Clara hummed some old pop song while she danced her feather duster around the chandelier.
Honestly, she wouldn’t mind staying in this mansion forever, cleaning fancy stuff like this.
Millie, though, attacked an antique clock like it owed her money.
She rubbed the wood until it shone, the steady tick-tick reminding her to stop spacing out and keep going.
They traded quick smiles now and then.
Both of them liked this job more than any of Bert’s usual dirty gigs.
Then the doorknob turned.
Sheila walked in.
Her uniform looked so stiff it might snap if she tried to relax.
“Clara, Amelia! Done with the library yet?” Her voice sounded nicer than her outfit suggested.
“Almost, Sheila!” Clara called, hopping down from the step stool.
“Just the top shelf left.”
Sheila nodded once.
“Good. When you finish, go outside. The tea table on the porch needs a good scrub.”
Millie sighed inside her head.
Outside meant sun and sweat, but at least it was different from the same indoor rooms.
They wrapped up quickly.
The two of them shared a tired look, grabbed their bucket, and followed Sheila out the back door into bright daylight.
The yard looked like a picture from a book.
Soft green grass went on forever, broken up by flower beds full of bright colors.
A fountain bubbled near the hedges, and big old trees threw wide patches of shade.
Even the tea table on the porch looked ready for a magazine photo.
“Let’s make it look nice,” Sheila said.
Her words almost got lost under all the birds singing.
Clara shot Millie a quick wink.
Maybe this outdoor job wouldn’t suck after all.
Ten minutes later, the charm was gone.
Millie scrubbed the table’s fancy carvings while the sun poured down.
Sweat ran down her back.
The table turned out to be more annoying than pretty—sticky spots and tiny grooves that held onto dirt like they were paid to.
“Sandra told me most of the staff were born into it.
Their parents worked for the Morettis, now they do.”
“No school?” Millie asked, frowning.
She pictured kids dusting shelves instead of going to class.
“Some get school paid for. Don Hugo—the old boss—covers it for a few. Sandra went to college, but then…” Clara made a round shape over her stomach with her hands.
“Back to work.”
Millie sucked air through her teeth.
“That’s rough. I can’t picture spending my whole life working for one family. Leave for a bit, then come right back? No thanks.”
Clara bumped her with a grin.
“You might feel different if the family looked like this. Speaking of—eyes up, girl.”
Millie looked.
A tall guy with dark hair walked across the grass.
He moved easily, like he knew exactly where he was going.
Sun caught on his watch and the shine in his hair.
“What about him?” Millie whispered.
“What about him?” Clara repeated, fanning herself like she was in a movie.
“Girl, come on.
That man looks like he stepped off a book cover.
Did you see how those pants fit his—”
“Clara!” Millie cut in, trying not to laugh.
“Keep it down.”
“Relax,” Clara said, giggling.
“He’s too busy looking serious to notice.”
“We’ve been here less than a week, and you already have a crush?” Millie teased.
“I’m just saying,” Clara went on, “that rifle he’s carrying probably isn’t the only thing impressive about him.”
Millie laughed louder than she meant to.
The sound bounced across the quiet yard.
The guy did give off that heavy vibe—dark, intense, the type you didn’t stare at unless you wanted trouble.
Right then, he glanced over.
Their eyes met for a second.
Millie’s stomach did a quick flip.
Then he looked away.
“So much for Mr. Intense,” Clara said.
“Guess the whole brooding thing doesn’t come with charm.”
Millie paused, rag hovering over a stubborn spot.
“Aren’t you… I don’t know… nervous around him?”
“What, because of the big gun? Around here, that’s just part of the uniform. What’s there to be nervous about?” She leaned closer.
“Sleeping with a Moretti? Now that’s risky. Especially your Moretti. Giovanni Aidan Moretti. That name alone should come with a warning label.”
Millie’s face heated up.
She scrubbed harder.
“Clara, it wasn’t like that.
One night.
A mistake.”
“Mmhmm,” Clara said, not buying it.
“A mistake named Giovanni Aidan Moretti?
Mistakes aren’t supposed to be that good.
And he looked very good.”
“Stop!” Millie hissed, but she couldn’t hide the smile.
Clara laughed and leaned back, letting the sun hit her face.
“Fine, I’ll quit—for now. But let’s be real. Cody was a step down. Total step down. He had ‘cheater’ written all over him. And boring. You know he was boring.”
Millie opened her mouth, then shut it.
Nothing nice came to mind about Cody.
Nothing that held up.
“See?” Clara nudged her.
“You’re not even defending him. If you’d stayed in that penthouse a little longer, who knows? You could be on a yacht right now instead of wiping bird poop off patio furniture.”
Millie rolled her eyes.
“Yeah, right.
Because rich guys always fall for the cleaning lady.
I’ve got a life, Clara.
I wasn’t going to sit around waiting to be rescued.”
“Honey,” Clara said, smirking.
“So Aidan hasn’t even said hi in the hallway? Nothing?”
Millie felt heat climb her neck again.
Truth was, she’d been avoiding him like crazy.
And from the cold way he’d looked at her this morning, he wasn’t exactly hunting her down.
“He’ll talk to you,” Clara said, casually.
“The way he stared earlier? Millie, it was like he wanted to eat you for breakfast. And maybe come back for seconds.”
Millie groaned.
“Clara, please.”
“Okay, okay! I’m done,” Clara said, hands up.
“For now.”
They went back to scrubbing.
The sun kept shining, birds kept singing, and the yard stayed pretty.
But Millie couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was about to get a lot more complicated.