, dark hair falls into his face as he sets his bag down, the muscles of his forearms flexing where his shirt is rolled up above his elbows, and his hazel eyes sparkle when he sees his children running towards him. I see the hint of dark chest hair in the small open space at the top of his shirt, and the veined, long-fingered shape of his hands as he shoves them into his pockets, grinning at the two oncoming tornadoes who fling themselves at him.

Gabriel is my boss. My employer. A man who has made it abundantly clear that he has no room for romance or probably even attraction in his life. And even if he did, it wouldn’t be with me. Because, as always, as soon as my mind starts to move past that brief moment of attraction—as soon as I imagine those hands touching me, sliding up my arms, brushing against my face to turn my mouth towards his for a kiss?—

—cold nausea sweeps over me, my stomach knotting and my breath catching in my chest, making me press my hand to my ribs as I come to an abrupt halt. Gabriel looks up, a smile on his face, and then I see the creases around his eyes as the smile drops, just a little.

“Are you alright?” He looks at me, and I nod quickly.

“Fine. Just—a little bit of a headache. Being out in the sun—” I trail off, hating that I’m lying. But I can’t tell him the truth without having to unravel so much that I don’t want to talk about, that I can’t talk about, that I especially wouldn’t be able to explain right here and now.

“You two run off and find Agnes,” Gabriel says, glancing down at Cecelia. “I want to catch up with Bella.”

My stomach drops, and I twist my fingers together, my hands in front of me as I wait to hear what he’s going to say. As I wait to find out whether or not he’s going to dig deeper into the question he asked me a moment ago.

“How did it go today?” he asks, the smile returning to his face. “I hope they weren’t too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” I assure him quickly. “They were wonderful.”

I give him a quick rundown of everything we did over the day, and my spirits lift when I see the pleased expression on his face. “That all sounds perfect,” Gabriel says, nodding. “I’m sure Agnes appreciated the break, too. I don’t have any complaints—it sounds like you all figured out how to spend the day just fine. And they’re getting along with you?”

I nod. “Cecelia seems to be warming up to me, too. I think it just takes some time, and patience.”

“I agree.” Gabriel flashes me another smile. “I’m going to change and catch up with them. Consider yourself ‘off’ for the day, although, as always, I’d love it if you joined us for dinner. I believe Agnes and Aldo will be eating with us tonight as well. I know at our dinner out, you said you didn’t have any eating restrictions, but please tell Agnes if you do, and you were just being polite. She’ll be happy to accommodate you.”

“I really don’t. But thank you.” I hesitate, feeling awkward suddenly. “I’ll—see you at dinner, then?”

“Perfect.” Gabriel nods, and walks away.

A fine tremor runs through me as I let out a breath of relief. I’d been so worried that today wouldn’t go well, that I would do it all wrong, and Gabriel would be upset with me, but it seems clear that I didn’t have anything to worry about.

There’s still a couple of hours until it’s dark out, and I consider what I might do until dinner. I could go out to the pool alone, and I consider it—I think the landscapers have left, and I haven’t seen anyone else outside—but even if I’m pretty sure no one will go out to the pool other than me, the idea of just the possibility makes me feel shaky and queasy.

The other option that occurs to me is to go for a run. It’s been a couple days since I’ve gotten any exercise other than packing, and Gabriel mentioned a path that loops around the estate. With that decided, I go upstairs and change into a pair of leggings and a lightweight, long-sleeved running top, scraping my hair up into a ponytail before slipping through the house and out of a backdoor.

Outside, it’s starting to cool off, with the afternoon’s heat fading into a pleasant temperature. I tighten the laces on my sneakers and start walking, stretching a little as I look for the path that Gabriel mentioned. I find it before too long, a gravel path that starts near the garden just past the pool house, and I start running at a slow jog, looking around as I do.

I’m not sure how much property Gabriel has, exactly, but it looks like his estate is fairly large. I jog around the garden, and I can’t help but think of bringing my camera out here and taking photos of it soon. The landscaping is beautiful, varying flowers and rows of shrubbery along neatly kept paths, and the greenhouse on one side that Gabriel had mentioned Cecelia liked. I make a mental note to join them out there sometime, and use that to get to know Cecelia a little better.

Further out, the path leads to the mostly unused, rolling green expanse of the estate. Off to one side, I see a small brick cottage with a front porch and a tiny garden on one side, and I realize that must be where Agnes and Aldo live. A truck and a small sedan are parked out front, and I feel that sense of home again that I feel every time I’m around anyone who lives here. Not for myself, not yet—but the feeling that this can be a home, a real one. My father would have an aneurysm at the idea of staff living on-site, in our house or near it, rather than commuting each day regardless of how early or late they might need to travel to do so, even though we arguably have more space in our house than Gabriel does. It seems clear that he intentionally chose to live in a smaller home, something that can’t quite be called a mansion, for that sense of normalcy that seems to pervade everything he does.

I pick up my pace as I run along the tree line, feeling my sneakers strike the gravel path, small bits of my hair sticking to my sweating forehead and cheeks, the slight evening breeze cooling me off. I breathe in the scent of woods and greenery, the cleaner air this far out from the city, and I feel a wave of peace wash over me.

I feel safer than I have in a while. More hopeful. And even though I know it’s temporary, that eventually I will have to go back, I let myself enjoy it, for now.

Because regardless of whether or not this will all end in time, for now—I think I could like it here.