Fake Maid by Cassie Mint
Nine
Eli
Five years later
A summer breeze whistles through the mansion hallways. The doorways are propped open, pale window drapes fluttering in the wind, the scent of jasmine carried in from the gardens. Stilted piano scales echo in one room. Whoops of childish laughter sound in another.
My mansion is not cold or quiet anymore. My wife and I have been busy. Two twin brothers and a little girl’s worth of busy.
I find Billie in the library, holding our one-year-old daughter up to gawp at the shelves. She waves a sticky, pudgy hand at the priceless leather spines, and I wince and muffle a laugh.
“You might be jumping the gun.”
Billie grins at me over her shoulder. Her red hair is braided to the side again—one of my favorite sights since that first night all those years ago in the pool house. It’s like a challenge, a red flag waved at a bull: how wild can you make my hair this time?
“Her father is a genius. Her older brothers are at the top of their classes too.”
“Top in finger painting and spelling?”
“Yes.” She sticks out her tongue, and the baby copies her. “So there.”
“Must be twin magic.” Billie hums as I step up to her back, dipping my head to kiss her neck. She tilts her head in welcome, and I lose myself in her scent. Green apple shampoo and sunshine.
A sticky hand lands on my cheek.
“Well, now.” I scoop the baby out of her arms and bounce her against my chest. Baby Coral squeals, her pudgy arms waving. “Here’s yet another female feeling jealous over me.”
Billie snorts. “She can have you.”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh.”
I frown down at the baby. “That’s not very nice, is it, Coral?”
“I’ll show you nice,” Billie breathes in my ear, her chest pressed against my back and her palm sliding over my stomach. She flicks my belt buckle. “Why don’t you find the nanny? Then meet me in the gardens.”
“Where?” I’m already striding to the doorway. My skin is flushed hot under my shirt, and I’m half hard in my jeans.
I never stop craving my wife. Not for a single day. Not for a goddamn hour. When she travels for fashion shoots, I go out of my mind. I always snap, flying to meet her after a couple of days.
Billie tuts. “If I tell you, that’s cheating.”
“And if you tease me, you’ll be punished.”
I turn in the doorway and level her a look. Billie smirks back, eyes dancing. She knows what she’s doing. And I know what she wants.
How to give it to her.
How to make her scream.
By the time I’m done with her, the gardeners will be running for cover.
“Better get a head start. I won’t go easy on you.”
“I don’t want you to!” she calls as she runs through the French doors. I curse under my breath, prowling through the mansion, searching for the world’s best hidden nanny. I find her beside the piano, helping my giggling sons with their scales, and I kiss both boys on the forehead before leaving my children with her placid smile.
Billie. I need to find Billie.
It’s a drumbeat. A pounding chorus in my blood. I plunge out of the nearest doors to the gardens and thunder down the stone steps.
My wife can run but she can’t hide.
She’s mine.
And I’m more than happy to remind her.
THE END
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