Mr. Jameson’s announcement that Ethan and Aidan Moretti were arriving the next day turned the whole house upside down.
Everyone started scrubbing twice as hard, moving faster, and keeping their heads down.
Millie threw herself into the floors and rugs, dodging any room that might have a Moretti in it.
She almost made it through the morning without incident, but then Sheila caught her at breakfast and assigned her to serving duty.
“No way,” Clara said when Millie told her later in the staff kitchen.
“So your one-night stand is Aidan Moretti? And Ethan’s the one who owns the house with the art room you messed with? And Evan’s a Moretti too? Mills, that’s insane. You’ve hit the jackpot of bad luck.”
Millie dropped her face into her hands.
“I’m screwed. I can’t walk in there tomorrow and pour coffee for those three.”
Clara squeezed her shoulder.
“Okay, calm down. Go talk to Mr. Jameson. Ask to swap with Sandra. I’m already stuck on kitchen prep.”
Millie found Mr. Jameson in the main hall, barking orders like he was running a boot camp.
Maids hustled around him, careful not to catch his eye.
She took a deep breath and stepped up.
“Mr. Jameson? I, uh, think I’m coming down with something. Bad sniffles.” She added a couple of weak coughs for show.
He turned.
His glare could’ve stopped traffic.
“Ms. Foster, do you think I just fell off the turnip truck? I can have your replacement here in an hour. People are waiting for this job.”
Millie tried harder, slumping her shoulders and widening her eyes.
“Please, sir. I’d hate to get the Moretti brothers sick. It’s really contagious, I swear.” More fake coughs—this time they sounded pathetic even to her.
Mr. Jameson didn’t budge.
“The only thing contagious around here is your sudden acting career. You’re new, and you’re already trying to skip work. If you’re too ‘sick’ to serve breakfast, that’s fine. But you’ll be replaced. So pick: show up tomorrow or start packing. Right now.”
Millie’s shoulders dropped.
“I understand, sir.”
She walked away muttering under her breath and went straight to Clara’s room.
“How’d it go?” Clara asked as Millie flopped onto the bed.
“Disaster,” Millie said, rubbing her face.
“He saw right through me. I’m serving breakfast, or I’m out.”
Clara winced.
“Ouch. Just… don’t spill anything on them, okay?”
Millie groaned.
“Thanks. Super helpful.”
That night, sleep wouldn’t come.
She lay there running through every possible way it could go wrong—tripping with a full pot of coffee, dropping a plate, locking eyes with Ethan, and freezing.
The longer she stared at the ceiling, the worse the scenarios got.
Around two in the morning, exhaustion finally knocked her out.
Breakfast came too fast.
Millie peeked through the pass-through window from the kitchen—and stopped breathing.
The Moretti brothers were already at the long table, sitting like they owned every inch of the place.
Which, to be fair, they basically did.
Ethan was on his phone, voice low and sharp, face hard.
Aidan picked at a croissant, looking half asleep.
Evan lounged back in his chair, grinning at whatever was on his screen. Enjoying the story? Read on at g.com.
Millie’s stomach flipped.
She’d spent days learning every back hallway just to avoid them.
Now she had to walk right up and serve them.
She took a breath and pushed through the swinging doors.
The room went quiet.
Ethan and Aidan looked up.
Their eyes landed on her—sharp, curious.
Aidan’s widened for a second, then narrowed as recognition hit.
Time stretched until Mr. Jameson walked in and took the head of the table, breaking the spell.
“A–Amelia?” Aidan said.
His croissant sat forgotten on his plate.
Her face burned.
“Morning, Mr. Moretti,” she managed, gripping the water carafe like it was a lifeline.
Ethan ended his call and arched a brow.
“New maid?”
Mr. Jameson gave her a quick glance.
“Miss Amelia Foster and Miss Clara March.
Where’s Clara?”
“In the kitchen, sir,” Millie said fast, happy to shift attention anywhere else.
Ethan’s gaze flicked between her and Aidan.
Evan leaned forward, phone down.
“Well, well. Fancy seeing you here,” he said, tone light and teasing, like they shared some private joke.
Millie let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a squeak.
“Yeah. Small world.”
Evan leaned back, still grinning.
Every eye in the room was on her now.
Millie felt her nerves fraying fast.
She silently begged the floor to open up and swallow her.
Evan turned to Mr. Jameson.
“Jameson, would you do the honors and introduce me properly to Miss Foster?”
Mr. Jameson cleared his throat.
“Very well.
Miss Foster, this is Matteo Evan Moretti.”
“What the hell is going on here, Evan?” Ethan asked, voice flat.
Evan just grinned wider.
“Nothing much. Just a little game Miss Foster and I played last night. Right, Miss Foster?” He shot her a wink.
Millie could only shrug, her smile stuck in place like glue.
“Yeah,” she mumbled.
She backed toward the corner where Clara had appeared, eyes glued to the floor tiles like they were suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
He hadn’t touched his croissant since she walked in.
His fingers stayed wrapped around his coffee cup, frozen.
Ethan studied her with that same unreadable look, eyes moving between her and his brothers like he was putting pieces together.
Aidan finally cleared his throat.
“Black coffee, please.”
Relief hit Millie hard.
A simple request.
Something normal.
“Coming right up,” she said, her voice higher than usual.
She grabbed the coffee pot from the sideboard, almost sloshing it onto Evan’s shoulder in her rush.
Her hands shook as she refilled Aidan’s cup.
The ceramic clinked against the saucer, loud in the tense quiet.
“So, Aidan,” Ethan said, casual but pointed, “how’s Marionne doing?”
Millie’s eyes flicked to Aidan before she could stop herself.
Marionne?
Aidan gave a dry snort.
“Last I heard, she’s on a yacht somewhere with her whole crew.”
Millie looked away fast, only to catch Evan watching her, that playful smirk still there.
It cut through the heavy air like a spark.
Evan pushed his chair back and stood.
“Well, brothers, I’ll be in my study.” He turned to Millie.
“Pleasure seeing you again, Miss Foster.” He held out his hand.
Millie forced a smile that felt more like a grimace and shook his hand.
Her palm was clammy against his steady grip.
He pulled her in and leaned close enough that only she could hear.
“My turn next, Miss Foster.”
He let go, gave her one last grin, and walked out.
Millie stood there, heart pounding, while the rest of the table went back to their breakfast like nothing had happened.
Aidan’s eyes stayed on her a second longer than they should have.
Ethan watched too.
She turned and slipped back into the kitchen, legs shaky.
Clara met her at the door.
“You okay?”
Millie leaned against the counter.
“No. Not even close.”
Clara winced.
“At least you didn’t spill anything.”
Millie let out a weak laugh.
“Yet.”