Total pages in book: 767
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 732023 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 3660(@200wpm)___ 2928(@250wpm)___ 2440(@300wpm)
At the sound of the running tap, Oscar twitches his ears.
“Are you thirsty? Where’s your bowl?”
When I move toward the door, he jumps to his feet and scoots past me to the scullery. There, next to the dishwasher, are two porcelain bowls, one filled with water and the other with kibbles. It doesn’t take me long to locate the bag of pet food under the sink. It’s a cheap brand, one with more fiber than nutritional value. Typically, it’s manufactured to fill, but not to nourish. I top off the food, rinse the water bowl before refilling it with fresh water, and make myself at home on the floor next to Oscar where I feed him pieces of the ham and cheese I dig out of the sandwich. Not the healthiest meal for him, either, but at least it’s tastier than the cardboard they’re feeding him. The food makes Oscar my new best friend. As I set the table and bring the laundry in from outside, he stays by my side, stealing hopeful glances at me that I can only reward with caresses, at least until I have my own groceries.
It’s late, but I’m worried I won’t have time to catch up with all the outstanding work tomorrow, so I fold the clothes I can and put the shirts and dresses for ironing aside. As I wait for the iron to heat up in the scullery, I hear sounds in the kitchen. Immediately, my stomach tightens. How, I don’t know, but I know it’s him. It’s as if the air thickens, making it difficult to breathe. I pinch my eyes shut and hold my breath, hoping he’ll leave, but the iron hisses and spits, giving away my hiding place.
At the sound, Gabriel sticks his head around the corner. His eyes fix on me, and then on Oscar by my feet. It’s difficult to read him. He’s looking at me like he’s appraising me or trying to find fault. I hate that he makes me fear. I hate even more that he makes me curious. I try not to stare, but the scars on his face have a magnetic pull on my gaze. What kind of weapon creates such scars? What kind of man survives it? I can’t look away from the challenge in his stare.
Finally, the harsh lines of his mouth soften a fraction. “You better serve dinner while it’s warm.” Abruptly, he turns and leaves.
I let go of the breath I was holding, my chest deflating as his presence fades and the air decompresses again.
Carly sits at the table opposite her father, a smart phone in her hand, when I enter with a tray loaded with dishes. She doesn’t look up from texting as I place everything in the center of the table. In contrast, Gabriel’s eyes follow me around the room. I become intensely aware of my clothes and the state of my body. My skin is shiny with perspiration. I need a shower. To add to my discomfort, he inhales audibly as I sweep past him.
When the tray is offloaded, he nods at me. “Serve us, then leave.”
I lift the lid on the bowl of rice and carry it to Carly. “Rice, miss?” I try to hide my discomfort as I’m forced to grovel and bow to my brother’s enemy.
No reply. Her head remains bent over her phone, causing her wheat-colored hair to fall in a veil around her face. I hover until the slam of Gabriel’s palm on the table make both Carly and I jump. The cutlery and glasses clatter from the force.
“Put away your phone, Carly. If I see it at the dinner table again, I’ll confiscate it.”
She glares at him with a cool, blue gaze. “Then I’ll have dinner at Mom’s.”
A muscle twitches under one eye before he narrows both. “You’re welcome to, but since I pay your allowance, your phone stays here.”
She throws the phone down on the table, the mobile hitting the wood with a thud. “Fine.”
“Valentina asked you a question.”
She looks at me as if I’m the reason for their argument. “What?” “Rice, miss?” I repeat, keeping my face void of emotion.
“For God’s sake.” She sighs with an exaggerated eye roll. “Call me Carly. I hate to be called miss.”
“Rice, Carly?” I say flatly.
She steals a glance at her father and mumbles, “What the hell ever.”
Gabriel’s knuckles turn white around the stem of his glass. I can’t get out of there fast enough. The atmosphere is so thick with tension I want to choke. I return to my ironing and listen, but there’s nothing but the clanging of their cutlery and the clinking of their glasses as the meal progresses in silence.
By the time they’re done, so am I. All the shirts are folded to perfection, a hated curse pressed into every, neat line. The dining room is empty when I clear the table. Loud music comes from upstairs. I don’t want to contemplate the difficulties of Gabriel’s relationship with his daughter. I don’t care.