Page 22 of The Art of Ruin

I just need to remember why I’m here.

And what I’m not looking for.

I glance toward the door.

Toward the house beyond it.

Toward the man who looked at me like I was something to be assessed, not welcomed.

That helps.

I can work with that.

3.Casey

I unpack slowly,even though there isn’t much to unpack. I left a lot of my clothes at home. I still have a month left on my lease, so it gives me a little time to decide what to do with my meagre belongings. In hindsight, I wonder why I didn’t question the fact that Jasper never wanted us to live together, but now it makes sense. He needed the space for his other family.

A sigh escapes me, easing the gnawing feeling in my chest for a second, and I focus on the moment. Folding the four sweaters and two pairs of jeans, and putting them away. I hang the good trousers I wear when I need people to take me seriously in the closet. Toiletries are lined up beside the sink in a neat row that looks more confident than I feel, the pastel pink bottles giving me a touch of joy. My romance books go on the small shelf beside the bed, spines facing out, because there’s something comforting about seeing familiar titles in an unfamiliar room.

The annex is quiet, but not in the same way the hotel room was.

The hotel had been silent in a way that pressed down on me, too sealed, too temporary, too full of space for thoughts I didn’t want. This is different. There’s sound here, softened by wallsand distance. A cupboard closing somewhere in the main house. Letty’s voice rising and falling, too quick to follow. The lower murmur of Adriano answering her.

I don’t mean to pause when I hear him. His voice doesn’t carry in the way loud men’s voices do. It doesn’t need to. It has weight without volume, the kind of quiet that makes you listen before you decide to. I hate that I notice it. I hate even more that my body notices it before I can tell it not to.

Ridiculous.

I fold a cardigan that is already folded and place it in the drawer.

This is a job. A good job. A stable job. Room, board, salary, routine. A chance to stand still for longer than five minutes without feeling like the floor is going to vanish beneath me. A place where they don’t know about humiliation. Where people aren’t whispering and giving me pitying looks.

It’s a place to not feel anything.

A knock comes at the door before I can ruin that thought by examining it too closely.

I smooth my hands over my trousers and open it.

Elena stands on the other side with her handbag over one arm and a dish towel still tucked into the waistband of her skirt, like she started leaving and remembered one last thing halfway through.

“There you are,” she says, smiling as if I haven’t been hiding in here reorganizing socks to avoid feeling unsettled. “Dinner is ready, and I’m abandoning you.”

I blink. “Abandoning me?”

“My neighbor called. Very dramatic. She says she needs me immediately, which usually means she’s either lost her glasses on her own head or insulted someone and wants me to agree she was right.”

A laugh slips out before I can stop it.

Elena’s smile warms. “Good. You can laugh. I was beginning to wonder.”

I feel my mouth soften, then catch myself. “I’m sorry. I know I’m not exactly sparkling company today.”

“You don’t need to sparkle, Tesoro. Sometimes it’s enough just to sit at the table.” She reaches out like she might touch my cheek, then thinks better of it and pats my arm instead. The restraint makes my throat tighten more than the touch would have. “I made pasta. Simple. Letty likes it, Adriano pretends he doesn’t care, and everyone cleans their plate.”

“Should I—” I glance past her toward the main house. “I mean, I don’t officially start until tomorrow.”

“You will eat,” Elena says, making it sound less like an invitation and more like a law. “Then you can observe. It will be good for you to see how they are in the evening.”

That word catches in my mind.