Page 23 of Eyes Like Angel (Eyes Like Angel #1)

Adrian

One hour late.

She’s one hour late.

She’s at the spa, getting her manicure and pedicures done, entirely forgetting the new employee she fucking hired.

She’s online shopping again in a maximum of two hours.

She might be sleeping with someone. She really regretted her decision and prefers more shopping than paying her new employee to clean the fucking manor.

Mom was fucking Dad in the bedroom after he complimented her fresh haircut again.

Okay, that’s five! A total of five assumptions I had!

Probably I shouldn’t be concluding my ridiculous verdict, but was it ever really an assumption, when Mom did all of those things?

Or even my dad, but he’s Mr. Rivers, a stoic, bossy CEO, who had money shoved up in his own ass.

Ah, who would’ve thought someone thought highly of themselves to not being able to be so responsible at certain protocols.

The doorbell rang.

Hesitating, I was battling myself whether I should answer the door or not.

Moments later, the doorbell rang, pricked my seldom good mood overturned into a bad one. I marched ahead and had the door handle pressed and pulled inward, a pair of familiar emerald eyes and a crucifix pendant gawked at me in return.

My infuriated attitude diminished.

“H-hello, I’m looking for Mrs. Rivers,” her voice spoken, somewhat faint yet melodious for to blessed the ears like mine.

A breath I held, choked halfway when I darted my eyes downward to her violet nun attire, still wearing a golden embroider, letter “ W ” worn across her chest, clutching the cleaning supplies with a dipped head and averted eyes and a sheepish smile, which I find it adorable.

“Yeah, she’s here, but she’s taking so long. I’ve been trying to look for her,” I explained without tripping myself to a clumsy fall. I’m pretty sure she could see a faint blush on my face.

“Oh, I see,” she mumbled, clutching and fidgeting the mop stick, setting the black bucket down beside her feet she appeared like a doll that I often see at the department store.

“Would you like to come in?” My hand indicated a gesture for Eva to enter.

After a long silence and drawn stares, she bowed with her head, giving her courtesies. “Thank you.”

WhenI let her enter into my territory, all I could think about was what happened yesterday.

Seeing her cleaning up the statues up at the Divine Miracles Church on a ladder, reminded me of Cinderella on how she cleans up the manor, being ordered around by her stepmother and her stepsisters, demanding each and every last requests that never ends for Cinderella to endure.

I was having a near heart attack when her hand slipped from holding onto the tipping, shaky ladder. Shaky as her hand was, I assumed the way she did was clumsy, a clumsy opportunity for me to chase down and gathered her in my arms.

My throat cleared up, not knowing what I should say?

Welcome? Take a seat? Would you like a glass of water or snacks to feed you?

I thought of nothing but the previous events I have met her—one at the church, then sneaking in within the same night at the dark attic, to where she slept, slept on the floor without bed, without her a pillow to settle on her head, all soaked and drowned to her sleep.

In a dingy room, she had nothing, but the lying junk around her and a locked door.

Draining as it was to witness, I said nothing but offered her a glass of water. She refused with her head looking down as I was sad to not see her eyes, remembering how her green her eyes were.

“My mom will be here soon,” I said, to end the tension built between us.

She nodded in hesitation. “Okay.”

I nodded in an awkward motion. Talking to girls was easy whereas talking to Eva, the alluringly mysterious nun from the Divine Miracles Church, was numbingly cumbersome.

Not that I was complaining, I was happy to see her.

To see her alive and well, to a point I wanted to give her nothing but a hug to huddle her over the coldness shrouded in the dark attic.

How I wish I could choke myself! I never get my words directed in accuracy!

How my happiness is contained, happy it was her and not some harlot nanny or scrubby-looking housekeeper, but a girl I first met, I rescued from her unfortunate fall, and the girl appeared in my dreams, was sitting right before me. Suddenly the idea of keeping her around wasn’t a terrible idea.

“Do you like how the house looks?” I asked her, breaking the ice.

More like a lavish estate than a house, but it’s still a house, nonetheless.

She said nothing, but having her pale emerald eyes were roaming around the expensive objects, statues, dramatic set of spiraling staircases, and golden trophies hanging inside the glass. As exaggerated as my family was, I hoped it could be a helpful distraction for the time being.

“Normally, people might be looking at this and be impressed,” I said as I folded my arms, joking.

She said nothing, clutching the cleaning supplies, and the prolonged silence prevailed.

I sighed, my eyes softened at her discomforting features, approaching her closely. “I promise you,” I began. “Nothing’s going to happen while you’re here.”

Her eyes gazed at mine, trying to figure it out if what I said was real or not.

By the time she opened her mouth, about to say her gratitude, my mom entered in her professional attire. Ah, talk about being superficial. Looking like a grown-up, but when no one’s around, she’s trying to appear as a teenaged girl.

Mom gave a disapproving look about how Eva and I sat altogether on the couch. Eva, mostly.

She hated if a non-family member—or anyone who’s considered a lower class—sat on a $10,000 couch.

If I remember correctly, my mom hated her workers sitting down on the couch for a short rest. She caught one maid and threw her downstairs, had the maid’s back dislocated and being sent to the hospital.

“Sister Eva,” Mom said with authority. “You’re here. Come. Let’s get this place cleaned up, shall we?”

With her office heels clacked, she walked in a brisk pace for Eva to keep up.

Wait. Eva? Why did I say Eva? It’s Sister Eva. She’s a nun. A holy nun, who reminded me of a beautiful saint painted on the high-domed ceilings at the museum in Italy during one heated summer. I have to restrain myself.

What's gotten into me?

As her petite form disappeared, all I could do was to replay my restrained conversation with her and the hesitation in her pale emerald eyes.

***

Hours on end, the new worker was under strict orders from my mom. Needless to say that Eva was not having a great—all perplexed and concerned on making another wrong move or a single step. Mom kept an eye on her, listing her dos and don’ts to her new worker.

Eva. Who would’ve thought it’s her?

I sat back and watched how my mother instructed Eva with basic cleaning. So far Eva handled all of her cleaning supplies and knows each and every single item she carried in the black bucket, it colored me impressed.

Mom introduced Eva to the areas in the household—the basics so far were living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, guest room and our private rooms upstairs.

Soon, Mom watched her, making every note each time Eva does something, and Mom chimed in eventually.

“Don’t do this,” “Don’t do that,” “Here, I’ll show you how to clean the counter in a proper way;” “You’re doing it wrong!

Wrong, wrong, wrong! Absolutely wrong,” “You’re putting plates on the wrong section,” “Has anyone ever taught you how to clean or did you make up stuff as you go along? Did you trick people into thinking that you’re a good cleaner?

I might as well have to cut your salary, missy! ”

Disapproved at my mom’s teachings, I ended up arbitrated, pretending to play a referee, I had Mom’s attention solely focused on me as I spoke. “Have her clean elsewhere, somewhere she thinks it’s easy to start,” I suggested, my head jerked at the stairs.

She groaned in surrender. “Fine, but I’ll see if she does a job well.”

“Guess we’ll see,” I remarked.

Eva’s back got backed off. On the other hand, I hated seeing her overwhelmed in sadness.

Although, I have to see if Eva’s intentions on keeping the estate clean was a real challenge.

Mom said to Eva, “Get the rooms cleaned upstairs. First it would be the bedroom, then the closet and bathroom. Bjorn will let you in, if he feels like it,” she ordered, sipping her jasmine tea.

Without an objection, Eva compiled the cleaning supplies and ascended the spiral staircases in her sluggish form.

Once Eva was gone, Mother made a ‘ humph! ’ sound, releasing from her lips in grimace. “She should straighten her posture like a lady. Then again, all maids should be like that. Quiet, docile, obedient and sullen; they should all be treated like dogs and stayed where they should be.”

As if that statement lifted the weight off of her shoulders when she felt no threat, like her past confrontations and disgust regarding to nannies and secretaries were gone from her radar, emerging victorious.

Mom wore a sincere wide grin at the end.