CHAPTER 193: CHAPTER 193 LIKE IT

Love. Confusing. Irrational. Frustrating...Exhilarating. This is what it feels like. I am madly, crazily, ridiculously in love with the woman sitting opposite me.

My cleaner, Danica.

I’ve felt like this since I first laid eyes on her standing in my hallway clutching a broom. I remember how disconcerted I was....How angry. How the walls closed in on me and I had to escape because I didn’t understand the depth of my feelings. This is what I was running from. I thought I was just wildly attracted to her. But no. It’s not just her body I crave. It’s never been just that. I’m drawn to her in a way I’ve never been to any other woman. I love her. That’s why I went after her when she fled that day. That’s why I brought her here. I want to protect her. I want her happy. I want her with me.

Fuck.

It’s a revelation.

And she has no idea who I am or what I do. And I know so little about her. In fact, I have no idea how she feels about me. Yet she’s here with me, so surely that means something. I think she likes me. But then again what choice does she have? I’m her only option. She was afraid, and she had nowhere to run. And on some level I knew that, and I tried to stay away from her, but I couldn’t, because she’s carved her way into my heart.

I’ve fallen in love with my cleaner.

Well, this is a fine fucking mess.

And now she’s finally opening up to me...but in spite of all I’ve done, she’s still afraid. I’ve not done enough. My appetite evaporates.

“I am sorry. I did not want to be the kill buzz,” she says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Kill buzz?”

She frowns. “My English?”

“I think you mean buzzkill.”

Her smile is halfhearted.

“You’re not,” I reassure her. “We’ll figure this out, Danica. You’ll see.”

She nods, but she doesn’t look convinced. “You are not hungry?”

I eye my chicken sandwich, and my stomach rumbles. She giggles, and it’s the most wonderful sound in the world.

“That’s better.” I delight in her amusement, relieved that she’s recovered her sense of humor, and I turn my attention back to my meal.

***************

Danica relaxes. She can’t remember talking about her feelings to him before, and he doesn’t seem angry with her. When he glances at her, his eyes are warm, his expression reassuring.

*We’ll figure this out, Danica. You’ll see.*

She looks down at her butternut squash soup, her appetite returning. She marvels at the chain of events that has brought her here. When she left the orphanage, she never knew that her life would change beyond all recognition. She had such hope for a new life. She didn’t expect the journey to be so hard, or so dangerous. And the irony was that she had been trying to run from danger.

And yet it brought her to him.

Lorenzo.

He of the handsome face and easy laugh and brilliant smile. She watches him as he eats. He has impeccable table manners. He’s neat and tidy and chews with his mouth closed.

When he looks across at her, his eyes are a luminous green. The most extraordinary color.

She could watch him all day.

He gives her a reassuring smile. “Okay?” he asks.

Danica nods. She loves the warmth of his smile when he looks at her, and she loves the heat in his eyes...when he wants her. She blushes and looks down at her soup. She never expected to fall in love.

Love is for fools, her mother used to say.

Maybe she is a fool, but she loves him. And she’s told him. But of course he doesn’t understand her native tongue. “Hey,” he says.

She looks up. He’s eaten his food.

“How’s your soup?”

“It is good.”

“Well, eat up. I’d like to get you home.”

“Okay,” she says, and she likes the idea of “home.” She’d like to make her home with him. Permanently. But she knows it’s not possible.

A girl can dream.

The drive back to Valon is more muted than their earlier journey.

Lorenzo is preoccupied and listening to strange music playing over the sound system. Their stop at a supermarket on the way out of Padstow has yielded all the ingredients Danica needs to cook. She hopes Lorenzo will like her meals.

She gazes out at the passing countryside. Still cloaked in winter, the landscape reminds her of home. Though here the trees are cropped short and warped by the bitter wind.

She wonders how Magda and John are getting on in town. It’s Sunday, so John will probably be doing his school homework or online gaming, and Magda will be cooking or talking to her fiancé, Logan, via Skype, or maybe she’s packing for their move to Canada.

Danica hopes they are safe. She glances at Lorenzo, who seems lost in his own thoughts; he would know how Magda and John are if he’s been in touch with his friend. Maybe he’ll let her use his phone later, and she can catch up with the news from home.

No, that is not her home.

She doesn’t know where her next home will be.

Determined to keep her spirits up, she lets go of that thought and listens once more to the extraordinary sounds coming from the sound system. The colors are clashing: purples, reds, turquoise...it’s like nothing she’s heard before.

“What is this music?” she asks.

“It’s from the soundtrack of Arrival.”

“Arrival?”

“The film.”

“Oh.”

“Have you seen it?”

“No.”

“It’s great. A real headfuck. About time and language and the difficulties of communication. We can watch it at home. Do you like the music?”

“Yes. It’s strange. Expressive. And colorful.”

His smile is brief. Too brief. He has been brooding. She wonders if he’s dwelling on their earlier conversation. She has to know.

“Are you angry with me?”

“No. Of course not! Why would I be angry with you?”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. You are quiet.”

“You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

“I am sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize. You haven’t done anything wrong. If anything...” He trails off.

“You have not done anything wrong,” she says.

“I’m glad you think that.” He gives her a quick, sincere smile that dispels her doubts.

“Is there any food you don’t eat?” she asks, and wishes she’d found out before they went shopping.

“No. I eat pretty much anything. I went to boarding school,” he answers, as if this explains his entire ethos on food. But Danica’s knowledge of boarding schools is limited.

“Did you like it?” she asks.