Chapter 4

That night I waited a long time, and no message ever came from Melanie.

The clock hit one, and my whole body had gone stiff with cold.

People who have been poor can bear the cold. What they can't bear is the cost of getting sick.

On the third sneeze, I quietly opened the door and slipped back inside.

I didn't go to the bedroom. I curled up on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, knees drawn to my chest.

Only when my body slowly warmed and I was drifting off did a shadow fall across the couch in front of me.

The smell of cigarette smoke reached me. I fought down the urge to open my eyes.

Even with them shut, I could feel the heat of that gaze on me.

What had Melanie come for?

Maybe to warn me.

But in the end she didn't "wake me up."

One cigarette finished, and she left.

And I opened my eyes and couldn't fall asleep again.

At six in the morning, after a quiet, quick wash, I didn't go back to the bedroom.

I just found two half-dry shirts on the drying rack, pulled them on, and went out.

After all that trouble, I caught a cold anyway.

Afraid of catching it from me, Melanie didn't have me cook again.

But Guy still came over often.

The young master and young miss loved ordering a whole table of expensive delivery.

My only job was to come out of the room once they were done, mask on, to clean up the wreckage.

Sometimes Mavis came too, but she only ate in silence.

Silently watching as Guy deliberately leaned close to Melanie's ear and grinned, right in front of her.

She didn't get angry.

She'd even help me clear up, then walk into the kitchen and ask where the dish soap was.

I told her not to bother, because Melanie had someone install a dishwasher.

"Stop washing them by hand from now on. It doesn't get as clean as the machine."

When Melanie said that, she glanced at my hand, still wearing a bandage.

There was something in her look she seemed about to say and didn't.

I figured it was disgust.

So I didn't tell her that when I said I liked washing dishes, I meant it.

Those years at the orphanage, washing dishes was the one job that earned me my first piece of candy.

Later, in school, it was washing dishes in a little diner that earned me the first ten-dollar bill of my life.

It was like the trump card of my gray little life.

But how would a rich girl ever understand.

She didn't need to.

That day, Mavis's face was ugly when she left.

The next day, she asked to break up.

Guy clearly couldn't accept it. He nearly tore the room next door apart.

Melanie, though, was in a good mood.

She took me to the highest-view upscale restaurant in Los Angeles and opened a very expensive bottle of red wine.

I held the glass, sipping in small mouthfuls, a little light-headed.

Melanie lazily lifted her eyes and suddenly said,

"Still want to see the ocean? Your birthday's in a couple of days. I'll take you."

I froze for a moment.

I remembered when I first took her fifty thousand dollars, grinning so wide my eyes disappeared, and she asked what I wanted the money for to be so happy.

I said, offhand, that I wanted to see the ocean.

Because the only photograph of my mother was taken by the sea.

Standing in front of the water, she smiled soft and sweet.

Growing up looking at that photo, I always drifted off wondering if maybe the sea had some secret power, something that could bring out the hidden side of my serious mother.

The thought had rooted itself deep.

But I'd never once acted on it.

I hadn't expected Melanie to remember.

The alcohol left me warm all over, and I said yes, happy.

Before we set out, I made a point of putting on the limited-edition sneakers Melanie had given me.

It was only when we arrived that I learned Melanie hadn't come out to sea to celebrate my birthday.

She'd only come to take Guy's mind off things.

And besides me, the people along to cheer him up included that crowd of her friends who had never had any use for me.

"Damn, this really is done up to match Guy, isn't it?"

"Aren't those the kind of shoes Guy likes to wear? Tsk. No shame at all."

"Say what you want, this little schemer really is something else. A bit more flavor than the real deal."

"Look at him, we've nearly scared him to tears. Miss Gilbert, you didn't tell him this was a private date, did you?"

Standing at the edge of the group with her head down, listening to Guy talk, Melanie looked up and glanced at me at that.

Her expression was careless.

"You lot, don't scare him."

The group scattered, the talk died down.

But the ill-meaning looks stayed.

I stood in the corner. Now and then a server passed by, and by the time they reached me all that was left was juice that couldn't fill a stomach.

I drank two glasses, and my stomach burned.

Then my phone got a message from my advisor.

"Ian, the review's gone through. You can book your flight."

I let out a breath. My mood finally lifted a little.

I turned to head outside, head down, sending a message.

I didn't expect the sudden force behind me. I toppled straight into the champagne tower beside me.

First the cold, then the pain.

Then the sound of the crowd around me bursting into laughter.

And last, I saw Melanie in the very center of the crowd, brow furrowed, lips pressed tight.

Broken glass all over the floor. By the time I dragged myself up out of the mess,

I could no longer tell where I'd been cut. Blood dripped down my arm.

Guy spun around in a panic and pulled the woman into his arms.

A server came over and draped a bathrobe across my shoulders.

"Miss Gilbert says to go rest in your room. She's staying with Young Master Fisher. If you can't look after yourself, try not to come out."

"She also said... if you insist on distracting her, I'm to arrange for you to go back right now."

The sea looked pitch-black and bottomless in the deep night, waves slapping the rocks in my ears.

I looked over at Melanie.

She wasn't looking this way at all, her head down, watching only Guy.

The wind hit me and I shivered.

"Fine. Then I'll trouble you. I want to go back."