Page 23 of Vengeful Vows

I want to scream, or better yet, walk away from it all, but I can’t. The indecent length of the split in my skirt persuaded the bowling alley manager to a ten percent discount last week, but the on-call doctor who did a house visit was female and married.

The bill for her visit means I’ll have to salvage more than the remnants at the bottom of a burned pot to make it through the next month not hungry.

After stocking my cart with cleaning products and toilet paper that is too soft not to lint in the backside of anyone fortunate enough to use it, I rub my temples, trying to ease the tension headache forming there.

Not all the throb is compliments of staying up past midnight, handwashing my uniform and handbag for today. A lot of it belongs on the shoulders of the name at the top of my cleaning schedule, and wondering if he’s the reason my hair is pulled back into a tight, headache-producing, and highly unflattering bun.

I’d only recently replaced the product I use sparingly since it cost over thirty dollars a bottle, but when I went to wash Tillie’s vomit out of my hair Monday night, my shampoo was nowhere to be seen.

I couldn’t call Ark and accuse him of stealing my shampoo. That would be preposterous considering he’d spent four times that for a cab to drive us home, and don’t get me started on the food he left behind when I kicked him out. But I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t a bit peeved.

My cocoa butter and rose shampoo is the only luxury item I kept from my childhood. It reminds me of the innocence that was cruelly stripped from me and how keeping some memories of my past unlocked will ensure Tillie never faces the same hurt I did.

I shake off thoughts that will strengthen my headache before checking my cleaning cart is appropriately stocked. The more I try to keep my focus off Ark, the more my temples pound. The guests Ark is anticipating have requested things most men don’t use.

Makeup-removing wipes have numerous purposes, but sanitary pads are a little more telling of the gender of the people about to plump out Ark’s apartment from two bodies to six.

I can’t help but wonder when Ark’s invitation went out. Was it before or after we kissed?

My ego wants to say it was before, but considering I’ve not heard hide nor hair of Ark since we locked lips, I assume it is the latter.

After a quick shoulder roll and a prompt reminder that Ark is out of my league, I ensure I have everything in order before heading to the first apartment on my cleaning roster.

When I reach Ark’s apartment, I take a deep breath to clear my voice of nerves before gently knocking on the servants’ entrance door. “H-housekeeping.”

I wait a moment. Then, when no one answers, I use the master key to enter.

Not wanting to burst Ark’s privacy bubble for the third time in under a week, I continue to announce my presence while heading toward the primary suite. “Arkadiy?”

We usually address tenants by their surnames, but the disdain on Arkadiy’s face when he gave me his preferences ensures Arkadiy will be as formal as my greetings will go.

“Are you h-home?”

I startle when a voice from the side breaks through the thudding of my pulse in my ears. “He isn’t here.” Rafael smiles to assure me he is remorseful for my jump before he says, “He had a handful of errands to run before... he… ah…”

I nod, saving us both from the embarrassment of him admitting I’m the cause of Ark’s absence.

Gratitude flares through Rafael’s kind eyes before he asks, “Is there anything I can help you with?”

“No. Thank you.” I hook my thumb to the primary suite, my hand’s shake noticeable. “I sh-should get a start. My s-schedule is full today.”

Rafael smiles like he isn’t disgusted that I clean strangers’ messes for a living or that I speak with a stutter. “All right. Let me know if you need anything.”

I mimic his gesture before making a beeline for Ark’s room, my pace fast. The quicker I get this apartment sparklingly clean, the faster I can move on to wallowing in another million-dollar abode I could have lived in for free if I had accepted Maksim Ivanov’s generosity six months ago.

I declined his offer of a rent-free apartment because I firmly believe in karma. If someone helps you, it is your moral obligation to help someone else. If you do something bad, expect something bad in return.

That’s how life should work. Does it always transpire as intended? Not always, but for the most part, the odds have swayed in my favor, so I will continue with my beliefs until they are proven inadequate.

The scent of someone recently showering fills the air when I enter Ark’s room. The towels dumped at the foot of the bed announce that the bathroom is void of a soul, but I still check, just in case.

It’s empty—of people.

The bottle of shampoo I’ve been seeking for the past three days is present, though, and it makes me confused about Ark’s game plan.

It isn’t like he can’t afford his own shampoo. The produce he purchased from a local market wasn’t from the bagged seconds stock I usually veer for every payday. It is top-shelf produce that comes with a surcharge. Even the sparkling water I stacked in the bar’s mini refrigerator last week cost more per gallon than my favorite haircare brand.

My nails nick the label of the shampoo bottle when a voice sounds from behind me. “Before I forget, I was meant to ask you…” Rafael stops talking when my jump can’t be missed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

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