She held herself to the same standard.
From what she’d confessed to me, I knew why. Gretchen was fighting her own battles, claiming her own space and finding pride in herself despite everything.
I wondered if it was that pride - that vanity - that would eventually destroy all of us.
Perhaps humility is a better choice. You don’t have to fight for it. You don’t have to regret it. There are no insults to take back or apologies to be muttered.
Others could afford to be humble. But not a Rose. Not me.
My stomach flipped again as I stepped into the shower and got dressed once I was clean.
I sucked it up, straightened my spine, rolled back my shoulders and met Gretchen in the main room. Her eyes dipped to my neck as if searching for more marks. Embarrassment tinted my cheeks.
She clucked her tongue. “No. Don’t do that. Don’t be ashamed. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working. Do not regret what it takes to crawl out of your hole.”
Except I wasn’t crawling out of anything. I was only digging myself deeper.
Subject dropped as quickly as it came up, Gretchen turned to lead me from the family suites with the click of her sensible shoes.
“We have a busy day. In one hour, you’ll be packed into a van with other staff members and taken to the pit. Your job is to make sure the arena is spotless. The family does not suffer embarrassment easily. As you well know. The leather chairs are to be polished. The brass railings gleaming. The floors better have vacuum tracks embedded in them. Once that is accomplished, you’ll be assigned a new uniform. Your evening will be spent running for drinks or snacks or whatever it is the guests consume there.”
She spun on me.
“And you will do all that with your chin tipped high. Guests will recognize who you are. Do not buckle beneath them.”
They could stare all they wanted. My serving them wasn’t what hurt the most. I only feared watching Callan die while they all shouted for the entertainment.
Gretchen must have seen the truth written all over my face.
Her voice softened. “Don’t worry about him. I’ve had the opportunity to witness Callan in the ring. He’s not one to be shoved to his knees. His opponents, on the other hand...”
A pause, the silence significant. Gretchen placed her hand on my arm. “Ignore what happens after the fight, Lisbeth. It will slice you to the bone, but you can’t let them see you crumble.”
Her cryptic words were left hanging as she turned to continue leading me to the dining hall. Only a few servants were eating, and I assumed they were the ones working the fight. Holly sat with them. Her bright blue eyes glanced up at me with fear behind them.
Gretchen left me at the breakfast bar with only a few more words to chew on. “Eat well. You won’t want to eat later tonight.”
Our eyes met, and the warning hit home. Something bad was going to happen, and she didn’t want me shattering to pieces where anybody could witness my pain.
It only made my stomach twist more, but I forced food on my plate regardless. Forcing it down my throat was a far more difficult task.
An hour later found us at the arena, scrubbing and polishing. Holly stayed by my side but didn’t say much. You could tell she was nervous to be there. Several times, I’d thought to ask her why she would sign on for this job, but I thought better of it.
Something was going on, something awful, and I didn’t want the truth of it to weigh on my shoulders along with everything else I was carrying.
Eventually, the day bled into night, and we were given our server uniforms. While the men were assigned the typical black jacket and pants with a crisp white shirt, the women were required to show a bit more skin.
By bit, I meant practically all of it.
The cocktail dress was hugging the curve of my ass, crawling back up every time I yanked it down. The beaded bodice did nothing to hide what was beneath it. They could have installed a stripper pole and it would have been the perfect accessory for the ridiculous costume I wore.
Maybe this is what Gretchen was warning me about. I hoped this was the worst of it.
Poor Holly looked skittish in her matching uniform. It was all sorts of wrong. She was too innocent for whore-chic. The black was a stain against