The refreshing smell of lilac fills the air as bubbles waft romantically from the free-standing tub. But I hesitate before taking another step forward, giving Donatella a pointed look.
“Nothing I haven’t seen before, love,” she mutters but turns around anyway.
Still, I feel my cheeks flush as I quickly strip down and step into the near-scalding water. The instant relief I feel as my shoulders slip under the surface almost makes me groan aloud.
Between being bedridden for several days and the stress of the last week, my shoulders were now incredibly grateful for someTLC. I stretch out my toes, content to just close my eyes and soak for a little while.
Except someone dunks their hands in the water and begins scrubbing at my hair.
“Excuse me?” I splutter out just as another wave of water is dunked on my head.
“You need a thorough clean,” Donatella replies simply as she selects a bottle of the vast array of products around us.
“I can wash my own hair.”
Donatella snorts. “Evidently not if you’ve not been able to get out of bed for two days.”
“This is unnecessary.”
“Mister Moretti disagrees.”
I cross my hands across my chest self-consciously. “Unbelievable. Where does that fucker get off?”
Water splashes into my eyes. “Not another word about the don. He may be demanding, but his heart is in the right place.”
I want to scowl at her petulantly, but I’m too afraid to open my eyes again. “Tell me about him.”
“What do you want to know?”
“How long have you worked here?”
“That’s not a question about him.”
I remain stubbornly silent until she lets out an exasperated sigh. “Over twenty years now.”
“How old were you when you started?” I ask in disbelief.
“Probably about the same age as you.”
I finally find the bravery to crack open an eyelid and turn toward her to examine her youthful face.
At my expression, she cracks a smile. “Unlike some, I actually bathe every day.”
But her smile fades as her eyes drop to the tops of my arms. Something dark crosses her eyes as she looks back up at me. No, at my bruised cheek.
“I have some Arnica cream downstairs. I won’t be a moment.”
Without another word, she slips out of the room, finally leaving me alone.
With nothing but my thoughts.
I desperately try to organize them into some sense of coherency before they completely overwhelm me again. The truths are the easiest to identify.
Number one, Claudio Lazzaro is the worst thing that ever happened to me.
Number two, I made a deal with the devil in order to get away from him.
Number three, there’s a good chance everyone around me is a part of the Italian mafia.
