Like there’s no shame in having curves.
I hold my head high, defiantly. “Yes. That kind of thing. So what are you doing these days?”
She giggles and waves an arm down her front. “Partying.” Then, soberly, “I’m in college.”
I widen my eyes in mock excitement. “No way. You got into college.” I clap my hands. “So why aren’t you in college right now?”
Ashley kind of glares but her tipsiness is making it a little difficult. “Because Zach’s here. Oh! I guess Zach’s your boss now. So what d’you call him? Mr. Prince?”
There it is again. That stupid name that people want me to address him with.
“No. I call him asshole.”
This time her glare’s perfect, like it used to be.
“Since you’re here, why don’t you fetch me a glass for this?” She gestures to the bottle.
Right. The maid jokes.
“I’m off duty. Why don’t you help yourself for once?”
I try to leave but she stops me. She watches me a beat and I’m about to tell her to back off when I feel something. Something chilly and liquid splashing down my chest. It’s her wine.
She’s spilling her wine down my front with a malicious smile.
I’m frozen, completely paralytic.
I can’t believe she’s dousing me, my mom’s nightgown, in red wine.
When the bottle is empty, she cocks her head to the side. “I wish I could help myself but I’m kind of clumsy. And looks like I’m out of wine too.”
I can’t say anything. Not yet.
Not when I can feel the thick droplets of wine sluicing down my chest.
“I’d say sorry about that.” Ashley motions to the red stain that’s slowly seeping into the fabric. “But I think it gives you good color. I don’t think blue’s your thing at all.”
To prove her point, she looks at my hair. It’s loose and falling down my back like my mom’s used to when she was alive and she’d come into my room to tuck me in for the night.
“Yeah, blue’s not your color.”
I breathe deep but all it does is move my chest, making the droplets slide down faster. The nightie is stuck to my skin, heavy and clammy, and my heart’s gaining speed. It’s pounding like it’s insane.
She turns around and sets the wine bottle on the island. “Maybe try something else for a change. Like, I don’t know, going back to your normal hair color and eating less. And yeah, wearing something that’s not so very eighties.”
That’s it.
That’s the final straw.
A growl rises up in my throat and I take a step toward her. I see a flash of her eyes widening before a voice booms in the room.
“What the fuck is going on?”
His voice.
It’s rough and invades the air around us.
I whip my eyes over to where he’s standing at the threshold. As soon as our gazes clash, he moves toward me.
In the background, I can hear rustles and more movements. Footsteps. I guess we woke up the on-call staff. But I don’t care about that. And neither do I care about the fact that Ashley skips over to him and winds her talon-like hands around his bicep.
“What the hell’s happening?” he asks again with a deep frown.
I raise my chin. “Why don’t you ask your girlfriend?”
Ashley goes to say something but Zach throws her a look and her mouth closes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
Ashley pouts. “I swear your house is so fucking confusing. I got lost.”
“It helps if you’re sober,” Zach says, seriously. Angrily, even.
But she chuckles like a moron, or rather like a drunk moron.
Seriously, how cliché can you get?
“And then.” She turns to me, looking at the red stain on my nightie. “Then, I found her.”
Zach focuses on me, his eyes roving over my face. “Are you okay?”
It’s a simple question but I can’t seem to answer. I stand there, staring at him like I’ve forgotten all the words.
Maybe because his voice had turned intimate and low when he asked the question. Or it could be because this is the second time he’s asked me that. This surreal question. Like he cares what happens to me.
Before I can gather my wits, Ashley begins talking and she tells him how disrespectful I’ve been toward her, and that I should be fired for insubordination.
When she stops, Zach’s eyes move lower, and for the first time tonight, I realize that my mom’s nightie is light and made of cotton. And it has a plunging neckline and Zach can see all of that.
“What happened to your dress?” he asks.
I snap my robe closed, hiding my nightie. I don’t want him to look at my ruined clothes. His stare makes everything worse, stickier.
“Doesn’t matter. I have work tomorrow and I need to go sleep.”
And I need my mom and dad to come back.
I should leave now that it’s all over but my legs won’t move. They are trapped by the sudden thought in my head.
Usually, I’m good with burying everything inside and doing what needs to be done. I’m good with putting a date on my fucked-upness. Delaying dealing with it until I get my house back.
But standing here, in front of the guy who’s always tormented me and liked it, I feel so alone. I never told my parents about the bullying and the pranks but now, the choice has been taken away from me. I couldn’t tell them even if I wanted to.
They are not here anymore.
There’s no one to save me. From the world.
From him.
“Are you crying?” he asks with a frown.
At his question, I realize that yes, I am. And just like that my tears turn into something hot. Something like anger because what the fuck am I doing, showing weakness in front of him.
“No, I’m not,” I tell him in a clear, stern voice. “I don’t cry. Especially not in front of people who don’t give a fuck.”
He said that to me once, actually.
Didn’t your mom teach you to not cry in front of people who don’t give a fuck?
Even though it was years ago, I can see he remembers it, too. He knows what I’m talking about. It’s in the way he’s looking down at me, with such intensity.
Such… connection.
Like we share something.
I hate that.
I hate that we share a history. I hate that he’ll always be a part of my life. He’ll always own a corner of my soul.
“Is it the dress?” he asks.
This is the moment when Ashley chimes in, “Oh please, don’t be a baby. It was an honest mistake and it’s only a dress.” Then, she mutters under her breath, “And not a very good one at that.”
The growl that’s been building up inside me finally escapes.
“What’d you just say?” I narrow my eyes because I’ve had it with her.
I’ve fucking had it with everyone. I’m going to fucking rearrange her face.
She flinches at my question. “Excuse me?”
I think I hear gasps.
I was right. The staff members are up and about and they’re probably watching this altercation right now. But no one dares to enter the kitchen. Maybe because Mr. Prince is here.
Fuck it. I don’t care who’s watching; I’m not backing down.
I take a threatening step toward her. “Say it again. I dare you.”
Ashley moves back. “You’ve lost your mind.”
I laugh. “And you’re so going to lose your teeth right now.”
With that, I launch myself at her, or try to.
But suddenly, Zach is holding me hostage. His fingers are wrapped around my biceps and my body is flush with his.
“That’s enough.”
Even through the shocked shrieks and gasps of people around me – definitely everyone’s watching – I hear his low growl. It inflames my anger.
“Let go of me.”
“Not until you’ve calmed down.”
I struggle against his hold but all he does is clench his jaw and flex his grip around my arms. “I swear to God, Zach, let me go or I’ll scream this fucking house down.”
His black eyes flash. “That’s the second time you’ve threatened me with it. Keep it up and I’ll give you a real reason to scream.”
Zach appears menacing, glaring down at me. His words highlight the fact that he’s bigger and stronger than he was three years ago. Every muscle in his body is bunched up and stacked, fraught with power. And my front is smashed with his.
I swallow. In real fear.
No one would dare step forward if he decides to do something. Not a single person. Servants don’t have power over the rich.
“Let me go,” I say with clenched teeth.
His impossibly thick eyelashes flicker as he studies my face, my neck – I will the rapidly beating vein on the side of it to slow down, to not show fear – and then, finally, his eyes settle on my chest. Thankfully, it’s covered with the robe.
He lets me go and I take a stumbling step back. My biceps have lost feeling under the force of his grip and I wish I could reach up and rub my nerves awake but what he says next stops me.
“I’ll have your dress replaced.”
My breath gets stuck in my throat, and almost becomes a hiccup. Did he just casually say that he’ll replace the only thing I have left of my dead mother?
“You’ll have it replaced,” I respond in a flat voice.
“It shouldn’t be that hard to find a replacement.”
His lips barely move when he says it. It’s so unimportant to him that his body doesn’t even put the effort into the words.
I’m aware that he doesn’t know the importance of my dress. He doesn’t know that this was my mom’s or how I cling to it every night, foolishly searching for her warmth, her presence. The fabric doesn’t even smell like her anymore; I’ve washed it too many times.
I foolishly think that if I have something of hers with me, touching my skin, she isn’t really gone. She’s here, watching over me.