What isn’t comforting is the way Blue looked at me today when I found that kid and pulled him out of the hole.
Today she looked at me like I moved the stars.
It hurt.
It still does.
I never thought it would. Never thought that naïve, innocent, warm look in her eyes would be so glaring and harsh.
Never thought it would make me angry.
It made me want to remind her who I was.
But it also made me want to grab her and kiss the fuck out of those blue-painted lips.
And that can never happen.
She won’t let it.
Everyone thinks he’s the prince.
The savior. The hero.
They haven’t stopped talking about how he pulled Art out from the hole. Everywhere I turn, someone is talking about the new Mr. Prince.
The cooking staff fawns over him when he goes to eat breakfast. Grace claims that he smiled at her while they were passing each other by in the hallway. Doris calls him my good boy.
“I handed him the bottle,” Leslie breathes to a group of us standing by the stairs in the servant’s wing, going upstairs to the first floor. “He was working out by the pool and I was coming out of the pool house, you know. He was like, hey, excuse me? Can you hand me that bottle of water? I had a fresh bottle of water.” I roll my eyes at that obvious statement, but she goes on, “I did and…” She pauses to sigh. “Our fingers touched.”
“Really?” Grace’s eyes are wide.
“Yes. Oh my God, his fingers. They were just so warm.”
I grit my teeth. I know all about his fingers. I know how warm they are, how rough, how the pads are callused and scraped.
I know what they feel like when they’re on my thighs, in my hair, on my pulse.
I know.
As they talk and talk like they know him, I admit that I’m kind of jealous. It’s been a week since he rescued Art and I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.
Not even once.
It’s not as if we’re friends or anything, that I can casually walk up to him and say, hey. In fact, up until a few days ago, I was praying for him to leave. Although now I’m thinking, what if he leaves and I don’t get to say something?
It’s not that I don’t see him. We live in the same place. Of course I see him.
And I mostly see him with Art.
Since Art’s accident, I’ve apologized to Doris a thousand times. She’s pretty chill about it but I can’t get rid of the guilt. I’ve said sorry to Art too but again, he doesn’t mind.
These days, he’s pretty happy actually. Courtesy of Zach.
I’ve seen them together numerous times. Mostly, they’re by the pool and I see them while going back from my shift. I deliberately walk slowly just to watch them together. Sometimes Zach works out – he works out twice a day; it’s crazy – and he lets Art be his spotter. Art counts his reps and claps when he’s done and tries to imitate him.
One time I saw Zach lying on the ground with Art in his arms, straight up. Grunting, he lowered Art, who laughed like he’d never seen anything funnier. Then, Zach raised him in the air again, like he was doing bench presses. Only instead of weights, he had Art.
I think my knees trembled at the sight.
I never knew Zach could be so… sweet and sexy at the same time.
A few times, I’ve walked up to them to pick up Art on my way back because Doris still somehow wants me to watch him while she’s working.
But Zach and I, we don’t talk. He doesn’t even look at me. Sometimes it feels like he can’t stand the sight of me. And I don’t understand why. I don’t understand why it bugs me.
The only person who isn’t a fan of Zach’s is Tina. She hates him, and that’s saying something.
“God, I can’t believe how everyone’s so crazy about him. Can’t you see, people? He’s the devil. Fine, he saved Art. But what about all the other things he’s done? What about them? People can be so stupid.”
“You sound like me,” I tell her while dusting the library in tower two one day.
“You know, I’m glad you’re moving on and all. But you need to be more upset about this.” Then she gasps. “You know what would be the best thing ever? You should go out with Ryan. That’ll show him.”
“Oh, here’s another great idea: why don’t you go out with Ryan? You used to like him as much as me.”
She goes quiet and it takes me about ten seconds to figure out why. And when I do, my squeal is loud. I mean, really loud.
“Oh my God, you like him,” I shout, poking her shoulder with my duster. “God, Tina. Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I don’t like him.” She rubs her shoulder. “I mean, I used to like him but not anymore.”
“Either stop lying or stop blushing. You like him and you’re going out with him.”
“I’m –”
“And I’m dressing you up.”
“No way.”
“Yup.”
Tina looks at me guiltily. “But I don’t –”
“Look, Ryan’s great but…” I repeat what Zach said to me that night in his bathroom while he was dressing my wounds. “But he wouldn’t have made me happy.”
***
I promised Maggie that I wouldn’t break into the main house under any circumstances.
Not to mention, the suite I want to break into belongs to the guy who told me to stay away from him.
But I’m not much of a rule-follower. Besides, I deliberately left my phone in the staff room on the off-chance that it might come to this. If someone catches me, I have a perfect excuse.
So I’m in my stealth mode again. Black hoodie, black shorts and quiet leather boots.
Okay, in my defense, I’ve tried everything else. It’s the dead of the night and I can’t sleep. I should be tired after a full day’s work but I’m not. I even read the books I bought on astronomy; apparently, I’m into reading these days.
And stargazing.
Every night for the past week, I’ve searched for Orion. I looked it up on the internet. It’s a winter constellation, supposed to be only visible from January to March.
It’s winter here – although, all we ever feel is the heat – but I can never see it.
I’m very quietly walking to the door of our cottage when I see a flash of black in my peripheral vision.
I dash to the window and open an inch of the drapes. Someone’s walking across the yard. More stumbling than walking. It’s a drunk walk.
And it’s Zach.
Oh my God, what are the chances?
What is he doing here?
As I press my palm on the window, he turns and looks directly at my cottage. I’m not sure if he can see me peeking at him through the drapes, but he’s frowning at the window, like he’s mad.
Frantically, I look around at the other cottages. They are dark and sleepy. But what if someone wakes up and finds him here?
What is he thinking?
A second later, he falls to the ground and all my thoughts vanish. I’m running out the door before I can stop myself. I practically fall beside his sprawled form.
“Zach? You okay?”
Turns out, I shouldn’t have bothered. Because he opens his eyes and they look clear and alert. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
I sit back on my heels. “Because you just fell. Just like that. Under my window.”
He shrugs. And then frowns as he takes me in. “What are you wearing?”
I look down at myself, my black hoodie and my shorts. “What?”
“Were you planning on breaking the law again?”
I swallow and fist my hands on my knees. “No.”
Yes.
His lopsided smile is slow to come and that’s how I know he’s a little drunk. That and his boozy, musky smell.
Zach looks away from me and toward the sky.
A few seconds pass in silence and I stare at him like a lovesick fool.
I am a fool, in any case. Because I was going to break the law just so I could talk to him. The guy who’s made me cry countless times. The guy who’s repeatedly insulted me, hurt me and tormented me.
My bully.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Watching the stars.”
I look at the cottages again. They’re still dark, without a hint of movement. “Why are you watching them from practically under my window?”
He shrugs again.
Now that I’m close to him, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to go away but I don’t know how to stay, either.
“Watch them from your room up in tower two, okay? Get up.”
Finally, he focuses on me, his eyes both shadowed and bright from the moonlight. Which kind of looks buttery and yellow when it touches his skin.
“Do I look like I can get up?”
He goes back to staring at the sky. His breaths are unhurried, lazy almost, like he’s soaking up the night one puff of air at a time.
Even sprawled like this, he looks powerful. As if he’s the only guy in this whole wide world. The rest of us are inconsequential.
Or maybe it’s not power. It’s the loneliness.
Has he always been lonely? I can’t remember. My hatred for him was so strong that I never paid attention to anything below the surface.
Sighing, I get up and offer him my hand. “Come on. Let’s get you away from here.”
Zach carefully observes my hand for at least ten seconds before taking it in sluggish movements. Our hands clasp, mine clammy with all the nervous sweat and his hot and dry.
And scratchy.
Swallowing, I tighten my fingers around his and pull him with all my strength. He doesn’t even budge. He lies there, staring up at me, as if he couldn’t care less about the whole thing.
Staring back at him, I pull again.
Not even a twitch.
But then, I feel him curling his fingers around mine tightly. And before I can even gasp, he yanks me down.
My breath is knocked out as soon as I make contact with his hard body.
“What the…” I squeak in shock.