Chapter 2 - THE UNEXPECTED GUEST
The silence stretched for five agonizing seconds, filled only by the soft popping of sap in the hearth and the muffled hum of the Christmas wind outside the high arched windows.
Standing five feet behind Nell, positioned near the dining-room entrance, was Odette Puit.
In her early sixties, Odette was the formidable head housekeeper who had overseen the domestic staff of the Orsini manor for over two decades. Wearing a rigid, high-collared black dress, her silver-streaked hair pulled into an unyielding knot, Odette glared at the back of Nell's head, her knuckles white as she prepared to step forward and offer a rehearsed apology for whatever flaw had displeased the boss.
Before Odette could take a step, Nell slowly lifted her chin.
Her dark hazel eyes, usually trained on the polished parquet floor, met the back of Carmine’s dark head. Her lips parted softly.
"Me," Nell said.
Her voice was quiet, calm, and stripped of the stuttering subservience typical of the domestic staff.
Fourteen heads turned simultaneously toward the edge of the head table. The guests stared at the quiet housemaid holding the silver tray as if she had suddenly spoken in an ancient, forgotten tongue.
Carmine didn't react immediately. Slowly, deliberately, he turned his head over his shoulder. He looked at Nell—not with the quick, dismissal-filled glance one gives a servant, but with an intense, penetrating scrutiny that seemed to peel away the black wool uniform, the white apron, and the white gloves in a single second.
He looked at her hands, her posture, the steady rhythm of her chest, and the total absence of fear in her hazel eyes.
Without breaking eye contact, Carmine reached out with his right hand, took hold of the high wooden back of the empty carved dining chair directly to his right—the seat reserved for high-ranking family members—and pulled it out with a low, smooth slide.
"Sit down," Carmine said softly.
A collective gasp rippled through the dining room. A prominent shipping executive near the center of the table blinked in disbelief, while his wife gripped her pearl necklace.
Odette Puit immediately broke protocol, taking two swift, heavy steps forward onto the Persian rug.
"Sir," Odette interrupted, her voice tight with disciplined outrage, "she’s a housemaid. She belongs in the service pantry—"
Carmine didn't raise his voice. He didn't even look at his head housekeeper. He simply shifted his eyes two millimeters to the left, his voice dropping into a register that made the room’s air feel thin.
"I’m speaking to Miss Brisco," Carmine said.
Odette froze as if struck by lightning, her mouth snapping shut, her cheeks flushing deep red as she retreated two steps into the shadows near the wall.
May you like
Carmine looked back at Nell, his dark eyes locked onto hers with quiet, iron invitation.
"Sit."
