Breakfast the next morning was more awkward than usual. Regardless of last night's events, things always felt cold when he was there. Even the kids always seemed different when their father was around. Mildred and I usually had dinner with the children every night and breakfast on weekends when they weren't running off in a myriad of directions, but with the widower around, everything seemed off-kilter.
A staff member fiddled with the table decorations—silver candle holders, crystal glass, and fine china place settings. Two more of the staff came in and set down the plates of our selected breakfasts. Excluding the presence of Matthew's hoodie and cell phone, their lives looked like an episode of Downton Abbey. The children never seemed fazed by the opulence that surrounded them. But of course this all seemed normal to them. It was their normal. I was the one out of place.
Matthew texted his friends while eating, though that wasn't unusual. Tabitha giggled as she made a smile out of an orange slice at Sebastian. They both laughed until their father looked up at them from behind his phone. They quieted and began eating again.
Augustine lounged in his chair at the end of the table, bouncing his attention between an international paper and his phone each time it pinged, subsequently ignoring his family. He was gone the majority of the time, and now that he was here, he still paid them no mind. Mildred seemed unbothered by it, but I could barely understand how a family could share a meal together and never say a word.
"Tabby, did you show your father what you learned in dance class this week?"
She shook her head no with an excited smile, then got up from her chair and ran over to his side. He peered down at her as she raised her arms and spun into a single, wobbling pirouette.
He sat down his paper to give her a light round of applause, but picked it back up and returned to reading soon after. Tabitha went back to her seat, her smile still beaming. The twins loved any ounce of attention he gave them. Why wouldn't they?
"Bastian, you should perform your new song after breakfast," I suggested. He smiled at me.
"I'm afraid that will have to wait until tomorrow," Augustine said from behind his paper. "Daddy has a conference call with Beijing."
I watched Matthew roll his eyes. I looked over at Sebastian and smiled. "Tomorrow then."
The silence that stretched after that was uncomfortable and awkward. I sipped on my orange juice as I tried to formulate small talk that wouldn't piss him off.
"Where did you just return from, Mr. Montgomery?"
He glanced at his expensive-looking watch, then went back to his paper. "Roma," he said in an Italian accent.
"Does that mean Rome, Daddy?" Tabitha asked with a giggle.
"Yes, my love," Augustine answered.
It was usually so easy for me to read people—the subtle nuances of body language and behaviors—but there was something about him I couldn't figure out. It fascinated me.
I watched as he picked up his piece of toast, balancing the triangle between his long fingers. He sat it onto his tongue before sinking his teeth slowly through the corner. As he chewed, his hazel eyes suddenly looked into mine.
"L'italia è un paese meraviglioso, no?" I remarked to cover my staring. Italy is a marvelous country, isn't it? That, at least, got him to stop looking at me long enough to allow himself a roll of his eyes.
I glanced over and found Matthew making an obscene gesture suggesting I wanted to perform oral for his father. I glared at him until he stopped.
. . .
Later that afternoon, Mildred sat with me in the downstairs sitting room. She had gotten into the habit of showing me around and telling me new things about the house in our downtime, which led us to have our tea time in a new location each time.
There were one hundred rooms, she told me once. I knew the main rooms well enough, but the secret connections and the old-worldly nomenclature fascinated me; the parlor, the cloakroom, the drawing room. Hidden pathways and stairs, places for servants to move through the house without being seen by the family or guests. Rooms opened to other rooms in the progression of a party's events or, in some cases, the more modern fashion of use. It was a world I would never truly understand.
There was a clear delineation between the staff who tended to the house and those who tended to the family. The two of us were treated as if we were in a higher stature, though it felt like the opposite. In the solitude caused by such passé formalities, I shared Mildred's joy of having a companion.
"Across there's the ballroom. Behind it's another catering kitchen that connects to the main kitchen on the ground floor," she explained. "Behind that's the Master's Chambers."
As proper as the term was, my ancestors would never allow me to refer to anyone as "master." Calling him by his name was the most anyone should expect from me. "That's Mr. Montgomery's room?"
"No. He hasn't stayed there since . . ." She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. "He stays in the former guest quarters behind his office."
"And where is the best place to find scissors?"
She laughed, the cheery sound echoing in the room. "The children's workroom most likely. Never look fer somethin' small in this house."
I smiled in response. "Good to know now. I had an awkward run-in with Mr. Montgomery in his office while looking for some last night. I didn't realize I was snooping around outside of his bedroom, too."
She placed her hand on my arm. The intensity behind her eyes confused me. "Mr. Montgomery is a very private man. Always has been," she told me. "He has little tolerance for people drudgin' into his business. Give him half a reason and you'll be out on your arse before you can count to three."
"Haven't you been with him for more than a decade?"
She nodded. "Since Matthew was a wee babe. I know him better than most," she told me, "which is why you'd be good to trust my advice." Her smile lessened the harshness of her words. She took her hand from me.
Last night's mistake gave me plenty of reasons to want to avoid him, but no one who knew me well would classify me as well behaved. "Well, it's easy to stay out of his way considering how often he's gone. Where does he go anyway?"
"He does multi-national business consulting. Don't ask me what that means exactly, but he's always flyin' between Europe, Asia, and the States. Beijing, Paris, LA, London, Rome, Seoul . . ."
"No wonder he's never home."
"Yes. His schedule's gotten so busy, he purchased a loft in SoHo to keep close to the airport."
"He has a place in Manhattan, too?"
"Yes, of course," she said as if it were common knowledge. "He didn't use to travel quite this much. His time away has increased significantly since Mrs. Montgomery passed. Many things haven't been the same since she left us. God rest 'er soul."
With as much as Mildred talked about my parents and how good a fit I was for the Montgomery family, it felt odd to me that she was so tight-lipped about the childrens' mother. "How did she pass?" I asked. Instantly, Mildred's brow creased. She shook her head to signal she couldn't talk about it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you."
She looked at me with a teary smile, then patted my cheek lightly with her hand. "She was a kind woman, loved by everyone, but no one loved 'er more than Mr. Montgomery. That's all you need to know."
I had no doubt of that. The lovely woman I would never meet had an irreplaceable influence on this family. Dealing with her loss was likely the source of most of their pain—and their bad habits. Having been there myself, I wanted to help them in whatever capacity I could. They clearly needed it, but whether they realized that or not was a different matter altogether.
"Would you like some more tea?" Mildred changed the subject.
"I'd love some." I smiled as she poured it, but flinched when she jumped.
"Ms. Nielson," the deep voice of the widower grabbed my attention.
I turned around to find him standing behind us. I wondered how long he had been there. "Hello, Mr. Montgomery."
"Come to my office, please. I'd like a word."
He turned and left without awaiting my response. My heart dropped. He heard it all.
I looked at Mildred with a frightened gape. She had a very similar look on her own face. She closed her mouth and patted my arm. "I'm sure you'll be fine," she said. That only made it worse.
I stood and raced after him as fast as my heels would take me. Catching up with him at the door, I followed him into his office.
He pulled out a chair in front of his desk and circled around to sit on his own. "Please, have a seat." I did as I was told while my heart pounded nervously. I didn't know whether he was going to fire me or open up to me. He picked up a small stack of papers and without looking at me, said, "Matthew is doing very well in school."
I perked up. "He is?"
"Yes. I received his report card today." He handed me the paper he was looking at. A list of Matthew's classes, followed by one A, three B's and two C's. Even I was impressed. "This is the last one he received prior to your arrival." He handed me another paper, this one showing a smattering of C's, D's and F's.
"I . . . I'm in shock," I said. "I can't believe this."
"After a mere month, neither can I." I looked up and found Augustine with a grin on his face. "You are doing a wonderful job with all the children, especially Matthew. I think he respects you—and he does not seem to provoke you the way he does me."
I smiled as I looked at the papers again. "It's normal for teenagers to want to push boundaries," I assured him. "I think he needed a little encouragement to push in a more productive direction."
Augustine peered at me. "I would like to offer you a salary to keep you on for the rest of the school year."
My heart leaped in my chest. "Really?"
"I appreciate the effort and attention you have put into each of my children's independent needs, and I think it is only fair I match what you would be able to get at a comparable establishment," he said. "Does eighty-five thousand seem fair?"
I nearly choked. Eighty-five thousand? My last job paid me less than fifty and that was a private school where the children paid more tuition per semester than I did for my undergrad. "I think that's too much," I said but hoped he'd disagree.
"Too much?" he asked sardonically. "Would you like to continue working without pay then?"
I wondered if he thought eighty-five thousand per year was laughable, but I knew I couldn't negotiate with a man whose job was negotiating. "I didn't become a teacher for the money," I said, "but I would still like some."
He smirked. "So, you accept?"
"I accept."
"Good. We look forward to having you on for the foreseeable future."
I brushed my hair out of my face as I smiled. "I look forward to that too."
. . .
"Eighty-five thousand dollars!?" Crystal screamed through the phone. "For a goddamn tutor!?"
"I know."
"Jesus Christ, that's a lot of money."
"I know." I sat on my bed with my knees curled up.
"Damn rich people, just throwing out money like it's—wait . . ." She paused for a moment. "Do you think he's paying you more so you don't complain when he makes a pass at you?"
I laughed at her joke until I realized she hadn't told one. "Of course not. He barely says two words to me. He'd never make a pass."
"When was the last time you got laid?"
Of course she'd ask me a question like that. "I don't know."
"You don't know because it's been so long you can't remember, woman! Maybe I shouldn't be worried about him making a pass," she said. "You better find some dick before Mr. Mont-Money offers his up and you can't say no."
I laughed. "Fuck you, Crystal."
"Fuck someone, Aub." We hung up.
_____
A/N: Thank you for reading! Please be sure to vote, comment, and add to your library if you want more!