“I hope you do. It’s never wise to stop eating. It makes things worse,” she points out. “I thought you might like something sugary. My specialty here is pastries. Do you like pastries? I don’t know anyone who doesn’t.”
I can see she’s trying to be friendly and make me feel comfortable. I decide I won’t be the bitch I was yesterday. Truthfully, I need someone to talk to, and the worst thing I could do in my situation is make enemies with the house staff.
“I like pastries,” I reply. “Those look great. Thanks for making them for me.”
She looks pleased and relieved at my answer. “You’re welcome. I think you’ll like the macaroons. They’re actually an old recipe from Mrs. D’Agostino, Massimo’s mother. She loved adding cinnamon.”
His mother… What must she be like?
“When do I get to meet her?” I ask. Better to ask questions like that to someone like Priscilla, because talking to Massimo is like talking to a wall.
The crestfallen look on Priscilla’s face, however, suggests I’ve asked a question I shouldn’t have.
“I’m sorry, dear. You won’t. She died many years ago. But we keep her spirit alive in our memories and all the things she loved.”
I press my lips together as a pang of guilt sweeps through me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know. I don’t know much about the D’Agostino family,” I confess.
“That’s okay. I’ve… worked for the family for a long time. I knew Massimo and his brothers when they were little.”
“He has brothers?”
“Three. I’m certain you’ll meet them very soon.”
She speaks fondly of them. Very fondly. If she’s been with the family for such a long time, she must know the ins and outs of what they get up to. As I look at her, I try to think of what Massimo told her in relation to me.
“Do you know why I’m here?” I ask in a small voice.
She nods uneasily. “Yes. I do know. News has travelled that you will be marrying Massimo in a few weeks, but I was informed on the day of your arrival.”
My breath catches when I think of that type of news going out to everyone. Family. And Jacob.
He never got to tell me how he felt about me. I know that was what he wanted to talk about that night, and now he’s heard I’m getting married. What must he think?
She walks up to me and rests a hand on my shoulder. “Eat. Just eat and take it from there. I’ll be back in a little while with some shampoos and accessories you can use in your hair. It will help you to… get used to the place.”
I nod my thanks. I don’t ask anything else because I know there’s no point.
No point in asking if I can go outside. No point in asking when my things will get here. No point in asking if I can call Jacob.
When she leaves, I walk to the food, and the minute I take one bite of a chicken salad sandwich, my taste buds open and I find myself scarfing down the food. One sandwich after the other disappears down my throat, and the pastries too.
The tray probably held food enough for three people, but I eat it all. When I’m done, there’s nothing but crumbs left on the plates. I’m so full I have to lie down.
Priscilla returns a little later with a basket of nail polishes, shampoos, and all sorts of things I would normally indulge in on the regular from Bath and Body Works.
I spend the day distracting myself with the contents of the basket. I wash my hair and spend hours in the bathtub, soaking my wounds from Massimo’s ruthless hand.
When night falls, I lie in the bed for the first time and find myself thinking about him as my head hits the pillows. I wonder where he is. It must be well into the night now because the days are longer during the summer months. In LA, we can have daylight right up until eight o’clock.
Is he with that woman?
Is this how I’ll spend my nights? Alone and wondering whoae bed he’s sleeping in?
Maybe he’s here and in his bedroom. I don’t know. I don’t even know where his room is.
Is she in there with him?
Will she be at the wedding? I saw the way she looked at me. I was too far away to see her face properly, but I saw enough to note the scowl and vindictive expression that wrinkled her pretty face. She saw me watching before he did, which was when she started to touch him, like she was marking her territory.