Page 6 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
She blinked the memories away, her vision clearing as the vibrant houses returned into view. Taking a steadying breath, Aria forced her feet to move, her resolve hardening. She had survived those uncertain days, and she would survive these ones, too. Each cleaning job was another step forward, another quiet victory against a past she couldn't change but refused to let define her.
With a last lingering look at the street she both envied and resented, she lifted her chin and moved towards the bright red door, determined to scrub away the past with every careful sweep and polish.
Aria had the passcode for the digital keypad. Years of working for the couple had led to this small measure of trust-but no more. Aria still remembered the day Mrs. Lackenby's pearl earrings went missing and the police were called. The earrings were eventually found at a neighbour's house, but nothing had terrified her more. The humiliation, the fear, the sharp, cold sense of vulnerability that clawed its way into her dreams. For months afterward, she had nightmares about being led away in handcuffs, and of Lule refusing to come and see her in prison.
She had insisted they install cameras after that incident-not just for their peace of mind, but for her protection, too. She couldn't risk living under that kind of suspicion again. They had agreed in the end. After all, good help was hard to find.
Mrs. Leckenby was already waiting as Aria keyed in the code on the keypad.
"You're late," Mrs. Lackenby said crisply, without glancing up from smoothing her immaculate linen skirt. Her cut-glass accent sliced through the quiet morning like crystal against porcelain. "Living room first. The rug needs a deep clean-last night's party was...exuberant. Then the bathrooms. And do check the skirting boards, won't you? The dust is positively Victorian."
"Yes, ma'am," Aria murmured.
"I've left a list on the marble island. Try to finish before three-I'm expecting someone. Oh, and the upstairs windows are terribly streaky. I noticed them from the street." Still, her eyes never quite met Aria's. They slid past her, onto the coat stand or the stairs, as though making eye contact would breach some unspoken rule.
"Of course, ma'am," Aria said.
Mrs. Lackenby walked to the door, while her husband lingered in the study, the door slightly ajar.
"Darling, I'm off. Don't forget lunch with the Maitlands. Try not to overdo the brandy this time." She air-kissed his cheek and floated out in a cloud of Dior.
Aria bent down to pick up a fallen porcelain cat, but a flicker of movement caught her eye. Mr. Lackenby stood at the doorway, one hand on the frame, his gaze fixed on her backside.
Aria froze as his glazed eyes met her glacial ones.
He startled slightly and shuffled back into his study like a scolded schoolboy, the door clicking softly behind him.
She exhaled sharply and turned away, jaw clenched. She knew better than to say anything. All the good feelings of the morning dissipated into the ether.
Mrs. Lackenby was in her forties but looked younger, a polished woman with sleek hair, bespoke clothes, and handbags bearing designer logos Aria could never pronounce. Her husband was handsome enough, though his nerves often betrayed him with ill-timed flatulence. Worse, his eyes lingered too long on women who weren't his wife.
Their parties left behind a mountain of work for Aria-wine stains, shattered glass, strange smells, and once, feathers and glitter she couldn't explain. Some of the leftovers made her wonder what kind of parties they were really hosting, but she never asked. She just did her job and kept her mouth shut.
Chapter 6
Aria
Aria's mind wandered as she cleaned. The droning hum of the vacuum cleaner merged with the background noise and were drowned out by her thoughts. Five years ago, to the day, was when she had first met Crispin. She still remembered every moment with the vivid clarity with which one remembered a life-changing event.
She'd been working the night shift, quietly vacuuming the marble floors of the executive corridor in the towering headquarters of the Du Valares Corporation. The company bore Crispin's family name-aristocratic, old money, titled. A duke's lineage. Most days, the original paintings on the walls and the antique showpieces seemed to belong to another planet, one that spun on its orbit far, far away from her humble existence. But that night, all she had known was that she was tired, and the rhythmic back-and-forth of the vacuum soothed her.
She hadn't even noticed the double doors open at first. A group of men in suits walked through, their laughter low and easy. Aria had looked up, and so did he, their eyes locking for a breathless moment.
He was absurdly handsome. Tall, broad-shouldered, with dark, wavy hair that looked like it had been sculpted by the wind's tender hands. His tailored suit clung to him in all the right ways, like it had been made special to fit his broad shoulders-and it probably had been. Something sparked in the air between them in that moment, electric and inexplicable.
Then she looked away, and so did he.
But the next night, he was there again.
She had gotten tangled in the long wire of the vacuum cleaner, struggling to unloop it from around her ankle. She was mid-vacuum when it happened. The cord was too short to reach the far end of the hallway, and she was too tired to find an extension. So, she yanked. And yanked. And on the third heroic tug, the plug came loose-not from the socket, but from the vacuum entirely.
The force sent her stumbling backwards, knocking over a polished brass umbrella stand that clattered like a gong. Startled, she let out an undignified yelp as she fell and instinctively threw her hand out-and straight into a passing executive's crotch.
She froze. He froze.
And then he burst out laughing.
"Well, that's one way to make an introduction," he said, his voice warm and amused.
