Chapter 7 Chapter 7
CHAPTER 7
Aurora's POV
The uniform was short,not inappropriately short, but short enough that I stood in front of the mirror for a full minute deciding how I felt about it. The fabric clung to my hips and pulled slightly across the widest part of me, the kind of fit that left nothing to imagination and everything to comment. I tugged the hem down half an inch and it crept back up immediately.
Mrs. Meyer had knocked earlier, set the folded uniform on my bed without ceremony, and told me the tailor had other commitments and this was what was available. Her tone had not invited discussion. I had nodded and she had left and now I was standing in front of a mirror in a dress that fit every curve I owned whether I wanted it to or not.
I tugged them one more time,It crept back up.
I left it.
Dinner was the first thing all day that had genuinely excited me.
I had not eaten since the banana I'd had on the bus that morning, and the smell coming from the kitchen had been making its way through the east wing corridor for the past twenty minutes. I followed it like a map, down the hallway and around the first corner, and pushed open the kitchen door to find three workers moving efficiently between the counters, steam rising from pots, something roasting in the oven that smelled like garlic and herbs and everything I had not had time to cook for myself in longer than I wanted to admit.
They looked up when I came in.
"Is Mrs. Meyer here?" I asked.
One of them, a woman with her hair pinned back, shook her head. "She left instructions for you."
I waited.
"You are to join the family for dinner. Dining room."
The warmth I had been walking toward evaporated.
"The dining room," I repeated.
"Yes."
"With the family."
"Yes."
I stood in the kitchen doorway for a moment, the smell of the roast doing nothing to help me, and then I straightened and thanked them and turned back into the corridor.
The dining room was on the other side of the house.
I had been shown it once during Mrs. Meyer's tour and had filed it away as a room that had nothing to do with me. Long table. High backed chairs. The kind of room that expected people to sit in it correctly.
I started walking.
I was rounding the corner near the main staircase when I heard footsteps coming from the opposite direction, quick and distracted, and then something solid connected with my shoulder and I stumbled sideways and grabbed the wall.
A phone clattered.
My hand shot out before I had processed what was happening, catching the edge of the phone before it hit the floor, fingers closing around it on instinct.
I straightened and looked up.
He was tall, built the way all the Moretti men seemed to be, like the genetics in this family had a specific agenda. Dark hair, sharp jaw, eyes that were currently moving from his phone in my hand to my face with an expression caught somewhere between surprise and amusement.
He was not Marco.
"Sorry," he said immediately. "That was entirely me. I was not looking."
"It's fine." I held the phone out.
He took it and checked the screen out of habit, then looked back at me. "You caught that fast."
"You almost dropped it."
"I almost dropped it." He slid the phone into his pocket. "I don't think I've seen you before. Do you work here?"
"I'm Aurora," I said. "Natalia's nanny."
Something moved across his face, more like genuine surprise, the kind that comes when you have been told something in theory and have not yet connected it to a real person standing in front of you.
"You're the nanny," he said.
"Yes."
He looked at me for a moment, not unkindly. "She has been asking about you all afternoon."
"Natalia?"
"She wanted to know if you knew how to braid hair." He said it completely seriously. "I did not know the answer. I told her I would find out."
I blinked. "I do, actually."
"Good. She will be very relieved." He extended his hand. "Dante. I'm the middle brother."
I shook it. His grip was straightforward, no performance in it. "Aurora."
"You said." The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. "Where are you headed?"
"The dining room. Mrs. Meyer said I was joining the family for dinner."
He fell into step beside me without being asked, turning in the same direction. "Good timing. I'm going there now."
We walked in silence for a few seconds, our footsteps quiet against the floor.
"Has anyone shown you around the house properly?" he asked.
"Mrs. Meyer gave me a tour yesterday."
"Mrs. Meyer's tours are very efficient and completely useless. She shows you where everything is and tells you nothing about any of it." He glanced at me sideways. "The dining room has two entrances. Always use the one on the left. The right door sticks and you have to pull it hard and it makes a sound like something breaking. Marco hates it."
I filed that away. "Thank you."
"The kitchen staff finish at nine. If you need anything after that the pantry on the second floor is always stocked." He paused. "Natalia likes warm milk before bed. She will not ask for it herself but she sleeps better when she has it."
I looked at him.
He kept his eyes forward. "Just useful information."
We reached the dining room entrance, the one on the left, and he pushed it open and held it.
I stepped through. The room was exactly as I remembered it. Long table, high backed chairs, lighting that was warm but formal. Three place settings already arranged, a fourth that had clearly been added recently, the placement slightly less precise than the others.
That one was mine.
I looked at it and then looked at the head of the table.
Marco was already seated.
He had a glass of water in front of him and his phone face down beside his plate and his eyes were on me the moment I walked through the door.
He said nothing, ignoring our entrance like nobody had walked in.
Dante pulled out the chair beside mine and sat down easily, shaking out his napkin. "She caught my phone in the corridor," he said to no one in particular. "Impressive reflexes."
Marco picked up his water glass.
The door on the other side of the room opened, the left one, and Luca came through looking at something on his phone, dropping into his chair without looking up. He reached for the bread in the center of the table and tore a piece and finally glanced around the table and stopped when he saw me.
He looked at Dante.
Dante looked back at him with an expression that communicated nothing.
Luca looked at me again. "You're eating with us?"
"Mrs. Meyer arranged it," I said.
He absorbed that and reached for another piece of bread. "Okay."
The kitchen staff began bringing food through and I kept my hands in my lap and my eyes on the table and told myself this was fine. This was just dinner. I had served people drinks for two years in a bar that smelled like stale beer. I could sit at a table and eat a meal.
A chair scraped.
I looked up, it was Natalia, I smiled at her. She stood in the doorway in her pajamas, hair loose, socks mismatched, looking at the table with a calm assessment.
She crossed the room and pulled out the chair directly to my left and sat down.
Nobody said anything.
I watched shook out her napkin, settled it across her lap with the practiced motion of a child raised in a house with standards, and reached for the water jug.
"You're sitting next to me," she said, not looking up.
"I can see that," I said.
"Good." She poured her water carefully, both hands on the jug. "Did Dante tell you about the door?"
"The one on the right?"
"It sounds like something dying." She set the jug down. "Marco hates it."
Across the table Dante said nothing but reached for his fork.
I kept my face composed and unfolded my napkin and placed it across my lap and did not look at the head of the table where Marco Moretti was sitting in complete silence, watching all of it.
Dante reached for the serving spoon first and held it toward me.
I took it.
And dinner began.
