Johnathan

Veronica's presence around the mansion was like a sorely needed breath of fresh air in my life. A life that had begun to seem so empty, almost cursed. But which had taken on such new emotional depths, and finally felt worth living again whenever she was around.

I mean, yeah. I know. A guy like me falling in love with his housekeeper- not exactly a well-advised decision by any means. Celia had been some twenty years my senior, and, without being disrespectful to her, not quite the sort of woman I'm prone to falling in love with. I'd always been insulated from any such temptation whenever she was around, but Veronica had all but torn away my last defenses.

Judge me as you will, but God you should have seen her. That thin body, all wrapped up in a maid's uniform. Tight black skirt, sexy white dress shirt wrapped tight around a body that wouldn't quit. Her prominent breasts making my mouth water every time she walked into a room. Then there was that beautiful face- the dark brown hair, so silken and lustrous. Penetrating blue eyes, the cutest little nose, and deep red lips, capable of forming themselves into the prettiest of smiles.

One look at her was enough to make my knees go weak, and the world around me careen about in wild circles.

Thank God I only saw her for a short time each day. Sometimes for just a few minutes as I left for work, sometimes around the house as I worked from home, unable to concentrate with that beautiful girl anywhere within a hundred feet of me.

Was I being ridiculous? Hell yes, I knew I was.

I mean, of all the beautiful women I encountered on a daily basis, most of them only too willing to fall into the arms of a heartbroken billionaire, why was I setting my sights on the one woman in the world who I really should have avoided?

Because I'm an idiot, that's why. And because Veronica was just too pure, too perfect for me to want to stop myself.

I think part of it was, with so many other women, they were so obvious about wanting me. They would practically ooze into any room I happened to be in, turning on their maximum sexual charm, fluttering long eyelashes at me and flaunting more cleavage than the situation typically called for. They wanted to claim me. Me and my fortune, anyway. They wanted to believe that everyone wanted them, and I was like the golden goose. The top prize for women so deserving as they were.

And don't get me wrong for one second. Veronica was drop dead gorgeous, in every way. But she was gorgeous in a way that she didn't seem particularly aware of. Like if someone came up and told her she was beautiful, she would just turn to them with wide eyes and ask, without a trace of irony, “What? Me? Really?”

I'd seen that about her the very first time she walked through my door, and I saw how flustered she acted around me. It was a pretty flattering experience, to be honest. Having someone be in awe of you, instead of wanting to claim you as their own. I mean, I'm no arrogant bastard, but I'm aware of the effect I can sometimes have on women. I've always tried to use that responsibly. Not take advantage of the situation, and exercise caution in turning on the charm.

But damn... In all honesty, she was the first woman I could remember acting that way around me, so shy and so gentle, yet so clearly desirous of me, since- well, since I met my wife Lydia.

For the first time in the year since she'd been gone, I began to feel something other than pain. I felt desire, and I felt guilty about feeling desire, but it wasn't something I dared suppress.

If I did suppress it, it was only for Veronica's sake. I didn't want to make her life hard for her. I had this fear, I think, of using her as a kind of therapy for myself. And that really didn't seem fair.

And so, I guess I played it cool for the first week or two. Maybe even behaved a bit coldly around her, acting like I could honestly take or leave her presence aside from her basic housekeeping duties. I was friendly, but distant. And every attempt I made at isolating myself from her only caused me to want her more and more.

By about the third week I could tell the situation was getting away from me. I stopped pretending. I would openly flirt with her, telling her she looked nice today, or being a little bit too forthcoming with my praise- she really was doing a terrific job, both with the house and with looking after Julie. Sometimes I really wouldn't have to do anything at all. Just look at her a certain way. Smile a little bit. And it was like watching her dissolve into a puddle at my feet. Her lashes fluttering girlishly, her skin seeming to glow in response to my recognition.

I loved it too much. I wanted it too much. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't get enough of it.

As much as I loved her humility, and the thought that nothing I ever did would ever be enough to confess how I was sure she felt about me, I found myself wanting to bring out that very quality I held in such contempt in so many other women. That same confidence, bordering on arrogance. I wanted to make her want me so bad, to provoke her into my submission, so that I wouldn't be the one forced to tell her how I felt, and screw up my chances with her before things even got started.

I must have seemed so obvious, so transparent, though she never really seemed to notice. Maybe she was just too flustered by me, or felt in no position to call me out on it. Which should have been all the more reason for me to cool it a little bit, but of course I wasn't that smart.

I remember one day I was feeling especially tense about the whole situation. I'd been pacing around my bedroom while she cleaned downstairs, thinking that I should finally tell her, yet certain that I couldn't possibly do so. Finally, I went downstairs, thinking I might just suffocate if I stayed inside much longer, and hoping a walk in the fresh air might help me clear my head a little bit.

I made it as far as the main hall before being stopped in my tracks. I found her standing there, a feather duster held limply in one hand, her eyes transfixed at one of the paintings on the wall. I can't even remember which one it was now, just that she was so in awe of it. Like she'd been torn from what she was doing, and just left staring into the eyes of the figure portrayed as though hypnotized.

“You like it?” I asked her, and I thought she might just leap from her skin at the sound of my voice.

“Oh! Mr. Heyman. You scared me. I'm so sorry, I was cleaning and I just got distracted by this piece.”

I laughed, and strolled up over to her. “It is one of my favorites, I have to say. No need to apologize. I know you're new here, but I would hope you know me well enough by now to know I'm not some kind of slave driver.”

She grinned at me. “Well, thanks. Honestly, I didn't expect a job as a housekeeper to be as rewarding for an artist as it has been. I'm just fascinated by your collection...”

“I'm glad to hear it's impressive to someone who knows a thing or two about art,” I joked. “I mean, I know all of this cost a pretty penny, but I've only ever gone by my personal taste. I always value the opinion of someone who actually knows what they're talking about.”

She smiled, and shook her head.

“Taste is just subjective,” she said. “Just because I went to school for art doesn't make my opinion any more valid than yours on the subject.”

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder?” I asked, trying to be suggestive, but she either missed or ignored my meaning.

“Pretty much,” she said. “But I mean, sometimes you can just have straight up crap as well.”

I smiled at this. It was more than she usually let her guard down around me.

“True enough,” I said. “Why don't you come with me? I'll show you something I really think you might enjoy...” God, even remembering it my tone seemed so ridiculously suggestive, probably quite out of line for a man in my position. Of course, though, Veronica, didn't show any signs of minding. She just followed me along as requested, and I showed her to my safe. Strutting like a peacock as I revealed the treasure inside.

“Behold,” I said, pulling out the painting from inside, “My pride and joy. Well, after Julie, obviously...”

“Good Lord,” she said, her eyes wide as she cradled the thing in her hands. “Is this- a genuine Picasso?”

“It certainly is,” I said proudly. “Worth almost two hundred million dollars.”

“Oh God!” Telling her the price evidently spooked her, because the frame wobbled in her grip, and I had the sudden, horrible image of the distorted face on the canvas being twisted and contorted into still more disparate fragments.

Whether that would have happened had I not reached out to prevent it, I really can't say. Thankfully, I managed to grab the frame in time and keep it from falling, pulling it back away from her with the utmost gentility.

“I'm so sorry,” she said, and I smiled at her, still feeling a little bit tense.

“No harm, no foul,” I said. “Really my fault. Probably shouldn't have sprung it on you like that.

“I'm just glad you caught it,” she said, still shaking a little bit. “That's more money than I've had in my hands in- well- ever.”

This knocked me down a rung or two. I'd been trying to impress her, but now I just felt guilty having enough money to throw away on a dumb painting. From what I'd gathered about her, she sometimes struggled just to cover rent, and here I was flashing my wealth around in her face like the king of all assholes?

I tried to redeem myself. I gently placed the painting back in my safe, acting as though I'd already forgotten about it. “It's nice,” I said. “But I bet you could paint circles around old Pablo.”

She laughed. “Old Pablo? Wow, I didn't realize you and he went back so far.”

I smiled at her. “Seriously, though. You still need to bring in some of your work to show me. I'm very anxious to see it.”

She scoffed at this, and by now it was all becoming unbearable for me. “I'm afraid to now,” she said. “My stuff is amateur at best compared to the stuff you have around.”

“I'm sure that's not true,” I said, unable to stop cursing myself.

“Well then,” she said with a grin, “I think it would be better to keep you believing that than to shatter your illusions.” I honestly couldn't figure out what she was thinking, how she was feeling about the whole conversation. Maybe I was taking it way more seriously than she was.

“Anyway,” she said, “I think I better go ahead and get back to work. I've already lollygagged enough for one day. I mean, you aren't paying me to stand around and bemoan my failed art career.”

I would pay her to just stand around and look pretty if she asked me to, I thought.

But wait, what the hell had just happened here?

I gaped after her, not really understanding as I watched her sweep from the room, back in the direction of the hall she'd been attempting to clean when I came in and interrupted her.

“Damn it,” I swore under my breath, feeling as uncool as I'd ever felt around a woman in my life.

I needed to get a handle on this situation, and fast. I didn't know how much longer I could stand to wait while these damn emotions continued to eat me up inside.

Maybe the solution was a lot more straightforward than I wanted to believe. Maybe all I really needed to do was to come right out, and tell her how I felt.

But God, how the idea of even attempting it rattled me to my very core...