Page 25 of Vengeful Vows

The heat of covetousness is as hot as the inferno I was endeavoring to sidestep by being honest.

Not speaking another word, Rafael exits the bathroom, leaving me dumbfounded.

Again, I’d love a few minutes to deliberate, but that option is even more out of my reach now. I accused an owner of stealing. Things can’t get direr on the job front for me.

After rolling up my sleeves and breathing out a handful of butterflies my stomach hasn’t been without for the past week, I get to work.

I first strip Ark’s bed and gather the high-thread linen into a bundle before placing it into my cart. Time moves fast since I’m bobbing along to the tracks Tillie added to my playlists yesterday afternoon, instead of contemplating my many erroneous mistakes.

Tillie was in that stage of sickness where she was no longer contagious but not quite herself enough to go to school. While we did a jigsaw puzzle, she doubled my assurance that her birthday party was the best party she’d ever attended.

She doesn’t have much to go off. My shameful theatrics in my apartment Monday afternoon prove when your trust is low, you palm the neurosis onto more than your children.

I’ve declined every invite Tillie has received in the past five years.

The pure bliss on her face when she recalled how loudly her friends sang “Happy Birthday” has me hopeful I can loosen the reins enough that she will have both a safe and happy childhood.

A smile plays at my lips when I recall another part of our conversation yesterday. We made it halfway through the puzzle before Tillie queried about the weird smell that hadn’t left the kitchen in days.

I tried to make out I had burned the pot making hot cocoa the night she was sick, but Tillie knows me better than that. She immediately saw through my bluff before unashamedly declaring she knew Ark was the perfect match for me.

She only stopped teasing me when I reminded her that I hadn’t yet cleaned her vomit out of my work bag, and if she had enough energy to rile me, perhaps she had enough to help clean up the mess she made.

Her focus never veered from her Nintendo Switch for the rest of the day.

As I move through the motions of a thorough yet hurried clean, I think about the owner of this apartment and how he would never have to save for two years to buy a console that’s discarded the instant the latest model comes out.

Most residents of the Chrysler building are either wealthy businessmen or part of the healthcare conglomerate. One of Russia’s leading private hospitals is only half a mile away, meaning the serviced apartments attract world-renowned surgeons and their patients.

My fingers tighten around the corner of the sheets firmly when my thoughts stray to Ark for the umpteenth time today.He couldn’t be sick, surely. Excluding the time my nails dug into his shoulders, clamminess never dulled his natural olive skin coloring. His eyes are bright and without pain, and he is physically fit—extremelyfit.

Someone on their deathbed wouldn’t have an eight-pack.

Or a monster dick.

I cough to clear my chest of the tingles spasming there before I finish making the bed. I can’t have these types of thoughts about an owner. It’s against the rules. Mrs. Whitten would have my head if she heard even a snippet of my thoughts. I’d hate to consider her response if she learns about our kiss. Just the thought doubles the output of my cleaning skills.

Confident the sheets are tight enough to bounce a nickel off, I vacuum the carpet, scrub the sink and toilet, and then wipe down the mirror and shower walls.

Once the products on the vanity are replenished, I take a step back and survey my work.

Everything is clean and orderly.

I can’t say the same for my heart when a shadow falls over the only exit of the bathroom for the second time in under an hour. “All done?”

My head bob is submissive, but it hides my nerves. “Yes. This room is r-ready.”

Rafael acts as if I didn’t stutter. “This room?”

Again, I nod. “I have four more rooms on m-my roster for this apartment.”

My heart pounds in my ears when he straightens his spine. His height is more imposing when it is at its full stature. He is an inch or two taller than Ark but around twenty pounds lighter. “You’re servicing the rest of the rooms here?” He points to the floor at the end of his sentence.

I nod, too confused by his unmissable bewilderment to speak.

Cleaning isn’t a housemaid’s sole skill, but it is very much a part of their job description.

Shock hits me half a second before disappointment when he asks, “Does Ark know?”

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