A violent shiver rattled me as I plucked my formal serving attire from my locker. “That girl gives me the willies,” I muttered.
“What girl?” Franky piped up from the back door, where he was coming back from a smoke break.
My hand slapped on my chest. “Jeezes, dude! Didn’t see you there.”
The cook chuckled. “I can see that.” He shut the door tight, shot a look around, then repeated his question. “Who you talking about?”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I debated lying. It didn’t matter, though. I’d just expressed an opinion about one of the members of the grand family.
“Miss Arabella is planning to get hitched in the next two years,” I said with a shrug. “Never understood girls who were crazy about marrying young.”
Franky’s face softened. “While I agree with you, it’s not like the poor girl has other choices. She’s not like you or me, Rae.”
“Huh, didn’t notice,” I said dryly.
“I’m serious. She’s Signora Grimadli’s ward and will marry a desirable match. Anything else is…unthinkable.” Franky thumped my shoulder, much the same way I had to the princess minutes ago. “Go easy on her. It’s hard to live in a world where personal choice is nonexistent.”
He spoke like she wasn’t allowed to do anything other than picking out clothes. There was a big old world out there, and she just let her destiny be manipulated.
It made me want to scream.
“I’m glad she has you, Rae,” Franky threw over his shoulder. “You’re a breath of fresh air in this mausoleum.”
Well, now I felt like the world’s biggest bitch.
Because I could see his point. If Arabella had someone wild and reckless like me around, maybe she wouldn’t have grown up with such limited choices.
I can’t fix everyone. The vicious reminder came from the place of self-preservation.
That was exactly what I wanted to do. Give the girl some spunk and encourage her to raise cane!
But….
She is not your problem.
My inner critic was right. My biggest problem right now was making myself presentable in less than ten minutes and joining the other servants out front to receive the long-lost grandson. It took five minutes to change and tame back the unruly strands of hair that fought to escape the tight knot on the top of my head. If the white maid’s cap was a bit tilted, I prayed the housekeeper wouldn’t notice.
Tugging on my white gloves to hide my tattoos, I dashed out the back door and ran like mad around the paths to the front. It was the most direct path, because sprinting through the house was out of the question.
Pulling up short, I tidied my apron tighter and groaned at the dust on my shiny Mary Janes. It would have to do. I took my place between Cathy and Maddie just as the car rolled up the long drive.
“No, you go there,” Maddie snapped.
Cathy pursed her lips but didn’t comment as I changed places to be at the end of the line. The place of least importance.
We looked like something out of a period drama. 1800s English nobility would have been proud.
The sports car roared, a burst of exhaust calling out in greeting. My gaze snagged on the sleek lines of the beast. While I preferred American Muscle, I had to keep my mouth shut to avoid drooling over the outrageously expensive, custom European model. My fingers itched to go under the trunk and tinker with the powerhouse pushing the car. Maybe once the groundskeeper-slash-chauffer tucked it away, I could sneak out and take a peek. AJ wouldn’t mind. While he worked outside, we’d run into each other enough to strike up a friendly accord. Car enthusiasts were easy to talk to. And AJ had a nice smile, so some idiot part of me offered to let him ride in my baby on Monday.
I didn’t like him enough to let him drive her, of course.
But some kissing could convince you,my inner voice cackled.
He would have to be a damn good kisser, though. It was only the extended dry spell that made me consider letting him drive Cherry Pie.
As a rule, boys didn’t drive my Camaro.
But it would be fun to make him work for it.
