Naturally, the person I enjoy running into the least is trotting up the stairs while I’m heading down.
Getty Tempesta pauses as we pass each other. A spark of hungry interest flares in his eyes as he looks me over. For a second I think he’s about to say something nice.
Just as quickly, his appreciative stare turns cynical. “Tell the boys I’ll be down shortly,” he says. “And try not to miss me too much.”
“No chance of that,” I mutter and lift my foot to take the next step down.
The long hem of my dress catches on the toe of my boot. I make a flailing grab for the railing, instantly sure that I’m about to take a wild tumble.
Luckily, Getty’s reflexes are virtually supernatural. A muscular arm shoots in front of me and I find myself hanging onto him like he’s a life preserver.
Getty leans in until I can feel the vibration of his dark chuckle on my neck. “You’ve got to be more careful around here,” he says.
I cringe away from him and grip the railing.
Getty lets me go and starts whistling as he nonchalantly climbs the rest of the stairs.
Some songs never go out of style no matter how old they are.Every Breath You Takeis one of them. Funny how I never fully appreciated how creepy and stalkerish the lyrics are until now, when I hear the tune coming from him.
Maybe I’m overreacting.
Getty is weird and often a bit sinister but he’s never made a threat. And he did just save me from the humiliating prospect of falling down the stairs.
He likes attention. That’s all. Ignore him and he’ll find something else to do.
The enticing smell of Italian cooking permeates the first floor. Every meal I’ve eaten here so far has been outstanding. The Tempestas clearly don’t skimp when it comes to kitchen staff. The household chef, Enzo, is an erratic, nervous fellow with a streak of white hair. He’s rarely seen outside of the huge gourmet kitchen at the back of the house.
The soft light of early evening pours in through high windows and adds some cheer to the dark interior. My initial impression of the main house was full of rustic, eerie gloom. After staying here for a few days, I’ve revised my opinion.
The huge house is imposing but it also feels like a real family home. Today a tall vase has been added to the round table in the foyer. The colorful heads of tulips, all of them resembling mouths puckered for a kiss, peek out of the top.
And lo and behold, there’s my cat hunched beneath the table. Louisa’s paws are tucked beneath her and she’s motionless. Just a mound of grey fur with sharp eyes.
I’ve given up trying to keep her with me on the second floor. She doesn’t like it up there and seems much happier with her bed, food and litter box placed in the mud room not far from the kitchen.
Dropping slowly into a crouch, I hold out my hand and call her name in the sweetest tone I can muster.
Louisa doesn’t budge. Her whiskers twitch as she sniffs the air. The shape of her mouth turns down, making it seem like there’s a permanent frown stamped on her face.
With no warning she takes off, zooming past me and disappearing down a dim hallway. I think she might have run into Cass’s study but I don’t plan to wander in there and check.
My bad knee pops as I rise. Yesterday Louisa hopped up into Fort’s lap while he rubbed leather oil on his boots in the sitting room. He scratched her ears and she purred, just like she did with Getty. It seems like my cat is going to fall in love with every member of the Tempesta family before she even gives me a chance.
I’m trying not to feel hurt. She’s a cat. I have no idea what goes on inside her grumpy little head but I’ve never felt so unlikeable.
Determined footsteps patter in this direction and I look up to find Mel approaching with a bruschetta tray and a broad smile.
“Don’t you look lovely,” she says. “Dinner’s about to be served. Tonight it’s chicken marsala and Enzo whipped up some blackberry gelato for dessert.”
“Sounds delicious. Can I take that?” I reach for the tray but Mel shakes her head.
“Thanks, sweetie, but I’ve got it.”
She gazes at me expectantly, waiting for me to join her on the walk to the dining room.
And she’s a speed walker. I need to hustle to keep up.
“Mel, why don’t you ever eat in the dining room?” I ask.
