“Um, hi?”
The tall one begins to speak, but all in Italian, and I’m still too terrible with this language to understand.
Shaking my head, I hold up a hand to stop her. “Non capisco. English, please.”
“Oh, sorry,” the short one replies in English. “We thought you were expecting us. I’m Sofia, and this is Paloma. Daddy sent us. We are here to be your hands for the day.”
Huh?
Then it registers.Hands. They’re Saint’s “Hands.”
Wow. Not sure what I envisioned when Saint told me about his indentured servants, but two gorgeous women dolled up in designer wear wasn’t it.
And wait, did she just call him... “Daddy?”
The two women share a look, then Sofia replies, “Sorry, I mean, Mr. Luciani.”
When I stand there for too long just staring at them, Sofia asks, “You do not want our help?”
“Oh, I...” Shaking my head, I step aside and wave them in. “Come on in.”
With oversized bags and click-clacking high heels, they saunter past me. Who dresses like this in the middle of the day? Better yet, who dresses like this to do housework?
Saint must’ve overheard my conversation with Mom this morning because he was very much against his Hands coming here to help me the last time I asked.
“Oooh, nice interior decor,” Sofia compliments, looking around. “Classy.”
“Uh, thanks.”
Paloma runs a finger along the same side table Mom did this morning, collecting dust, then flicks me a judgmental side-eye.
I arch a brow at her and that snooty ass nose. “That’s why you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Paloma does not speak very much English,” Sofia informs me. “She is not being rude. But she is very, how do you say...persnickety? Yes, she is like that about being clean and organized.”
“Ah, got it.”
“How many rooms are there?” she asks. “Bathrooms? Extras?”
I begin showing them around. And this is when Saint’s words from this morning become clear.
The bedroom down the hall from mine not only smells entirely of him but has signs of him all over it. Rolex watch and cufflinks on the nightstand, cologne on the dresser, chargers plugged in by the bay window nook, garment bags with full outfits hanging in the closet, toiletry case on the vanity in the bathroom…
How long has the bastard been sneaking in here? All this time, when he was ghosting me, he wasright herein my house? He probably knew the chances of me catching him were zero because I almost never come into this room.
Unbelievable.All along he was right here.
Right. Here.
I could freaking scream right now.
After the tour, the women change out of their expensive clothes into shorts and tank tops, bump each other’s fists, bounce on their feet, and recite something in Italian, then get right to it.
Who gets this pumped and enthusiastic to do housework?
Strange women.
~
