Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107628 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 431(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Picking up the empty basket, I notice Marie in front of the kitchen window, watching me.
* * *
Sometime during the day, Gabriel and Magda must’ve left, because they’re gone when Carly comes home at five. Judging by her casual clothes and the late hour of her return, she attends a private school. Public schools require uniforms and are out before lunchtime. Marie has already left when Carly finds me ironing in the scullery.
“Valentina, right?” She leans on the wall and bites into a peach.
“That’s right.”
“My dad didn’t say he was hiring a maid.” She regards me from under her lashes. “Can you bake?”
“Yes.”
“Will you bake me a cake for dessert? Marie made flan. I hate flan.”
I crane my neck to check the time on the wall clock in the kitchen. I need to finish earlier tonight so I can do my homework, but I can fit something in if it’s not too complicated.
“What do you like?”
She swings the fruit by the stalk. “Anything with coconut.”
I know a simple recipe for honey and coconut cake that doesn’t take long. The ingredients are common enough. The chances are good I’ll find everything I need in the pantry. I switch off the iron. “All right.”
When the base cake comes out of the oven, I pour the melted butter, honey, and shredded coconut over the top, and caramelize it to a crispy brown under the grill. Carly leans on the kitchen counter as I remove the cake, her blonde hair hanging in a braid down her back. She’s a stunning girl. She doesn’t take after her father. Her mom must be gorgeous.
Carly sniffs appreciatively. “That smells good. I’ll have a slice now.”
She’s not a child, but I say what I’d say to Charlie. “You’ll spoil your appetite for dinner.”
“Come on, Valentina.” She pouts. “My mom never lets me have sweets. It’s bad for my figure.” She motions at her body on which there isn’t an ounce of fat. “Daddy will be home any minute now, and I don’t want him to know I’m snacking before meals. I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“You’re a big girl.” I push the cake toward her. “Don’t say it’s my fault if you’re not hungry for proper food later.”
“Oh,” she winks, “I won’t.” She cuts a generous slice and bites into the warm cake, humming her approval. “Oh, my God, this is so good.”
“I’m glad you like it.” I return to my work, happy that I pleased her. Instinct tells me getting on with Carly won’t be smooth sailing.
Twenty minutes later, I’m folding the last of the ironed shirts when Gabriel’s thunderous voice bursts through the house.
“Valentina!”
Oscar scoots off the top of the tumble dryer where he’s been sleeping and escapes to my room. I jump, burning my arm on the still-hot iron. A second later, Gabriel storms into the kitchen, almost knocking me off my feet as I exit through the scullery door.
He grabs my arm, his fingers digging into my flesh. His face is pale, making the red scars stand out more. “There’s a first aid kit in the pantry. Top shelf on the left. Get it and bring it to the television room.”
4
Valentina
I jump to execute the command, running through every lounge on the ground floor with a big screen in it until I find Gabriel on his knees in front of the couch in what must be the television room. Carly is lying on the couch, panting through an open mouth. Her skin is blotchy and puffy, and the glands in her neck are swollen. The sight shocks me to a standstill, but Gabriel’s calm, strong voice commands me.
“Give me the epinephrine auto-injector. It’s a yellow and white box.” He loosens his tie and pushes a cushion under Carly’s head.
I find the box and hand it to him with shaky fingers. Contrary to my trembling hands, his are steady as he opens the box and retrieves the injector. He removes the gray cap and pushes the red tip against Carly’s thigh, then counts out loud to ten. When he’s done, he checks that the needle has extended and caps it with the protective cover. I’m a vet student, not a doctor, but I know what epinephrine is for, and I know a severe allergic reaction when I see one.
There’s underlying panic in Gabriel’s steady voice. “The ambulance is on its way, honey.”
“Allergy?” I force from a tight throat.
The only answer I get is his cold, frightening glare. I want to ask what she’s allergic to, but the ringtone of a phone cuts me short. A mobile vibrates on the coffee table. Gabriel holds out his palm in silent instruction, his eyes back on his daughter.
When I place the phone in his hand, he glances at the screen, and answers in a flat tone. “The ambulance is on its way.” His expression turns hard as he listens to a reply. “Yes, I take full responsibility if anything happens to her, and no, now’s not the time to threaten me with sole custody. Come over if you want to see for yourself how she is or wait for us at the hospital, but stop calling every two minutes. It’s not going to change a damn thing.” He cuts the call and dumps the phone on the couch.