Worse Than Enemies

I can’t even blame her for that. Her fiancé is handsome and super rich and could have any woman he wanted, I’m sure. I haven’t been to many places, and I know there’s a lot I haven’t seen yet, but even I know stories about nannies and employers having affairs. Mom would want to make sure that doesn’t happen.

It’s like my mother hears me thinking about her. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sit here and watch a movie?” she asks on entering the room. Maybe she forgot about Bridget being there, or maybe she’s so deep in the habit of criticizing that she forgot herself for a minute. I look up at her in time to see her expression change from irritation to a motherly smile. “You have this whole house to explore and a bedroom to set up the way you want it. You don’t have to chain yourself to your sister.”

“I know. I’ll go up soon.” I doubt she would understand if I tried to explain, and I know better than to waste my breath. Just because Lucy has a nanny doesn’t mean I’m going to abandon her. This house seems huge enough to me. What must it seem like to a little kid? I want her to know she’s still important.

Besides, even setting up my bedroom isn’t enough to take Hayes off my mind. Since dinner, he hasn’t come downstairs that I know of, which is a good thing. But what am I supposed to do, walk on eggshells the rest of my life? Or at least for the rest of the year, until we go to college? Always having to look over my shoulder and make sure he’s nowhere near? Maybe we should set up a schedule for who gets to use the kitchen when.

That sounds ridiculous, but what’s the alternative? Getting slammed into a wall every day? He’s never hurt me, not the kind of hurt that lasts once the moment has passed, but when his eyes harden, it’s almost terrifying. There’s something dark and unpredictable inside him.

So dark, it’s almost easy to forget about the boy on the bridge. His eyes were hard, too, but they softened. There was sadness in him. I almost wish we had never met that morning because it’s the sadness that keeps me wanting to get through to him. I know there’s somebody good inside. What I don’t know is why he’s so determined to hide that part of himself.

“You don’t want to look ungrateful, do you?”

It’s obvious Mom’s not going to let this go. I shrug at my sister before getting up, grateful Mom doesn’t follow me up the stairs. Another thing I’m going to have to get used to is performing for my stepfather or face her blaming me for every little thing that goes wrong between them. I’ve been there before and don’t feel like going back.

At the top of the stairs, I can go either left or to the right. To the left are two guest rooms, and the master suite at the end. To the right, there’s Lucy’s room, Bridget’s, and mine. In that order.

Across from my room is Hayes’s. The door is closed, thank God. I tiptoe anyway, afraid to make too much noise before ducking into my room and closing the door without making a sound.

Now I can breathe. I lean against the door, looking around at what is the biggest and prettiest bedroom I’ve ever seen. It may be a little cliché, with its pink bedding and curtains, but it was nice of Mr. Ambrose to make it feel homey for me when I got here. If he asked Mom what I liked so he could add it, I doubt she would’ve known what to tell him.

There’s an enormous desk, a vanity with a mirror lined in lights, and shelves I can’t wait to fill with books. I unpack my clothes and change into pajamas before barely filling up half of the long dresser and walk-in closet. I wonder if I’ll ever feel like I fit in this life.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel comfortable trying to settle in. I can’t help it. I’ve already seen how what looks like a good relationship can fall apart. That’s what’s keeping me from relaxing into this new world. That, and how it was thrown at me all last minute.

I have my own private bathroom, too. That’s probably the best part of this whole thing, knowing I’ll have a shower and bathtub all to myself whenever I want to use them. There’s a bottle of bubble bath sitting on the shelf above the deep tub. Maybe I’ll use it, soak for a little while and try to ease the tension in my shoulders and neck.

No, I doubt even a bath will help with that. I turn off the lights and go to the bed, bouncing on it a little to test it out. I’m sure it would be okay for me to buy things that will make everything feel more like mine, but it still feels awkward to even think about spending his money. They aren’t even married yet, and we certainly don’t have the cash.