The Price of Inertia (The Seven Sins #4) - Lily Zante Page 0,15

another word.

“You only need to clean my room once a week, otherwise you don’t need to be on this side of the house.”

I nod, then follow him like a sheep as he heads down the other hallway on the left. He opens the first door of many. “Take this one.” He flings the door open but doesn’t step inside. “I trust it will suffice?”

I step inside, as he switches on the light.

Will this suffice?

My heart leaps for joy. Yes! Yes it will.

It’s huge, with the biggest bed I’ve ever seen, and a dresser, and closets, and another door presumably leading to a bathroom. “This is wonderful!” I cry, my insides jubilant with joy as I walk inside. I set down my suitcase and bags, too excited to speak, but also under strict orders not to.

This is my room.

Mine.

For the duration of this prison sentence. Excited, I walk inside, and look around and inspect the room. There’s a walk in wardrobe, though I don’t have enough clothes to even fill one of the racks. The closets are extra space lined around the room.

Who has this many clothes? Or possessions or things?

I turn around, needing to ask him something, but as I come back out and step back into the room, he has disappeared. I run towards the door, and peer down the hallway only to catch a glimpse of the edge of his robe as he turns the corner and disappears.

He didn’t tell me what I needed to wear; whether there was an outfit, or costume I should wear. He hadn’t told me anything. I don’t know what time he expects breakfast, or what type of food he likes to eat, and ditto the same for lunch and dinner.

I’m in the dark about all of this.

The only thing that makes my stay here palatable is that the house and my room are the most luxurious I’ve ever had.

It’s a shame that the price I must pay for this luxury is to live with that swine.

The next day I wake up bright and early, then lie in bed feeling inexplicably happy. Staring at the ornate lampshade above my head, and the beautiful silky wallpaper around the room, makes me happy. Being surrounded by things of beauty, instead of peeling paint and broken down things, make for a positive state of mind. I’ve often had to imagine better things for myself, and the struggle has been real, especially these last few weeks, but today I am really here, living in a multi-million dollar mansion in the Gold Coast area.

For that privilege alone, I can suffer this position.

I get up and shower and get ready, making the decision to wear what I wore at work: smart clothes, just because I need to feel that I’m ‘at work’. Not smart like a blazer, but a blouse and a skirt, with my work pumps. Hopefully I’ll find an apron somewhere.

I’m dressed and in the kitchen by 7 AM, rummaging around in the supplies cupboard where I find an apron. I walk past the study because I want to clean ‘his’ area and get it out of the way. I’m not sure if he’s in here though, so I knock and when there is no answer, I go inside and breathe with relief to find the room empty. It’s dark, and smells, of mothballs and mustiness. How does he find inspiration in such a setting? I walk around, the room taking a good look because he didn’t show me around properly last night. His desk is messy around the edges, but in the centre, papers and books and stationery are lined up neatly. Lamps are dotted around, and there’s a long soft leather couch and side table. I start pulling up the blinds and opening the windows to let in the fresh air. Then I return to his desk and start polishing it to perfection, my eyes flickering over his sheets of papers. He has notebooks, and post-it notes, scraps of paper, a pile of books, and yet some more notebooks on the floor. Handwritten notes litter his desk. I’m careful not to let my eyes stray. He’s warned me not to read anything, but I also don’t read horror, so this isn’t going to be a problem.

Cleaning his study doesn’t take long and after that I decide to get his breakfast ready even though he’s given me no indication of his dietary choices. I didn’t make office manager so fast by being told what to do.