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I bite my lip, sliding my gaze toward the back of the plane. Keir and his brother James are sitting across from one another on the leather benches, each picking absentmindedly at a tray of food beside them.
“What did everyone else choose?” I ask.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. What’s the matter with you now?” Natasha appears from the front of the plane, her Irish accent making her words halfway indecipherable.
My cheeks heat. “I didn’t realize it was a crime to ask what the most popular dish is.”
Natasha snorts and gives me a hard look before zooming over to pick up the lid of a plate. She pulls a face and levels a look at Riccardo.
“I want a salad, no cheese, no croutons, dressing on the side. And… a whole sliced lemon.” She stops, then looks at me. “Bring her one, too.”
“Yes, miss.” Riccardo bows and pushes the cart back toward the galley.
I wish I could go with him, because from the very limited interaction I’ve had with Natasha so far, I would vastly prefer the steward’s company. I have the distinct impression that she doesn’t like me.
Natasha flings herself into the seat across from mine, sizing me up. My stomach flip flops and I lift my chin.
“So?” she asks, narrowing her eyes at me.
After a moment, I’m prompted to ask. “So… what?”
She pops her gum and piles her wild mane of blonde hair to one side.
“What’s your situation? I asked James and got something about the ballet. So what are you, a dancer or something?”
Feeling heat rising to my cheeks, I suck in a breath. I draw my feet up under my body and resettle the cashmere blanket to cover them.
“I used to be a ballet dancer,” I say at last. “Now I’m…” I trail off, uncertain of what to fill in. “…not.”
Natasha tilts her head to the side.
“You’re good with children then, I presume?”
It takes me a second to sort out what she asked me. Her lilting accent is just so damned thick.
“With children?” I ask. “Uh… I guess.”
“That’s a funny thing for a nanny to say.”
Shit. I shift in my seat, uncomfortable. The back of my neck grows hot.
“Oh. CHILD-ren,” I say. I’m lying my ass off, but I don’t know what else to do. “I am having trouble understanding anything you’re saying.”
She scowls at me. Riccardo interrupts just then, saving me from whatever she has to say. He brings two salads and two accompanying plates, carrying them stacked on his arms like a waiter would. He unpacks them onto two folding trays with a flourish. When he bows and retreats, I stab a huge forkful of salad and shovel it into my mouth, desperate for the conversation to die off.
I’m not so lucky, though.
Natasha pushes her salad away and eyes me.
“You know that you can’t just waltz in here like you own the damn place and take over. Isla won’t like you. And Lord Grayrose will no doubt start treating you the way he treats any other member of his staff.” She picks up a mushroom from her salad, popping it in her mouth. “He has quite a terrible temper and he drives away almost every single member of his staff at one time or another. Everybody but me, of course.”
She tosses her head and gives me a little self-satisfied smirk. It’s mildly infuriating, but I’m more interested in hearing more about Keir’s life than anything else. I school my expression and try to think up the most pertinent question.
“You said Isla won’t like me. Who is Isla?”
Her eyes bulge out for a moment. “Lord Grayrose’s daughter. What on earth did you two talk about in this interview?” She narrows her eyes. “God, he really did just hire you because he thinks you’re pretty.”
She laughs, a braying sound that grates on my nerves. I clench my teeth, trying to come up with a snappy retort.
