Page 64 of The Housemaid Is Watching

“Nico is a good kid,” Enzo says stubbornly. “You should not worry so much. Is bad for your blood pressure.”

Except I can’t help but think that right now I have much worse problems than my blood pressure.

FORTY

I wake up at three in the morning covered in sweat.

I was having some sort of bad dream. In the dream, I was floating in the ocean. And all of a sudden, a hand closed around my ankle and started pulling me down into the water. I was screaming, trying to get free, but the hand kept pulling and pulling, and sure enough, I started going under.

That’s when I woke up.

It’s been a week since our attempted trip to the beach went sour, and it feels like things haven’t been the same since that day, although I can’t put my finger on why. Enzo has been acting distant all week, but it’s not something I could call him on because he isn’t really doing anything wrong. He just seems oddly distracted.

The sky is clear tonight, and moonlight is streaming in through the windows of the bedroom. I roll my head to the side, expecting to see my husband sound asleep beside me. But that’s not what I see.

Enzo isn’t sleeping soundly. In fact, he’s not in the bed at all.

What the hell?

I sit up straight in bed, wide awake. I’m the one who wakes up all the time in the middle of the night, but Enzo is a soundsleeper. I’m not sure if I’ve ever woken up to find him missing from our bed before. Where could he be? Is he in the bathroom?

But I can clearly see the master bathroom. He’s not there.

The sound of a car engine catches my attention. I dart over to the window, and my mouth falls open when my husband’s truck pulls into our driveway. What was he doing driving around our neighborhood in the middle of the night?

As he parks in the driveway, the cab of his truck is out of sight, so I can’t see him climbing out. More importantly, I can’t see if he was alone in there. I don’t know what would be worse—if he were driving around in the middle of the night by himself or if he were with somebody.

Who am I kidding?With somebodyis definitely worse.

My husband’s footsteps grow louder as he climbs the stairs leading up to the second floor. He’s moving slowly, trying not to make too much noise. He’s hoping not to wake me. He’s hoping that when he gets back to the bedroom, I will be sound asleep and none the wiser.

He is in for a surprise.

The door to the bedroom cracks open. Enzo peeks his head inside, and his eyes widen when he sees me sitting up in bed. “Millie,” he says. “Uh, hello.”

“Where were you?” I snap at him.

“I was…” He looks over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway. “I was thirsty. I just went downstairs to get a drink of water.”

“In blue jeans?”

Enzo looks down at his jeans and T-shirt. He’s also wearing socks, which he would never sleep in. It’s very clear that between the time when he went to bed with me and this moment, he put on clothing.

Before he can come up with yet another lie, I say, “I saw your truck pulling into the driveway. So tell me again, where were you?”

“I am sorry.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I was having trouble sleeping, so I go for a drive. I did not want to bother you or worry you.”

“You went for a drive?”

“I did.”

“Where did you go?”

He shrugs. “Just drive around neighborhood.”

“By yourself?”

He nods. “Myself.”