“Buongiorno,” I tell him.
He’s wearing sunglasses so I can’t see his eyes but I know they must be red as hell.
“Good morning,” he says, his voice low and ragged, like his throat has been scraped raw. “Did you take the twins to school?”
I nod. “Someone had to. You know, since you were sleeping and Felisa is gone.”
He looks away and breathes out deeply. “Yes. I checked my e-mails this morning. She is gone.”
I cross my arms. “You didn’t do a very good job of explaining last night what had happened.”
“I know,” he says quietly, looking down. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” I ask. “Because you were being a tyrant. A stupid, drunken tyrant.”
He jerks his head up to look at me. “What did I say?”
“You said mean stuff.”
“None of it was true.”
“How do you know if you don’t even know what you said?”
He swallows and licks his lips. “Because I don’t think a mean thing about you. I only think good things about you. Very good things.”
I’m not sure if I believe that but I sigh and sit down across from him. “Well, things were said and they were the complete opposite of very good.”
“Amber,” he says and places his hand over my wrist. I nearly jump at the contact. As usual, his skin is warm and the pressure of his hand is soothing. “I am very, very sorry if I said mean things. Sometimes this terrible thing comes out of me. I didn’t want you to be exposed to it but you were. And I know you took care of me when you shouldn’t have. You shouldn’t have to take care of me or the twins, but you do.”
I like his hand there. I want to grab it, lace my fingers through his, and feel that strength that I know he has inside. But I resist. “You are going to get a new nanny, right?”
“Of course,” he says, pulling his hand away. “This has just caught me by surprise. I knew Felisa was unhappy but I didn’t expect her to leave me.”
I look at him. Leave him?
He seems to notice my expression. He pauses, chewing on his lip for a moment, before he snaps a cigarette out of his pack on the table. “This is very difficult for me,” he admits. “Felisa . . . She was like a mother to me, to all of us. To lose them both . . . it’s very hard. It’s just as hard for the twins. Maybe more so.” He pushes his sunglasses to the top of his head and looks right at me. He’s a broken man.
“I understand,” I tell him, not sure of what else to say.
“I don’t expect you to,” he goes on and sticks the cigarette in his mouth, lighting it. “I just need a few moments to get over it. And I will. Then I will start looking for a new nanny. Don’t worry, you won’t have to help for long. But if you could, just until then, I would be eternally grateful to you.”
My heart softens a bit. “Well, of course I’m going to help. I don’t want the kids to suffer. And I don’t want you to suffer either.”
He snorts caustically at that. “I am sure that is true.”
“I’m serious,” I tell him. “More than anything I want to help you, and I will.”
“Even though I am a total ass?”
I nod. “Yes. But in the future, could you try not to be? You know, if I’m going to help out I will because I care about all of you, but I won’t do it if you treat me like garbage. I’m not saying that you normally do, but last night . . . Well, I don’t appreciate being yelled at and I especially don’t like being called helpless or useless.”
Derio coughs loudly and looks at me with pained eyes. “I said that?”
“Yes.” And it still kind of hurts.
He shakes his head to himself. “They are not true words, Amber. Please believe me. You are not useless or helpless. I honestly do not know what I would do without you. I need you, deeply. Madly, even.”
He seems so heartfelt that it stuns me a little. He needs me, madly? Even if it’s just for my services as a babysitter, I’ve never been needed before. My chest feels effervescent, like bubbles have been set free. He looks up at me and his features soften, from the fullness of his lips to the hardness of his eyes. “I’m extremely fond of you.”
More bubbles, butterflies, everything is letting loose inside me. I’m warm, I’m golden from his words. And absolutely surprised.
Because he’s staring at me in such a way that makes me feel like he’s really seeing me for the first time, I feel the need to play it all off. “Well, I’m fond of you, too,” I tell him, trying to sound playful. “When you’re not being an ass.”
“So you forgive?” he asks in such a voice that I would be a cold, hard woman if I didn’t.
“Yes, of course I do,” I tell him. “Will you forgive me in advance for the absolute chaos that will come with me being a substitute nanny?”
“You will do fine,” he says. “You have done beautifully so far. Their English is so much better now and they seem happier. I can see the changes in them. You’re like a tonic for them.”
I take that in, relieved to know that he’s noticing the same changes that I am. I just hope I can keep it up and not have them revert to their old ways now that Felisa is gone. “So what exactly happened with Felisa? Last night you made it sound like she wanted to leave and you didn’t want her here anyway.”
He leans back in his chair and taps the cigarette. Ashes blow away in the light sea breeze. “I may have said that but only because she hurt me first. But I know she left because it was just too hard for her. I am difficult. The twins are. We are slow to change and heal, to be what she wanted us to be, to be what we used to be. Plus, she met a man, years ago, who lives in Salerno. I didn’t think it was possible but I think she found an opportunity to be with him and she took it. I think she chose her own happiness over us.”
“Oh.”
“And I don’t blame her,” he adds quickly. “She has been with us for so much of her life. Always alone. Always taking care of us. First me, then the twins, then I guess all of us. You see, my parents had me when they were very young so they needed the extra help. Felisa then stuck around and became part of the family. Much later on, many many years later, my parents wanted to have more children. My mother became obsessed with it, you could say. She was older then, of course, and she had to go through many expensive treatments to become pregnant. Then finally she did. And then Felisa, who had already moved on after I turned fifteen, came back. We don’t know what she gave up when she came back to us. She never talked about the life she had while she was away. But she came back to look after the twins. When my parents died, it made it impossible for her to leave. She was very loyal to my parents, you see. They would have wanted her here for as long as possible. I am sure Felisa saw herself trapped for the rest of her life.”
“So do you think because I’m here now, she thought she could pass it down to me?” I ask.
He puffs on his cigarette and blows a cloud of smoke into the air. “Yes, could be. It seems that way. But I do know she would never have left the twins to someone she didn’t trust, who she didn’t think was capable. She could be very harsh and sometimes cold, but she thought highly of you. Just as I do.”
I’m not used to him complimenting me even though I know he’s laying it on thick because he feels so bad about what happened last night. “So now what do we do?” I ask.
He stubs out the cigarette on the table. “Now we try and get by until everything finds its place.”
“Meaning you will hire another nanny.”
“Yes,” he says. “And I will do my best not to be an ass. You deserve better than that.”
“Well, thank you in advance for that,” I tell him, getting to my feet. “I better go inside and start making a master list or something of all the shit that needs to be done around the house.”
“Do you need any help?”
I shake my head and eye his rumpled appearance with a smile. “I don’t think you’ll be much help in your state.”
He looks down, sheepish and impossibly v
ulnerable. “Thank you,” he says. “For staying with me last night. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw you sleeping on the couch. You . . . that . . .” He trails off, pausing. He takes in a deep breath. “It was a nice thing to see.”
I give him a quick smile and then hurry back into the house. I can feel his gaze on my back and unspoken thoughts hanging in the air, like so much cigarette smoke.
CHAPTER TEN
Despite the odds, two weeks pass in the blink of an eye. Though it’s insanely difficult—and difficult still—to assume the role of nanny, especially in the footsteps of someone like Felisa, who knew the family inside and out and ran a very tight ship, somehow I manage to push my way through it. It helps that the children are being somewhat understanding, although they’re still prone to their extreme moments of brattiness. More than a few times I’ve been told my meals suck and have had doors slammed in my face when I tried to act like the voice of authority. It’s hard not to take it personally, but I’m working on it, one incident at a time.
Derio hasn’t been that helpful, at least not in a physical sense, and often keeps to himself. He smokes on the balcony and on the patio; he goes for his motorcycle rides. And then he locks himself in his library for hours on end. When he finally emerges, he smells like cigars and scotch and goes straight to bed. The night terrors still occur a few nights a week but I’m finally learning to sleep through them, even though his cries sometimes hurt my heart.
Except for tonight. It’s a Thursday and past midnight. I can’t sleep but it’s not because of Derio’s night terrors. My brain is turning over and over on itself, trying to think of what to cook tomorrow and what to organize. Is this what mom brain is like? It seems all I do is plan and worry and it’s sucking the life out of me. I’m constantly misplacing things, like my styling products in the fridge; I’ve got dark circles around my eyes; and I’m always a few steps away from hysteria.
I’m about to switch on the light and maybe pull out a book since sleep seems so elusive when I hear a thump. I pause and then listen again.
A few beats pass. Another thump.
Then a scratching sound. I hold my breath and sink back into my bed. The moon shoots pale beams through the window, illuminating my bedroom in spooky shadows.
There it is again! Another thump, followed by smaller ones. They sound like footsteps, right above my damn bed. My eyes trail upward to the high stucco ceiling.
I have trouble swallowing and my chest feels hollow. I exhale as quietly as possible and then get out of bed. I grab the lantern and switch it on and quietly step out into the hall. It’s dark, save for the slices of moonlight that cut in through the twins’ open doors.
I pause halfway down the hall, listening. I can hear Alfonso breathing softly and the tick of the grandfather clock downstairs. The fridge hums. My heart pounds.
I round the corner, about to head to the stairs that lead to the attic when I run smack into Derio.
I gasp, my scream strangled in my throat as his hand goes for my biceps, holding me firmly.
“Amber,” Derio whispers. “It’s me.”
I lean back, away from his body. He’s wearing his underwear. Black. Tight. That’s it. Nothing else. The ridges of his muscles stand out in the shadows of the lantern light and I hope I can pass off my gawking as fright because, let’s face it, I’m a bit scared, too.
“You hear it?” he asks, not seeming to care that he’s practically naked in front of me. I guess it’s really no different from when he was wearing his Speedo at the beach, but this feels far, far more intimate and I’m so close to him; I’m practically at licking distance. I’d always wondered if he was a boxers, briefs, or boxer briefs guy, and I should have figured it would be something on par with that Speedo of his.
“Yes,” I whisper, tearing my eyes away from his firm abs and the hard lines of his hips before my gaze goes any lower. “I thought it was you up there.”
He shakes his head. “No. I was sleeping and it woke me up.”
“So,” I say, glancing up at the ceiling. “Are you going to go up there?”
He gives me a wry smile. “To be honest, I would rather not.”
“Are you scared?” I tease softly. Then there is another thump and both of us stop smiling.
He gives me a determined look and holds his hand out for the lantern. “May I?”
I give it to him, though I don’t want to be left in the dark either. I know I could turn on the hall lights but the children have been extra tired lately with all the stress of Felisa leaving and I don’t want to risk disturbing them, even though I have no idea how they can sleep through all this commotion anyway. There’s never anything louder than a bunch of people in the middle of the night trying to be quiet.
Derio reaches up and pulls down the trapdoor and the stairs as quietly as he can. Which is to say, not quietly at all.
“Shhh,” I tell him even though it’s pointless. We both pause, listening to see if the twins are up or if whatever is in the attic is making noise again.
Silence.
He gives me a nod and then heads up the stairs. I’m sad that he’s taking the light because it’s completely preventing me from checking out his round ass as he climbs upward.
That’s it, Amber, I tell myself, focus on his bouncy ass, not on the fact that he might be murdered by the ghost in the attic.
“What do you see?” I whisper, leaning forward on the stairs and trying to peer up. I can see his body glowing in the light and the shadows on the attic walls behind him.
“I don’t know,” he says uncertainly. He slowly walks forward and out of my view, like he sees something and is approaching it with caution.
I gulp and start climbing the stairs after him. I’m just poking my head above the floor and thinking of every single Paranormal Activity movie I’ve seen when Derio cries out, “Merda!”
It’s followed by a god-awful, inhuman scream that I don’t think comes from Derio. Suddenly, the lantern drops and he’s running toward me and something black and angry is flinging itself at him in a whirl of fur and teeth and claws.
“Go!” Derio yells at me and I practically fall down the stairs just as I hear a loud hiss as something leaps past me. I stop, holding on to the railing, and watch a black cat barrel down the stairs to the first floor.
“Oh my God!” I exclaim. “What the hell was that?”
“What is it?” Alfonso asks sleepily, rubbing his eyes and coming out of his room. He flicks on the hall light, illuminating us.
With my hand to my chest I look at Derio, who looks both hot and ridiculous as he comes down the stairs in his underwear, with his messed-up hair and bewildered expression on his face.
“A cat was living in our attic,” he says, trying to catch his breath, the whites of his eyes shining. “I have no idea how he got in.” He smiles at us. “I guess we have to try and get him to leave.”
“Oh boy,” Alfonso says excitedly. “I’ll get my gun.”
Before I have a chance to ask, he returns with a squirt gun in hand. Annabella is at our side, too, now. I look at Derio and shrug.
And so the four of us spend a good thirty minutes running around the house trying to catch this cat. Alfonso has his squirt gun, Annabella has a hairbrush, and I wave spatulas around like some crazy cook who wants to make cat for dinner. Eventually we’re able to drive the finicky feline out the open doors. It’s only as the cat runs off into the gardens that Annabella says, “Oh, that is Nero.”
“Nero?” Derio repeats.
“Yes, Felisa would give him milk sometimes.”
Derio and I exchange a look. These kids were a few saucers away from having a pet cat?
After all the excitement dies down it takes a while to get the kids back into bed and asleep. I can’t blame them. Even though I have to be up early to make breakfast and take them to school, it’s two a.m. and I’m not tired at all.
“Would you like a, how do you say, nightcap?” Derio asks me as I’m about to walk up t
he stairs and back to my room after putting a few glasses away in the dishwasher; taking a cue from the cat, I gave warm milk to the twins in hopes it would make them sleepy. It worked.
I raise my brow. “You’re still in your underwear.”
“Does that bother you?”
I try not to smile. “Not at all.” Nope, definitely not at all.
“Bene,” he says and he gestures for me to follow him. He goes into his office and I feel a little bit of a thrill. For once I’m actually being invited in here.
He tugs on the pull-chain of the green lamp on his desk and then pulls a chair toward the desk. “Sit, please,” he says, as if this is some formal business meeting in our sleeping attire.
I do so and then look around the room while he takes a bottle of scotch out from underneath his desk and pours some into two glasses. He hands me one with a wink and then sits down in his chair.
“You like this room,” he notes.
I nod, taking it all in now that I can. It’s so dark but even then it’s not spooky. It’s just perfect, all the dark wood and the books and the possibilities. “I’ve always loved libraries,” I admit. I take a sip of my drink. “This one kind of reminds me of Beauty and the Beast. Especially because you have that ladder over there. I’ve always wanted to swing on one like Belle did.”
“You are definitely the beauty,” he says. I can feel his eyes burning on my skin and I feel too shy to meet them. “And I am definitely the beast.”
His voice sounds so despondent over the last word that I can’t help looking at him. He’s staring at me but remorsefully now.
“You aren’t a beast,” I reassure him. “Now, the cat that attacked you, he was a beast.”
He gives me a quick, small smile. “Yes, he certainly was.” He licks his lips and leans in against the desk, his gaze more intense. “How are you, Amber?”
“Right now?”
He nods.
“I’m okay. Worried that I won’t get enough sleep but I’ll manage.”
“And how have you been these past two weeks? As nanny.”