My mouth was open, but I simply could not make it work.

Brett was standing in front of me! There was a mask over his face made of some kind of shiny material, probably not material, but silicone. It was dark, a sharp contrast to the pale ivory of his skin. It was obvious he had not been out in the sun in years. His hair was swept away from his face in waves, and just underneath his right eye, I could see a glimpse of the mangled damaged flesh as it rode down and disappeared underneath the mask.

Jillian had inferred that he was hideous … a monster… but he was not. The man I had seen in the picture paled in comparison. From the broadened shoulders upon which a striped, white dress shirt was draped to the charcoal slacks tailored to run down his long muscular legs, there was no doubt I was staring at the sexiest, most magnetic man I’d ever seen. Maybe it was his hooded eyes, or lightly tousled hair, or the mystery the mask exuded, but to my mind he was as dark and mysterious as a romantic hero in a novel.

My hand came to my chest in confusion. I wanted to say something, something that would let him know that I did not find him repulsive, quite the contrary in fact, but not a word could I bring to my lips. I could feel my face become redder as the seconds passed.

“Charlotte,” he called.

I looked at him dumbly. Inside I was screaming abuse at myself. Say something, idiot. Say something. Anything.

“Will you go and see my wife? She has something to say to you.”

I nodded and hurried away like a little coward. Still cursing myself I found my way over to Jillian’s suite. When I arrived, went in without even knocking, my brain was so scrambled.

She was standing by the window and gazing out. Her blonde hair was arranged at the nape of her neck in a beautiful bun, but she was still in her dressing gown. For a moment I was struck by the sight. There was something so sad and lost about her. She turned at my entrance, her eyes widened with hope. She must have thought I was Brett, because her face changed to great dislike, maybe even hate, when she saw me.

“What do you want?” she spat.

“Mr. King said you wanted to see me.”

Her hands clenched at her sides and she took a deep breath.

“Well, if it was nothing, I’ll go pack my things.”

She exhaled loudly. “No need,” she said through gritted teeth. “You’ll be staying … for now. Zackary’s father wanted me to give you a second chance but, be forewarned, one mistake on your part and you are out of here.” She walked to her dressing table, sat down on the stool and started to touch up her already perfectly made up face.

I was dismissed, but such emotions raced through me I couldn’t move. I felt almost dizzy. Brett had forced her to let me remain … what did that mean?

“Why are you still here?” she asked.

It instantly brought me right back to earth. I took a backward step, then another. Then I turned around, exited the room, and all but crept down the corridor. My heart felt as if it was a bird trapped in my chest and it was flapping it little wings like crazy. All my nervous energy was for nothing. Brett was no longer at the spot we met before. Even so, the mere fact of thinking he might have been there gave me a headache. I headed to my room and sat on the bed. I needed to clear my head.

The intercom began to bleep. I could see that it was from the kitchen. I quickly answered it. It was Mrs. Blackmore.

“Zackary’s almost done with his meal, where are you?” she asked, a hint of impatience in her voice. “His tutor will be here soon.”

“I’m on my way,” I said, and bolted out of my room.

When I arrived at the kitchen, Zackary was sitting at the table and idly kicking his heels against the chair’s legs. There was a tray of breakfast on a table.

“Who’s that for?” I asked.

Mrs. Blackmore looked up from her phone, her gaze nervous, her feet tapping rapidly against the stone floor. “It’s for Mr. King. He’s supposed to be leaving soon and for the love of God I cannot find Steven or Carrie to take it up to him.”

I spoke before I could use my brain. “Why don’t I take it over?”

She turned to me. It took a few moments for her to process the logistics of such an action through her mind, and I spent that time wondering what the hell was wrong with me. I just met him in the corridor and acted like a complete nutcase, and now I was offering to take his breakfast up to him.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” she said in a relieved voice. “Just leave on the table by the door. Do not go into his rooms … or linger. And come straight back.”

“Okay.”

She picked up the tray and thrust it at me. “Quickly now. I’ll keep the lad here until you return.”

I took the tray from her and had reached the top of the stairs when I realized I wasn’t sure which corridor to take. I was standing there, trying to work out my East from my West when I saw Melly.

“Mr. King’s suite? Keep going straight down.” She nodded towards the corridor behind me. “It’s the first door on your left, you can’t miss it. The hallway has a gallery of portraits.”

“Thanks, Melly.

“Hey, want to go out for a drink, Friday?”

My stomach was churning with nervousness, but I smiled and nodded. “Sure, why not.”

“Great. See you later,” she said, and I turned to go towards Mrs. King’s rooms.

I followed her instructions and pretty soon I was standing in front of an imposing mahogany door. I knocked, twice, and when there was no response, pulled down the handle, and pushed it open.

Gentle morning light was pouring in from a walk-in balcony straight ahead, but I also noted the presence of candlelight deeper in the rooms. The stone walls were very bare, the furniture sparse and simple. There was something hermit-like and yet there was a clandestine ambience about the suite. As Mrs. Blackmore had indicated there was a table by the door.

I should have put the tray there and left, but I didn’t.