Chapter 6 — A Room I Wasn’t Paid to Clean

Ruth waited beside the open door.

“Matilda?”

I stepped inside.

The sitting room was larger than the apartment where my mother and I had lived before she died. A fire burned beneath a carved mantel. Beyond it, double doors led to Gabriel’s bedroom.

Another door stood open on the opposite side.

“That room is yours for now,” Ruth said.

I looked through it.

A bed with a pale blue cover. A bathroom. A chair beside a window overlooking the rear gardens.

There were flowers on the dresser.

I hoped somebody had simply forgotten to remove them.

“I can sleep downstairs.”

“You could,” Ruth said. “But you’re here.”

She said it so plainly that I couldn’t find a polite way to argue.

Mrs. Bell arrived with a nightshirt and a tray.

“There’s soup. Eat some before you lie down.”

She put both on the table.

I pulled the blanket more tightly around myself.

“Did Mr. Falcone really tell you I’m not working anymore?”

“He told me you’re not on my roster.”

“That isn’t the same thing.”

“No.”

She studied my face.

“We’ll sort it out when you’ve slept.”

When they left, I stood beside the bed for several minutes.

Then I showered.

Hot water ran over bruises I hadn’t seen yet. My shoulder was purple. My upper arm bore the marks of Carmine’s fingers.

I washed my hair carefully, trying not to wet the dressing on my palm.

In the bathroom mirror, my face looked younger without the severe bun. Wet curls framed my cheeks, and my eyes were swollen from crying.

Pretty, my mother would have said.

Tired, I thought.

I put on the nightshirt.

It fit.

That surprised me enough to make me check the label.

Someone had found the right size instead of expecting me to squeeze into whatever was available.

I ate half the soup and lay down.

Sleep came suddenly.

When I woke, sunlight had moved across the carpet, and low voices came through the sitting room.

For a moment, I didn’t know where I was.

Then I remembered the white sheet.

The gun.

Gabriel saying my name.

I sat up.

My ribs protested.

There was a gray dress folded on the chair, along with fresh underwear and a cardigan. Mrs. Bell must have brought them.

I dressed and opened the door.

Gabriel lay in his bed with the head raised. An IV stand stood beside him. Ruth was checking something on a tablet while Lorenzo spoke quietly near the window.

All three looked at me.

I wished I had stayed in my room.

“Did you sleep?” Gabriel asked.

“Yes.”

“How long?”

I looked toward the clock.

“I don’t know.”

“Good.”

His voice was stronger than it had been downstairs, though each sentence still seemed to cost him.

I hovered beside the doorway.

“Would you like coffee?”

Ruth said, “He’s restricted for now.”

“Tea?”

“Matilda,” Gabriel said.

I looked at him.

“Come sit.”

Lorenzo put away his phone.

“I’ll return this evening.”

Gabriel nodded.

Ruth checked the line once more, then followed Lorenzo into the sitting room.

I sat in the chair beside the bed.

Close enough that I could see the faint shadow along Gabriel’s jaw.

Far enough that I didn’t know what to do with my hands.

He noticed the cardigan.

“Are you cold?”

“No.”

“Then why are you wearing it?”

I looked down.

The dress fit my curves more closely than my uniform. Without the cardigan, I felt exposed.

“It’s comfortable.”

He let the answer stand.

“How’s your hand?”

“It hurts less.”

“Your shoulder?”

“Also less.”

“Are you telling me the truth?”

“Mostly.”

He looked at me for a moment, then exhaled.

I couldn’t tell whether it was amusement or fatigue.

On the bedside table, a glass stood near the edge.

I moved it inward.

Then I straightened the folded towel beneath the pitcher.

A used wrapper lay beside it. I picked that up, too.

Gabriel watched.

“You don’t need to clean.”

“I know.”

I wiped a drop of water with the towel.

“Matilda.”

My hand stopped.

“It’s only water.”

“And you’re injured.”

I sat back.

The silence stretched.

Finally, I said, “I don’t know how to be here.”

“Be here the way you were downstairs.”

“Downstairs, I thought you were dying.”

“I was.”

My throat tightened.

He looked toward the fire beyond the open bedroom door.

After a moment, he said, “Mitchell has been removed from my care.”

“Is Ruth staying?”

“Yes. Another physician will work with her.”

I nodded.

That helped more than I wanted to admit.

“What happened to the men downstairs?”

“Lorenzo and Dominic are handling it.”

“Mrs. Bell?”

“Still employed. So are the others who had nothing to do with Rossi.”

I let out a breath.

“You were worried.”

“They need their jobs.”

“So did you.”

“Do.”

He turned toward me.

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

I waited.

He seemed to understand why.

“You’ll continue receiving your pay while you recover. After that, we’ll decide what work suits you.”

“I know how to clean.”

“I’m aware.”

“It’s honest work.”

“I didn’t say otherwise.”

I looked at my bandaged hand.

He waited until I raised my eyes again.

“I don’t want you scrubbing floors because you think you have to earn a place upstairs.”

The words struck too close.

“I’m not trying to earn anything.”

“You moved the glass, folded the towel, and collected rubbish within a minute of sitting down.”

My face warmed.

“That could just mean you’re untidy.”

He gave a quiet laugh.

It caught in his chest, and his hand moved toward his bandages.

I stood.

“Should I call Ruth?”

He lifted his other hand.

“Give me a second.”

I waited until his breathing eased.

Then I sat again.

We talked for perhaps ten minutes. Nothing important at first. The storm expected that evening. The kitchen’s terrible decaffeinated coffee. The way Mrs. Bell insisted every fireplace needed cleaning even if nobody had used it.

His eyes grew heavy.

I lowered my voice.

“You should sleep.”

“Stay.”

The word came before his eyes closed.

I stayed until Ruth returned.

That evening, I went downstairs for my hairbrush and the few things in my locker.

At the linen closet, I heard Vanessa speaking to Elise.

“Of course he’s grateful. She saved his life.”

“Grateful enough for the master suite?”

“For now. Wait until he’s well.”

I stopped outside the door.

Elise lowered her voice.

“She’ll make a fool of herself if she thinks it means anything.”

I walked away before they saw me.

In my room, I put the brush on the dresser.

Beside the flowers.

I could withstand people mocking my body. I had practice.

Hope was more dangerous.

Hope made you offer them a new place to hurt you.

I packed my things back into the small canvas bag.

Then I went to Gabriel’s door.

He was awake.

“Something wrong?”

“I’d like to return to my room downstairs.”

He put aside the papers on his lap.

“Why?”

“The stairs are manageable. Ruth said I can walk.”

“That isn’t what I asked.”

I gripped the bag.

“I appreciate everything you’ve done.”

His expression changed.

“Who spoke to you?”

“Nobody important.”

“Tell me.”

“No.”

The refusal surprised both of us.

I swallowed.

“I don’t want somebody punished because I’m embarrassed.”

He leaned back slowly.

“Then tell me what you’re embarrassed about.”

I looked at the bed, the fire, the expensive watch that had been returned to his wrist.

“I don’t belong in these rooms.”

“You’ve worked in them for years.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes,” he said. “It is.”

I waited for him to continue.

He didn’t.

Finally, I forced myself to ask.

“Are you keeping me here because you feel obligated?”

“No.”

“You don’t have to repay me like this.”

“I know.”

“Then why?”

He looked at the bag in my hands.

For once, he seemed to consider every word before speaking.

“When I woke downstairs, I didn’t understand where I was. I couldn’t move properly. I heard voices, and none of them meant anything until I heard yours.”

My fingers loosened around the straps.

“This afternoon, I woke and you weren’t in the chair.”

“Ruth told me to rest.”

“I know that now.”

He glanced toward the empty seat.

“I called for you first.”

I couldn’t speak.

He looked back at me.

“I want you nearby, Matilda. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you. But don’t go because you’ve decided I can’t possibly mean it.”

I stood there with the little bag hanging from my hand.

Then I put it down.

“May I sit?”

Gabriel moved the papers off his lap.

“You don’t have to ask.”

I took the chair beside his bed.

After a moment, his hand rested on the mattress between us, palm open.

I placed my uninjured hand in it.