Beauty in the Broken

Zane crosses his arms. “Why would the cheque be in a file?”

“I don’t know. I was just looking around the desk.”

He lifts a finger while extracting his phone from his pocket. “Stay right there.”

I already know who he’s calling before he hits dial.

“Zane, please. I don’t want you to bother him at work for a cheque. I can wait.”

“Shut up.” He turns his back on me. “Dami? Just caught your wife snooping around in your study. What would you like me to do about it?”

My heart beats cold as he listens to Damian’s response. If Damian gives him permission to hurt me, Zane will make it matter. He hates me enough to put everything into it. My heart trips over a beat as Zane looks back at me from over his shoulder.

“She says she’s looking for a cheque for bat boxes.”

Another small silence passes as Damian replies.

Animosity contorts Zane’s features. “I’ll tell her.” He pockets the phone. “Get the company to send him the invoice.”

“I’ll do that.”

He tilts his head toward the door. “Get out.”

Zane scares me because he’s stronger and bigger, but I’m less intimidated knowing why he hates me. “Does that mean the study is off-limits? This is, after all, my home.”

His face turns so red it shows through his bronze skin. “Get the fuck out before I throw you out.”

Russell appears in the door. “Is there a problem?”

“It’s solved,” Zane replies. “Your presence is unneeded.”

“Mrs. Hart.” Russell holds the door for me, offering his unspoken protection.

I take it gladly, sailing past Zane and feeling his stare burn on my back all the way into the hallway.

“The way I’ve been taught,” Russell says in a lowered voice, “men don’t swear at ladies.”

There’s arrogance in Zane’s tone. “I’m not doing anything her husband isn’t.”

No, he’s not. What does that say about me? I’m not high on either’s list when it comes to respect.

The day evolves with me eating as if it’s going out of fashion. I steal bread rolls from the table and add them to my stash. Between meals, I search room after room on a pretense of getting familiar with the house. I start with Damian’s closet, looking in every drawer and going as far as searching his jacket pockets.

When I’m too despondent to carry on, I get Damian’s email address from Russell and send him the quotes from the bat box companies before venturing outside to find out where the bats are nesting. There’s nothing under the gutters or in the trees. I contemplate asking the gardener, Andries, but he looks at me so sourly I decide against it. Russell, who’s following me around at a respectable distance, finally asks what I’m looking for. He says he’s never spotted any bats, and that it was probably just a bird.

Deciding to take a look under the summerhouse awning, I make my way to the pool, but stop short when I spot Anne drifting on a float. I’m standing behind the ornamental scrubs where she can’t see me. She’s wearing a red bikini that shows off her curves. She’s rounded everywhere I’m not, and her skin has a healthy, tanned color. Drifting in the inviting blue water with only her fingers submerged, she’s a sight to behold. Lovely. Womanly.

I both envy and resent her for her freedom. It’s over thirty degrees. The sweat trickling down my back reminds me how overdressed I am for this heat. No one is stopping me from going to the pool. It’s what’s stopping me, the horrible scars and their meaning, the shame of anyone knowing.

“Why don’t you take a dip?” Russell suddenly asks next to me.

Not having heard him coming up, I jump a little. “I’m good.”

“This is your home.” His gaze trails to Anne as if she’s an intruder.

“Is it?”

Immediately, I want to bite my tongue. I shouldn’t have said that. Not to him. I already went too far with my honesty yesterday. His look is understanding, and it only makes the situation worse. My cheeks heat with embarrassment at what I’ve just admitted, and to Damian’s employee, no less.

I turn back for the house. “Do you stay on the property?”

“I go home. Clock off at eight or nine.”

“Who’s standing guard at night?”

“There’s a regular shift that comes in.”

“Do you know Damian personally?”

“I only work for the security company he employs.”

“When you clock off, do you go home to a family?”

He stops to look at me. Oh, no. That didn’t come out right. I gave him the wrong idea.

I quickly add, “I’m just curious to know if you have children.”

“We don’t discuss our private lives. Protocol.”

“I understand.”

I hurry to the house, feeling like an idiot for trying to make a friend. What the hell am I thinking? Damian’s guards are not my friends.

As I’m stepping through the door, he says, “I don’t have children.”