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“You run from me; you won’t look at me or talk to me. The only reason you’re doing it now is because you don’t think you have a choice. You have no problem being around my brother, so why the problem with me? Am I that horrible?” She stared at him as he rambled in frustration, her muteness putting him more on edge. “Christ, now I’m fucking yelling at you, like that’s going to fix anything. Is that what’s wrong? Is it my temper?”
“I don’t hate you. I just . . . don’t understand you.”
Something about those words was like a dagger striking his chest. No one had understood him before, but he wanted her to. He needed her to, because for the first time in years, he wondered if someone finally could.
The ringing of his phone thwarted his response. He pulled it out of his pocket, and she took the opportunity to slip past him.
“Haven,” he called, stepping out of the laundry room behind her. “I think you’ll find we’re a lot alike if you take the chance to get to know me.”
He turned away from her to answer the call. “Yeah, Dia?”
“I shouldn’t have hung up,” Dia said. “Do you still need your laundry done?”
“No, I got it,” he said. “Someone showed me how to do it.”
He realized, as he glanced into the laundry room, that he hadn’t even thanked Haven for her help.
* * *
Carmine burst into his father’s office and plopped down in the chair in front of the desk. Vincent put down the medical journal he’d been flipping through and removed his glasses. “Come in, son. You’re not interrupting at all.”
Not in the mood for a lecture, Carmine dived in to what was on his mind. “Why’s that girl here?”
Vincent sighed. “Haven’t we already had this conversation? You said you didn’t care.”
“I care now.” His own words caught him off guard. Did he?
Vincent eyed him suspiciously. “Why?”
Good fucking question. “She says some weird shit.”
“I wasn’t aware you cared to talk to her.”
“Yeah, well, she’s staying in my house . . .”
“My house,” Vincent corrected him. “Your grandfather left this place to me when he died. And the girl’s here because I brought her here.”
“Willingly? Because it doesn’t seem like she’s on vacation, cooking dinner and cleaning up after people. She didn’t even own anything.”
“You’re right—it’s no vacation for her—but it’s a big step up from her last home.”
“California,” Carmine said. “Or so she thinks. She lived with a master who could’ve killed her.”
Vincent’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised she told you so much.”
“I asked, and apparently she feels like she can’t deny anyone anything when they ask.”
“Oh, that’s where you’re wrong,” Vincent said. “If the child didn’t want to tell you, she wouldn’t. She might be trained to serve, but she knows how to keep secrets. She wouldn’t have survived as long as she has otherwise.”
Carmine had no idea how to respond to that. “So, what? She’s going to stay here indefinitely?”
“Yes,” Vincent said, putting his glasses back on. “And she isn’t to leave the house without my permission, so get used to her.”
“Get used to her? Really? There’s seriously something wrong with the way we live.”
Vincent shook his head. “I know how you can be, so unless you need more help with your laundry, I suggest staying away from her.”
“How do you know she helped me with my laundry?”
