SALVAGE PRIDE

6

Her cheeks flush a deeper shade of crimson. “Don’t be silly. I was just surprised to see him.”

Uh-huh. Right. I slowly shake my head so she knows I’m not buying it, but I don’t force her to tell me more. We’ll have plenty of time to ease into the subject during the week once she’s warmed up to the idea.

“Who was that with him? Did he get remarried?”

“No, that’s his sister, Cora. She moved in about a year ago to help with the kids.”

Carter was widowed a few months before moving to his Tuxedo Park estate. He’s been living there for years now without remarrying, and if memory serves, his two kids are approaching their teens. It makes sense that he might bring in someone, family or otherwise, to help with their undoubtedly busy schedules.

Now that I know his relation to the woman, I note the similarities in their appearance. Carter has the same blond hair with a natural curl that Cora likely hides by straightening and curling to form more controlled, silky waves. They are both relatively petite and not as fair-complexioned as some blonds. As for their natures, I got the sense no two people could be more different. He was attentive and thoughtful while the grass frosted over and died wherever she stepped.

“Poor kids,” I murmur. If she’s their caregiver, I don’t envy them.

“Don’t say that.” Gia smacks my shoulder. “I’m sure she was just having a rough morning.” Her voice lacked the strength of confidence.

“How come you haven’t mentioned her before?”

My sweet, considerate, selfless sister raises a brow. “I figure, if I don’t have anything nice to say, I shouldn’t say anything at all.”

I double over in a fit of laughter while Gia fights off a grin. Cora must be a piece of work if she can’t even gain favor with Gia. A person has to try hard to fall from her good graces.

“Like I said, poor kids.”

Melancholy eclipses her mirth when she nods. “Let’s head to the kitchen. I’m sure Mom’s wondering where we are.”

We bypass the front door and walk around to the servant’s entrance at the back of the house. While the building was maintained true to its original character, certain modern amenities such as kitchen appliances and other upgrades were discreetly added to the home in a way that didn’t upset the oldworld charm. We find the cook, Cecelia, stationed at a twelve-burner Wolfe stovetop overseeing three steaming pots while Mom kneads a massive ball of dough.

“I started to think you two had gotten lost. Your sisters have both been sent out on errands, and I could really use your help upstairs. All twelve bedrooms will be occupied tonight. I’ve got Laney working on that, but she’s been slower than molasses lately. If she’s left to do it all on her own, she won’t finish until midnight.”

Laney is the dedicated housekeeper who lives in a small suite on the third floor and works with Gia. She’s in her mid-forties and has worked for the family for more than a decade. It always strikes me as a little odd that she doesn’t have her own family and still lives at Hardwick, but Gia is in nearly the same situation, so who am I to judge? Laney seems to like her job and living arrangements, and her opinion is the only one that matters. She reports to my mother, who managed to score a job overseeing the household staff not long after Dad was offered the job as groundskeeper and head of security. Mom’s job is a bit ironic since she can’t maintain her own home worth a flip, but she somehow manages to perform adequately enough that she has yet to be fired, and by some stroke of luck, her staff turnover rate has been surprisingly low.

Only a few De Rossis live at Hardwick full-time, so a large staff isn’t needed. Mom fills in when the family hosts a party or houses guests, but this funeral is an entirely different matter. People will be gathering from all over the country to honor the late Mr. De Rossi, who was intricately involved in politics and who knows what else.

“We’ll go ask Laney what rooms still need to be prepared,” Gia assures her.

I follow my sister from the kitchen to the walk-in linen closet, where we luck out and find Laney collecting supplies for her next room.

“Hey, Laney.” Gia smiles warmly. “Mom sent us to help. Where should we start?”

The thin woman’s shoulders slump with relief. “Thank God. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get everything done. Most of the bedrooms haven’t been used in over a year, so Mrs. De Rossi wants all new sheets put on the beds. I’m also giving the bathrooms a scrub. I’d been working room-by-room doing both, but if you two could get the beds taken care of, I’ll finish up the bathrooms.”

“Absolutely. What rooms have been done already?”

“It’s early, so I’ve only gotten to the first two on the far east end of the hall. I had enough fresh sheets clean for half the rooms but have stripped the other half already to get those sheets in the wash. Here.” She snatches two piles of white linens from the shelf and hands them to Gia, then places a bucket of cleaning supplies in mine. “The next two rooms are queen bedrooms. And do a sweep for any extra touches that may be needed—a quick vacuum of the drapes or the removal of any cobwebs. We don’t do a thorough clean of those areas except maybe once a year, so there’s no telling what we’ll find. But don’t tackle too much because we only have so much time.” She suddenly stops and takes a shuddering breath. “Heavens, I can’t believe this is happening. It was so sudden. He was there one minute and gone the next.” When her eyes find us again, they’re red and glassy.

Gia places a hand on Laney’s shoulder. “It’s a hard time for everyone. Try not to overtax yourself, and don’t worry about the bedrooms. We have them covered.”

Laney nods and picks up her bucket. “Holler if you need me.” She gives us a sad smile before disappearing down the hall.

A somberness settles over us that is amplified by the quiet stateliness of the old home. The rich mahogany wood and Persian rugs are a testament to time. Owners will come and go, but Hardwick will long remain. The empty silence in its hallways is a stark reminder of our temporary nature.

“Well”—I shake off the despondency—“let’s get started upstairs.” Where the windows will let in some sunlight and cheer. While I feel bad for the De Rossi family, I prefer not to embrace their sorrow. Maybe it’s shallow of me, but I don’t like to be sad. For someone like Gia, who is a natural empath, it can be hard to avoid feeling the full extent of another’s grief, but I’m not so unfortunate. And as such, it has always been my role to lift her spirits as well.