As if guided by a secret instinct and a destiny I had no control over, I took a step into the room. My hands were gripping the tray so hard, my knuckles were white. I turned and headed towards the left where the candles flickered and danced.

I passed the first room which was a bedroom with a very big wooden bed. The sheets were crumpled. My progress was silent since I was almost tip-toeing. As I moved halfway into the room I could look into the adjoining room. It was a dressing room. I could see an oval mirror.

I heard a noise coming from there and froze. As I stood there unmoving, terrified, and yet unable to stop myself, he appeared. He was walking across the room to the other side. Without his shirt, he seemed even larger, his torso tight with well-defined muscles, but even more astonishingly, he was not wearing his mask!

My eyes were riveted to his disfigured face. Oh, God! It was incredible. I never imagined it would be so bad. I could not stop staring at the mangled flesh, the raised white scars, the skin stretched so tightly over his cheekbone it looked painful. As I gaped in astonishment, he walked past the mirror.

For just a few seconds, I saw the other side of him reflected in the mirror. The unscarred side.

That man was beautiful beyond anything I had known. The man I had seen in the photo was young. He had taken from life what he wanted. He was at the peak of his achievement and tasted success. He had never known loss or horror, and he looked out to the world with some arrogance. But this man … this man had known terrible, terrible pain and hurt. He had been to the pits of despair, maybe even given up on life, and then forced himself to carry on. His suffering was stamped on the fine lines around his eyes and mouth, on his skin, in his gorgeous eyes.

I felt my heart soar as if it would fly out of my body. Wow! That was the moment I fell in love with the man in the mirror.

When he had passed out of my sight, I turned around and quickly went back out to the room filled with morning light. I placed the tray on top of the polished surface of the table, taking care not to make a sound, and then straightened to take my leave. The sound of his voice reached me before I could get to the door.

“Running away, Charlotte?”

I stopped in my tracks. I knew he had not seen me. He could not have. “No,” I replied glancing back. He had his mask back on his face and he had pulled on a shirt. It hung unbuttoned on his body. I could see his abs, hard and strong and I guessed that must be how he passed his hours of solitude, working out on his own.

“Do you know how to knot a tie?” He held out a blood-red tie up to me and I went towards it like a lamb to slaughter.

I took the tie from him, careful to avoid skin contact. He walked away from me. He said something else before it struck me that he was on the phone and speaking in another language. He turned to head towards his desk as he spoke, his voice low and rapid as he flipped a file open and began to peruse it.

I stood in the middle of the room, trying to keep my attention solely focused on fashioning the tie into a decent knot, but my hands were trembling so much I was making a mess of it. I sensed his conversation was dwindling down and I clumsily tried to undo it and start again.

He finished his call and the room felt silent until I felt him approaching me. “You don’t know how to do it?”

“I’m afraid it’s not very good.”

“Don’t nannies have to learn to dress their charges?” he asked softly.

“Yes, but not while their hearts are racing.” I turned to face him.

“Is your heart racing?” The almost translucent gray of his irises bore into mine.

My heart responded by thumping so hard against my chest I was sure he could hear it. Close up, his nearness was almost unbearable. I wanted to rip the mask off and show him that I didn’t care about his scars and his mangled flesh. I wanted to press my body against his and feel his mouth on mine.

The air between us changed, became thick and viscous. I felt as if I needed to breathe and couldn’t. There was so much I wanted to say. So much I couldn’t say.

“Thanks for bringing my breakfast,” he murmured, never taking his eyes off me.

“You’re … uh … welcome. And I … um … I wanted to thank you for helping me with Mrs. King earlier today.”

“No need,” he replied, his lips twisted. “I know you’ll do a good job.”

I really wanted to stay with him in that room full of shadows, and full of the clean smell of his aftershave, to say all the things I wanted to say to him, to touch his skin and tell him he was beautiful, but I knew I couldn’t. This was the end of the road for me. At least, for now. I came to bring the breakfast and that was done. Mrs. Blackmore was probably having kittens by now. I placed the poorly knotted tie on the table. “I guess, I should go. Zackary is waiting for me.”

He didn’t say anything, just watched me with those extraordinary eyes. I wondered if he watched me as I left. I wanted him to.