In love with our maid

CHAPTER SIX: AN UNFAMILIAR FAMILIARITY

The afternoon rain fell softly, cloaking the Stanford estate in a gray hush. The hallway lights glowed warmer against the windows, and the scent of lavender-scented polish lingered faintly in the air as Aria moved quietly through the guest wing.

She had just finished organizing linens when Chief Maid Lavine’s voice summoned her to the drawing room with tea.

With trembling fingers, Aria steadied the silver tray, carefully placing the fine porcelain teacups and the Earl Grey pot. Her steps were sure but slow as she entered the room, keeping her eyes downcast as trained. The drawing room smelled of roses and wood polish. Lavine stood by the shelf straightening pillows, while Lily Montrose sat poised, elegant and composed, one leg crossed over the other like she owned the room.

Across the space, Ethan leaned against the window frame, arms folded, his gaze distant—watching the rain blur the garden paths.

“Place it there,” Lavine instructed without looking back.

“Yes, ma’am,” Aria answered softly, moving toward the table.

As she bent slightly to set the tray down, her eyes caught Ethan’s—unintentionally.

But he didn’t look away.

Her breath hitched.

He held her gaze, calm and curious, as though trying to read something just behind her eyes.

The moment broke only when Lavine barked, “Careful. Don’t clatter the cups.”

“Sorry,” Aria murmured, quickly steadying the tray.

“You’re the new girl Ethan mentioned, right?” Lily asked suddenly, her voice bright with honeyed interest. “The one who reads.”

Aria blinked. He mentioned me?

“Yes, ma’am.”

“How sweet,” Lily said with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Let me guess—romance novels?”

Aria hesitated, unsure if the question was a trap. She nodded faintly.

Lily turned toward Ethan with a smirk. “I suppose she believes in true love.”

“I think some people feel it without needing to read about it,” Ethan said without looking at her.

His voice was low but deliberate.

Lily’s smile thinned.

The room quieted. Aria could feel the weight of Ethan’s gaze again, subtle but unmistakable.

She dipped her head in a polite bow. “Excuse me, I’ll return to the kitchen.”

As she left, she didn’t look back—but her heart was loud enough in her chest to drown out the rain.

The staff hallway was quiet. Aria leaned against the wall just past the corner, pressing a palm to her chest. Her breath came shallow.

He looked at me. Really looked.

And worse—something inside her wanted him to look again.

---

Later that evening, Lavine sent Aria to restock towels in the indoor pool room tucked behind the west wing. It was mostly unused during cold months—quiet, echoing, with soft ripples dancing across the blue water from the glow above.

She finished folding the last towel into the cabinet and turned—

Ethan stood in the doorway.

Aria startled slightly, her hand gripping the edge of the shelf.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, stepping inside, his voice unhurried, almost careful.

“Good evening, sir,” she said, ducking her head.

He stepped closer, shoes silent against the smooth tile. “You don’t need to call me that.”

She glanced up, cautious. “It’s… the rule.”

“Rules change,” he murmured, then added gently, “especially when they don’t make sense.”

He was only a few feet away now, close enough that she caught the faint scent of rain and cedar on his shirt.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier,” he said.

“You didn’t,” Aria replied quickly, too quickly.

He gave a small, knowing smile. “You’re not good at lying.”

“I don’t have to lie, sir.”

He tilted his head. “Then why did your eyes look sad when you left?”

Her breath caught.

Ethan paused, as if weighing whether to continue. “Lily can be… a lot. And Lavine—she may not mean harm, but I see the way you flinch around her.”

Aria looked away.

“I flinch around people who notice me,” she whispered.

He took a step closer.

“Well, I’ve noticed you since day one.”

The honesty in his voice was disarming. It wasn’t flirtation. It was clarity.

“I shouldn’t be here with you,” Aria said, her voice low.

“But you are,” Ethan countered gently. “And so am I.”

Silence wrapped around them. The soft hum of the pool filters, the patter of distant rain.

“I see you reading sometimes,” he said. “In the garden. Near the old oak. You sit so still it’s like you disappear into the world you’re holding.”

Her lips parted slightly.

“I always wondered what you were thinking,” he added.

“I wasn’t thinking. I was… escaping.”

He nodded slowly. “From here?”

“From everything,” she said softly. “I read so I don’t feel small.”

“You’re not small,” Ethan said, his voice quiet but firm. “Not to me.”

She dared to meet his gaze then—and saw no mockery. No cruelty.

Only warmth.

“I don’t want to get in trouble,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You won’t,” he promised.

“You can’t promise that.”

“I can promise I’ll be careful.”

Aria’s heart thundered. She should move. Step away. Say nothing.

Instead, she asked, “Why are you really here?”

He blinked, as though the question caught him off guard. Then he smiled faintly.

“Because I keep finding reasons to walk into rooms you’re in.”

Her breath caught.

She looked away, and when he reached up slowly—hesitantly—to tuck a damp curl behind her ear, she didn’t stop him.

“I won’t kiss you,” he said, his voice barely audible, “unless you want me to.”

Her breath hitched again.

But she didn’t ask.

Not yet.

His fingers lingered briefly near her cheek, then he let them fall away.

He stepped back with quiet restraint.

“Goodnight, Aria.”

Then he was gone.

The door shut softly behind him, and the quiet returned—except now, it throbbed with memory.

Aria stood still, her heart full of questions.

Was this real?

Or just another story she would only be allowed to read—never live?

But deep down, something had changed.

And for the first time, she didn’t feel like just the maid.

She felt seen.