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I’m no one’s hero, but I can be their protector. I can keep them safe from the sick bastards who thought they’d get away with beating helpless women and children because no one wanted to admit what was really going on.
I try to stand back up, but that’s a bigger challenge than I anticipated. So instead, I scoot the beanbag closer to the hammock until Clara’s face is inches away from mine.
It’s the vodka in my veins that makes me tuck a strand of hair from her brow, that makes my fingers linger in her silky waves. It’s the liquor blurring my focus that makes me lean in and press a warm kiss to her full lips.
And it’s nothing but my drunken imagination that makes me feel like she’s kissing me back.
37
CLARA
I haven’t seen Demyen for a few days, but that’s just as well. I’m too busy holding up my end of the bargain as his newest maid to play his confusing mind games.
I also don’t have the courage to ask him what he was doing in Willow’s room the morning after that dinner party. Both Willow and I woke up with the first few rays of dawn and, to our surprise, Demyen was right there. Fast asleep on an overstuffed, outrageously pink beanbag chair, face smoothed clear of all its usual pent-up rage.
Willow had to clamp a hand over her mouth just so her giggles wouldn’t wake him. We took extra care to tiptoe over him, grab some clothes, and left to change in my new room.
Ever since then, I’ve been doing my damned best to forget how good it felt to have him watching over us.
Gloria, the head housekeeper, was the one who found me eating cereal in the kitchen and set a stack of clean, folded uniforms on the table next to my bowl. “The workday starts at seven,” was all she said before she quickly turned on her heel and left the room.
She’s a stern but kind woman, and always ready to help me figure out where everything is. One thing she didn’t have to teach me washowto do all the cleaning—I’ve been scrubbing Martin’s mud off the floors for years. And even before him, my father made me do all the household chores after Mama died.
The only thing Gloria has needed to teach me is how to not flinch over every little mistake.
I got the ratio of cleaning solution to water wrong and it started rubbing off the paint in one of the sunrooms. I panicked so hard, I started shaking and couldn’t breathe.
“¡Dios mio!” Gloria muttered when she found me kneeling and bawling over the sudsy bucket. “Pull yourself together,mija.”
“B-but Dem—I mean, Mr. Zakrevsky?—”
“Won’t know and won’t care.” Gloria pried the sponge from my clenched fingers and tossed it into the bucket. “Breathe. In through your nose… Good,sí… Now, out through your mouth. And now, we start again.”
“But the wall?—”
“Will be fixed by Maintenance. Come.” She pulled me to my feet without waiting for me to respond and wiped away the tears I didn’t even know had fallen. “Look at me,mija.”
I did as she said. She’s older, probably old enough to have grandchildren, and despite her brusque way of going about her business, she exudes a warmth I’ve been missing since Mama.
“Wherever you were? You are not there now.”
I sniffed. At first, I didn’t know what she meant. She must have seen the confusion in my eyes, because she gently took my chin in her grasp and gave me a soft little shake.
“Mistakes happen. And anyone who can’t forgive them doesn’t deserve your time or your effort. Especially you,mija. You are far too lovely and far too strong to waste time on men who don’t respect you.”
“‘Strong’?” I snorted. “Hardly.”
Gloria clicked her tongue at me and shook her head. “Look at where you are. And look at where you’ve been. No, Mr. Zakrevsky did not tell me anything. He doesn’t have to. It’s all over your face, in your eyes, in that forced smile of yours. You have seen hell.” She grabbed my chin again, gently, just to make sure I was still looking her in the eyes. “But you are not there anymore.”
That was the only time we ever discussed my past. And, if I’m being honest with myself, it was a moment that made me reconsider my situation and zone out through most of my chores for the rest of the day.
She was right: I’m not in hell anymore. As much as Demyen lords himself over me, it’s completely different from Martin. With Martin, the slightest mistake could set him off. I never knew when, either. One day, he’d laugh off a glass of spilled milk, but a week later, he’d backhand me for being so clumsy and careless with his food.
Gloria forced me to pull out of those shadows and realize I keep waiting for Martin to appear and throw me against the wall. But he’snothere. He doesn’t live here, he doesn’t have access to meor my personal space, and, more importantly—he doesn’t have access to Willow.
If there’s one thing that constantly reminds me of how much better life finally is, it’s my sweet little girl. She’s flourishing here. I’ve always loved her smile, but I never realized how much her father dimmed her joy until we started living here. I never knew how brightly she could grin and laugh and squeal with joy over the simplest things, like a butterfly landing on a cactus blossom, or a few extra sprinkles on Bambi’s signature ice cream sundae.
Finally, last night, I laid in bed and cried. It felt like a “finally” because some sort of deeply-buried pressure was released. Emotions I never allowed myself to feel came to the surface and I was finally, finally,finallyable to let them out.
