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“Sleep well?” He pushes one of the mugs toward me, angling the scarred side of his face away.
Of course not. “Yes, thank you.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Later.”
“We can share the omelette.”
“I can’t eat this early.”
I’d rather die of hunger than share his omelette. It’s an illogical thought, since he gives me the allowance that pays for my food, but I have to hold on to whatever pride I can salvage.
“The doctor emailed your blood test results. You’re clean.”
Our eyes lock when I involuntarily jerk my head in his direction. We both know what this means. As soon as the birth control takes, he’ll fuck me. Unless he uses a condom to do it sooner. Before he can say anything else, I serve his omelette on the plate I heated in the warmer drawer and carry it to the dining room. Then I disappear to start my duties for the day, trying not to think about what he said in the kitchen or that I’d become a maid with benefits. A whore.
* * *
I quickly get a handle on the house routine. Carly gets up at six and leaves the house at seven without breakfast. Marie comes in at eight, places the grocery orders for the day, and starts preparing lunch. I give her my habitual shopping list. My staple diet consists of instant noodles and apples. Apples are cheap, filling, and nutritious. The noodles give me a boost of energy when my blood sugar levels drop too low. I need the bulk of the money I save for Charlie and my studies.
As I make the bed in Gabriel’s room, I try not to gawk at his private space, but my curiosity outweighs my manners. Like him, the room is overly masculine. Heavy, silver-gray curtains drape the windows, and his furniture is bulky, modern, and square. The bed is bigger and longer than a king size. The monogramed initials on the sheets indicate they’re custom made. The fabric is soft between my fingers. A glance at the label tells me it’s a high-thread Egyptian cotton. There are many black and white photos of landscapes and buildings on the wall. The pictures are of foreign places and cities, maybe places he’s visited.
A walk-in closet connects his bedroom to his private bathroom. The closet is bigger than my room with suits organized by color and shelves for shoes and ties. Gabriel is painstakingly neat. There are no dirty clothes or towels on the floor. Whatever toiletries he uses are stored in the cupboards. Nothing stands on the shelves, not even a toothbrush. His bathroom tiles are black and white with a gray border running above the twin basins. The taps and fittings are brass, and it’s a bitch to polish them to a shine. I scrub until my nails are chipped, but that’s the easy part. The not-so-easy part is trying not to feel the shame of my reaction to him as, even in his physical absence, his lingering presence taunts and torments me, forcing me to remember.
Oscar follows me around, keeping me company. By the time the morning deliveries arrive, I’m shaky with hunger. After wolfing down a bowl of noodles and an apple for breakfast, I feel better. Walking into my room for a quick bathroom break, my gaze falls on a box on the edge of the basin. I pick it up to read the label. Birth control pills. My face is ablaze with heat, even as my stomach turns to ice. I’ve never used birth control. Never needed it. With a shaky hand, I take out the leaflet and read the instructions. It feels like I’m crossing the last line by accepting the pills, but falling pregnant will be a disaster, and as crazy as it sounds to appreciate any gesture from my captor, I’m thankful to Gabriel for his consideration in this regard.
* * *
I’m hanging out the laundry when a whistle catches my attention. The driver from yesterday enters through the courtyard door.
“Morning.” He offers me an uncertain smile, eyeing my uniform. “How are you?”
I don’t know what to make of his greeting, so I simply say, “Fine, thank you.”
“I’m Quincy.”
I tug a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Hi.”
When I resume hanging the washing, he cuts the small talk. “I came to warn you not to come outside before clearing it with the guard house.”
“The guard house?”
“We live in a staff house at the back of the estate. There’s a phone in the kitchen. If you dial the button marked guard house, one of us will pick up.”
“Oh.”
“Next time, if the door is open,” he motions at the garden access, “call before you come outside.”
“Why?”
“Gabriel keeps a guard dog. He patrols the garden, and we’ve had an accident before.”
“Okay.”
“Well then, have a nice day.” He must realize what a stupid thing that is to say, because his cheekbones turn a shade darker. “See you later.” With an awkward salute, he hurries away.
