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“No, I’m not here for parties,” I say instead.
My eyes dart to Mrs. King and she gives a satisfied smile.
Mr. King frowns, the lines around his eyes deepening, and then he’s back to his newspaper and coffee. I’ve been dismissed.
I hurry away, leaning back against the wall when I round the corner to catch a breath. My bare feet stick to the floor and I groan, trying not to wince as my lungs expand. I should go back downstairs and dress in something more professional. And get some damn shoes on!
I feel so stupid and inexperienced. So young. I already have an unwanted stigma from my upbringing and now they’re going to think I’m an incompetent housekeeper. I don’t know the first thing about removing the wine stains I saw on the carpet downstairs on my way up here, let alone this sticky gunk that’s currently below my feet on the hardwood floor.
Peeling my foot from the mess, my mind swirls with ideas for how I can do a good job today. This is going to take more than baking soda and elbow grease. This is a professional job, something that might be beyond my experience.
“They threw that party because they knew we were coming back this morning,” Mrs. King’s voice filters from the dining room and I hold my breath. I can’t help but listen to the conversation even though I know it isn’t meant for me. “They made this disgusting mess for us to walk into just to spite us.”
“Obviously,” Mr. King replies, but he sounds unfazed. “Though it’s quite stupid. It’s their house too and not like we’re the ones who have to clean it up.”
Yeah, that would be me.
“It’s one thing to throw parties but they should know better to do it when we’re coming into town. Where’s the respect?”
“Malory. . .”
“You’re just going to let them get away with it?”
He sighs and the room goes quiet for a long moment. “It’s the deal I made with them,” he finally croons. There’s a charm to his inflection that reminds me of Cooper. “They get free reign of the place for the summer before joining King Media in the fall. Once that happens, you know as well as I do that their lives are going to change. This is their last chance to be young. What do you want me to do about that? Take it away?”
“I want you to parent your children.”
“They’re not children. They’re grown men.”
“Really? Because last I checked, grown men don’t waste their summers drinking and sleeping around and throwing parties.”
I couldn’t agree more.
They go silent again. Should I walk away? Would they hear me if I did? I don’t move because it’s like I can’t, like I’m rooted to the spot now, like I’ll never move again.
“You’re right,” he replies, “but I’m trying to make it up to them after everything they went through during the years that were supposed to be the best of their lives, especially after what Sybil did to Ethan.”
Who the hell is Sybil and what did she do to Ethan?
“Clearly,” Mrs. King drawls. “Arden is barely eighteen though. Leave that poor girl out of it. She doesn’t need to get involved with Ethan and his demons.”
My body goes cold.
Mrs. King may not seem to like me, but she’s looking out for me. Looking out for me when it comes to Ethan? Why? Camilla also warned me to stay away from him.
“Arden’s got a roof over her head and a good job. I provided that. Don’t act like she’s being victimized here. Nobody’s forcing anything. Let’s just . . . stay out the kids’ way and see what happens, hmm?”
It sounds like he does want me to hook up with Ethan, but why? There’s no logical explanation that I can think of, especially not when there are socialite girls Ethan could date. So why root for a nobody?
I swallow, hardening my resolve. We’re almost through June and I leave in August. Am I going to sleep with Ethan King? Absolutely not. But I am going to figure out this mystery before I leave the island. At least it will give me something more interesting to do with my time besides cleaning up other people’s messes.
My vision blurs, needling pinpricks unthreading my world. It’s been a long day and I was past the point of exhaustion hours ago. I inhale deeply and drop my head down onto my arms, leaning against the cool kitchen counter. Soon. Soon I’ll be sleeping. But right now, I’m helping Camilla clean up after the five-course dinner she served the family. She saved a portion for me, but I hardly ate a bite, let alone tasted it—all I want is to go to sleep and forget about this shitty day.
But even if I could lay down right now, I know I wouldn’t be able to sleep, because underneath all that exhaustion is anxiety. It lives coiled inside of me like a snake and it’s been sleeping for most of the summer—but now it’s rearing its ugly head, fangs dripping with venom. If it strikes, the anxiety will take over, making a terrible situation so much worse.
Because I messed up today.
I messed up big time and now it’s time to face the consequences.
