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He appeared to be around my age, 30, but his large eyes and button nose gave him a younger look. He had tousled, wavy brown hair, and I felt the strangest urge to run my hands through it. Get a hold of yourself, I scolded myself, You are a professional.
The beautiful young man was speaking: “You must be Mademoiselle Perez,” he said, a slight accent coloring his words. “Bonjour! Welcome to Castle Villeneuve. Please, come in.” With that, he took my bags from me and ushered me inside.
“Isabel, please,” I said automatically. The large oak doors clanged ominously as they shut behind me.
“Charmed,” the man said, bowing slightly. I fought the urge to laugh, feeling slightly hysterical. “I am Raphael, I’m the head servant here.”
Bonita had mentioned a full household staff, but I still found myself surprised. This was a far cry from the cramped, noisy quarters I had spent my life in. In my neighborhood, people worked as cleaners and nannies; we certainly didn’t employ them.
“It’s nice to meet you,” I said, finally finding my voice.
“Here, I’ll take these to your room and give you a bit of a tour. Follow me.” With that, Raphael grasped both bags in one hand as if they weighed nothing, and trotted off down the corridor. I followed mutely, too stunned to speak.
“It can take some time to find your way around here,” Raphael chatted amiably as we walked, pointing out various rooms. “But you’ll get the hang of it. I remember when I first arrived, I kept getting lost. I’d head out looking for the dining room and find myself in the wine cellar.” He laughed. “The empty wine cellar, I might add. There’s no alcohol allowed on the grounds.”
“That won’t be a problem,” I assured him, and he nodded.
“Yes, Étienne says you were once a counselor? That is good, very good.”
Étienne? I thought, Who is Étienne? As if reading my mind, Raphael laughed.
“But of course, you haven’t met Étienne yet. There are six of us on staff total: Étienne is Jacques’ valet, Bernard, the head waiter, Vincent, the housekeeper, Alexandre, the gardener, and Isiah, our chef. You’ll meet all of us before long.”
My head spun. I would never be able to keep all of these men straight. A head waiter? A valet? I felt like I’d stumbled into some kind of time warp. The feeling was heightened by the decor; apparently The Beast had a fondness for antiques. Raphael noticed me examining a large, valuable-looking candlestick. “That is one of Jacques’ favorite pieces,” he said. “It comes from the same village in France where he and Bernard grew up.”
I looked up, surprised by this piece of information. “Are all of the staff from France?” I asked.
“Mais oui,” Raphael said, smiling. “We have all known Jacques for many, many years.”
I was struck by the familiarity with which Raphael referred to his employer. Not Mr. Martin or Monsieur, but Jacques. This certainly wasn’t the usual employer/employee relationship.
“And how did you come to work for The—Mr. Martin?” I asked.
“Long before he moved to America. When he retired from wrestling, he hired Vincent as housekeeper, and Vincent asked if I wanted to join the staff. I was young, only 25 or so, and wanted an adventure. My family was very large, you know?”
I nodded. If there was one thing I understood, it was a large family.
“I love my parents, and my siblings, but I wanted to travel. Vincent offered me this position, and I thought, when will I again have the chance to come to America and live in a castle? So I came.” Raphael shrugged, as if this were the simplest chain of events in the world.
“So that was five years ago?” I asked, “Have you been home since?”
“Villeneuve is my home now,” Raphael said simply.
“But surely you must miss your family,” I pressed. “Five years is a long time.”
“Oui, sometimes,” Raphael admitted. “But the men here are my family, too. They are like brothers to me. And I am needed here. I am content.”
Content to me seemed a long way from happy, but I decided it was best not to push the issue. I was here to write, not to counsel. It seemed incredible to me that such a young, attractive man was content to spend his youth hidden away in a remote castle, but I supposed stranger things had happened.
Raphael came to a sudden stop. “And here we are,” he said, gesturing with some fanfare towards an open door. “This will be your bedchamber. I hope it will be to your liking.”
I stepped inside the room and gasped. My entire apartment back home could fit into this one room. It was decorated in shades of soft gray and blue with a large canopy bed serving as the main focal point of the room. My bed back home was a twin, and I judged this to be a king-sized bed at least. A cheerful fire crackled in the fireplace, casting a warm glow over the room.
