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Something gives in my torso, like an elastic band that snaps. Stupidly, I feel like crying. Correction, I feel like bawling. Damn PMS. “It doesn’t matter.”
His laugh is knowing. “Of course not.”
“Why haven’t you slept with her?” I hold my breath for something I can’t name.
“I don’t want to.”
But he may. Gabriel is the kind of man who takes what he wants, not by force, but by making your own body betray you, by stealing your will and breaking every one of your good intentions, leaving you with a hole only he can fill. Where I’m aching now, only his cock can fill the empty feeling. It’s twisted. He made me want him––need him––like I need water, while he can walk away on a whim, whenever he doesn’t want me. There’ll come a day I’ll be the next Helga, a day he won’t come to my room to make me come, just because he doesn’t want to any longer. He’s an asshole, and I hate myself for being affected.
“You’re quiet,” he muses. “If you’re tired, I’ll let you sleep.”
Longing for solitude so I can curl into a ball, I let the lie spill from my lips. “That’ll be kind.”
My heart drops when his weight lifts from the mattress. With a chaste kiss on my forehead, he walks from my room. Finally, I have the solitude I demanded, but I’m utterly and miserably lonely.
* * *
On Monday morning, Magda awaits me in the kitchen with shocking news. Marie had a stroke.
“You’ll take over the menu planning,” she says, “and the cooking. Run it past me to approve.” She points at the computer in the corner. “You’ll find the budget and supermarkets that deliver on the system.”
“Will she be all right?”
“I don’t know. Her daughter will let me know. It’s mighty inconvenient, though, seeing we have a formal business dinner at the house on Friday. Oh, you’ll have to see to the catering and serving. I’ll email the menu to the kitchen computer. I’m only expecting two or three guests.” She writes a code on the message pad. “Here’s the password.”
She’s halfway to the door before I find the courage to speak. “I’m not sure I can manage.”
She twirls around to narrow her eyes at me. “Do you have a problem?”
“The cleaning and cooking…it’s a lot for one person. It’s not that I’m not willing, but it’s a big house. I don’t want to neglect one or the other.”
“Then make sure you don’t.” Her lips thin into a smile. “Your life depends on it.”
I stare at her back as she leaves the kitchen. I hate the haughty clack of her heels as much as I detest the traffic cone color of her lipstick. She may look down on me because I’m poor and treat me like a slave because she owns nine years of my life, but when those nine years are over, I’ll never take an order from her again. I’ll take Charlie and move to another town, a city where the Louws don’t rule. Allowing the intention to strengthen my resolve, I switch on the computer and wait for it to boot up so I can place the grocery order for the day.
* * *
Monday and Tuesday pass in a blur. I wangle some sort of schedule, vacuuming only every second day and ironing later at night. By Tuesday evening, we get an update from Marie’s daughter, stating that she won’t be back at work for at least six months. Since I don’t know Marie’s recipes, I don’t have a choice but to change the menu. What I know is more my late mother’s Mediterranean style. I find a small, local producer of fresh produce, which turns out not only to be organic, but also cheaper. The fruit and vegetables aren’t pretty, but they’re tasty. I also order less cleaning products. I can wash a floor just as well with a bit of vinegar in water than with an expensive product that smells like a summer orchard, but has been tested on animals. The result is a thirty-percent saving on the weekly grocery bill.
The new work pace is strenuous. On top of that, my period arrived right on time. I’ve always suffered from a heavy flow that leaves me feeling weak. I order an iron supplement with my personal deliveries to boost me for the big night on Friday. The last thing I want is to fail my first dinner party test when my life depends on it.
Despite my period, Gabriel still comes to me at night, but instead of bringing me to the earthshattering climaxes I got used to, he fondles my body with backrubs and massages. It’s strange and out of character for him, not that he’s predictable. The more Magda pushes me, the kinder Gabriel acts toward me, which infuriates Magda. It’s a vicious circle between the two of them, and I’m caught in the middle.
