Falling For The Forbidden

by Hawkins, Jessica

  I’m both fascinated and jealous of her love for her brother. No one has ever fought for me like that, and I doubt anyone ever will. Throwing any duty I see fit into the package was a test. I wanted to see how far she was willing to go for Charlie, not that her decision would’ve changed anything. I took ownership of her the minute I laid eyes on her. Last night, I already knew I was going to take her. Regardless.

  When the club manager at Napoli’s called to let me know my mother’s target was in, the said target being Charlie, my plan was to go in, take Charlie out, and then his sister, who would’ve been home alone. Making examples of people who don’t pay is standard procedure. Some people don’t fear for themselves, but they always fear for their families. By Magda’s design, Valentina would’ve been the sacrifice to serve as a reminder to our debtors as long as they owe, their families aren’t safe.

  Then I stepped out of the office, and there she was, all tits, ass, and legs. No woman, except for the prostitutes, goes into Napoli’s willingly. A nerve pinches between my shoulder blades when I think of what could’ve happened to her had I not been there. She’s either extremely naïve or stupidly brave. After this morning, I suspect the latter.

  Come to think of it, I don’t get how she survived here this long. According to Jerry, she’s been residing in Berea for six years. The shithole she lived in is in drug valley. It’s a surprise the drug and sex lords haven’t kidnapped and sold her or a street gang hasn’t raped and killed her yet. There are infinitely dark things that can happen to an unprotected, beautiful girl in this neighborhood.

  I watch her from the corner of my eye. In the twenty minutes we’ve being driving, she hasn’t said a word. Her brown hair is long and wavy, curling down her shoulders. A clean smell clings to her, like fragrance shampoo or body lotion. I like it. Complex perfumes give me a headache. In the white shorts and yellow tank top, her toned legs and rounded breasts are exposed to me. So is the vein that pulses under the golden skin of her neck. Her fear excites me.

  Her courage intrigues me. Long, dark lashes shutter the expression in her brown eyes from me. She’s pretending to look through the window, but I know she’s aware of me, and the gun resting in my lap.

  The weapon is cool in my hand. I’m long since past the stage where my palms get sweaty before a job. I don’t mind the killing. I live in a violent city. Only the toughest survive, and I’m a survivor. I won’t hesitate to pull the trigger if anyone threatens or harms my family. Lay a finger on my property, and I’ll break it off. I was the kind of kid who took pleasure in breaking other boys’ toys. I still break. Mostly bones, these days. When it comes to hearts, I only break what’s already broken. That way, I don’t have to take responsibility for anyone’s feelings. Now I’ve taken responsibility for a person on a whole different level. At least there’s no risk of breaking Valentina’s heart. She already hates me, and with what I’m planning for her body, she’ll only hate me more, but she’ll need me with equal intensity. Of that, I’ll make sure.

  Her gaze widens fractionally as we pull up to our property. It’s a double-story mansion on big grounds surrounded by a six feet-wall fitted with electrified barbed wire and twenty-four hour, armed guards. In this city, only people with money are safe. She keeps her face perfectly blank as we clear the gates. The original Frank Emley design dates from the early 1900s and combines various styles with a strong Victorian influence, iron work, stone walls, and art nouveau stained glass windows. It’s smack-bam in the heart of Parktown, in the middle of the homes of the bankers, diamond dealers, politicians, and everyone else who can be bought.

  Quincy parks and opens the door for Magda first, then for me. While I’m stretching my stiff leg, he lets Valentina out and hovers with her purse and travel bag in front of the fountain.

  “I’ll take that.” I grab her possessions and grip her arm to lead her up the porch steps. My fingers overlap the small diameter of her upper arm. This is the point where I expect her to kick in her heels and scream, but she remains eerily calm.

  Magda overtakes us on the stairs. “One wrong move, one wrong word to anyone, and

  Charlie is dead. Get that?”

  Valentina tilts her head away from my mother, a tremor running through her body.

  Marie, our faithful old cook, opens the door. Her face freezes when her eyes land on the young woman.

  “Prepare the maid’s room,” Magda says. “I’ll brief you later.” She enters ahead of us.

  “Gabriel, bring the girl to my study.”

  Before I can argue, Magda is gone. Marie’s gaze remains fixed on the woman at my side.

  May as well get the introduction over with.

  “This is Valentina,” I say. “She’s property.”

  Marie nods as if I bring property home every day, but she understands. She’s been around the block. She scurries away without offering me my usual drink.

  I steer Valentina to my mother’s study and close the door. Whatever Magda is cooking up, I already don’t like it. The sight of my mother’s personal bodyguard, Scott, standing behind her chair with a pistol clutched in his hand makes me rest my hand on my own weapon tucked into my waistband. The threat is clear. Defy Magda and Valentina will end up like her dog––with a bullet between her soft, mud-brown eyes.

  Magda addresses my tiny charge. “I understand you’ll be working for us.” She points at the chair facing her desk. “Sit.”

  I let Valentina go. She obeys, balancing on the edge of the seat. Mirroring Scott’s stance, I remain standing, just in case.

  “What are your skills?” Magda asks.

  Valentina’s lashes flutter as she lifts her eyes to me. They’re big for her small face and hauntingly sad, but proud, also.

  “Answer when you’re being spoken to,” Magda says in the headmistress voice she reserved for chastising me as a kid.

  “I’m an assistant.”

  Magda’s mouth pulls down. “That’s it?”

  “I also cook and clean for my neighbor.”

  Magda taps her fingernails on the desktop. After some time, she says, “You’ll work for us as a maid and whatever else Gabriel expects from you.” My mother gives me an acidic look, as if the sight of me gives her indigestion. “You’ll work Monday to Friday until dinner’s been served and the kitchen is clean. On Saturday, you’re off from five in the afternoon. You’re expected back by eight on Monday morning. If we have events at home, we expect you to work, regardless of afterhours.”

  The maid idea pisses me off, but the leisure time unleashes a rage in me, not that I have any ground to stand on. It’s Magda’s business and her debt to collect. I’m only the dealmaker. My new toy better not try to escape. I bet that’s what Magda is bargaining on. It’ll give her the reason she wants to eliminate Valentina and terminate my idiotic deal, as she put it.

  “You’ll keep the house tidy,” Magda continues, “and with tidy I mean spotless. Everything on the inside of the building is your responsibility, except for the cooking. Marie takes care of that. If I need you to cook, I’ll tell you. If you poison any one of us, you and your brother will die slow and painful deaths. Understand?”

  Her throat moves as she swallows. “Yes.”

  “Yes, Mrs. Louw or ma’am.”

  Those dark eyes flash with defiance, but she averts them quickly. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “If you fail in any of your tasks, the deal’s off, and you’re dead.” A sardonic light sparks in Magda’s eyes. “Work well for…” She looks at me and waits.

  “Nine years,” I fill in.

  “Work well for nine years,” Magda continues, “and Charlie’s debt will be paid off. We won’t pay you a salary. The money we would’ve given you will go toward the settlement of your debt. I don’t allow servants to eat from our table, but you may use the kitchen facilities to prepare your meals. Since you won’t earn cash, my son will pay you an allowance for food and personal commodities. Any questions?”

  “Is there a routine I need to follow? Wha
t do I do, exactly?”

  Magda gets to her feet. “You’ll figure it out. You start immediately.”

  Valentina follows Magda’s lead, getting up from her chair with consternation on her face.

  Before she goes, there’s one thing she needs to understand. I grab her face in one hand, digging my fingers into her cheeks. “Run from me and you’ll wish I shot you today.”

  Her body is close to mine, and I can smell her scent. I fill the olfactory gap I couldn’t place in the car. Raspberry. She looks like a dove with her wings tied, but she doesn’t falter under my stare.

  “Are we clear?” I ask softly. I never raise my voice. I don’t have to.

  “Yes.”

  “Good.” I let her go.

  Her hand goes to her jaw, touching the imprint of my fingers.

  “Marie will show you to your room,” Magda says. “You’ll find her in the kitchen.”

  I hand Valentina her travel bag, but hold onto the purse and remain standing since I haven’t been dismissed.

  The minute Valentina is gone, I say, “She doesn’t know the way.”

  Magda goes to the wet bar and pours a tot of Vodka, which she dilutes with orange juice.

  “Letting her find her own way is her first test.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The hidden cameras will record any traitorous acts she may conceive in her simpleton mind, and you’ll use it to your advantage to break her.” Magda takes a sip of her drink and walks back to her desk to pick up the internal phone that connects to the kitchen.

  Marie answers on the first ring with a professional, “Mrs. Louw?” that comes over the speaker.

  “Order maid uniforms for Valentina and linen for her room.”

  “Any preference, ma’am?”

  “Black.”

  “The uniform or the linen?”

  “The uniform. Make the linen…” she thinks for all of one second, giving me an over-easy smile, “…white.” She hangs up and continues, “Black and white. Has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

  It’ll remind her of what she became––our servant and your plaything.”

  “She won’t run,” I say, a challenge in my voice. I just found Valentina. I’m not about to kill her on Sunday.

  Magda smirks, swirling her glass. “That’s not why I gave her Sundays off.”

  “Why did you?”

  “To give her the illusion of freedom. Of fairness. For now, I’ll let her believe she has a chance. People without hope can’t be broken.” My mother lifts the glass to her lips. “You see?

  I’m giving us both what we want. You get to break her, and I get to kill her.”

  Hatred laces Magda’s words. The fact that I want this woman enough to defy my mother elicits Magda’s scorn. I have no doubt she’ll make Valentina pay for causing me to stray from the not so straight and narrow path cut out for me.

  At my silence, Magda says, “You understand we can’t let her meet her end of the bargain?

  That’ll be weak.”

  “I promised her nine years.”

  “I have no intention of letting her live that long.” Her smile grows until it invades all of her face. “She’s bound to screw up sooner than later.”

  A sudden insight startles me. Magda is happy with the turn of events. She wants Valentina to suffer, and she’s relying on my natural disposition to make it happen.

  * * *

  Valentina

  My throat aches from pent-up tears as I leave Mrs. Louw’s study. If I had any hope that Gabriel’s mother would have compassion and help me, it’s been eradicated in that room. She’s worse than her son, her blackness far colder.

  I’m sick to my stomach with worry over Charlie. I need to call Kris and check that he’s all right, but Gabriel gave me my clothes and held onto my purse with my phone. I can’t allow myself to think about this morning or Puff. Not yet. For now, I need to be strong.

  With the imminent danger of death over, reality crashes down on me. Despair seeps into my pores. The calculation is harrowing. I’ll be thirty-two before I walk free. If I ever walk free.

  There’s no doubt in my mind Gabriel will kill me without blinking an eye. I know men like him. My father was one. The servant role isn’t only to pay off a debt. It’s a means of degrading me. I have no issue pulling the hair from Gabriel’s shower or scrubbing his toilet. What’s killing me is sleeping under his roof and eating food he pays for. I’m forced to allow my enemy to take care of me. It feels personal and wrong. The last thing I want from Gabriel is any kind of care. I’ll talk to Kris and negotiate to work Sundays. That way I’ll still be able to pay for my studies. No matter what, I’m not giving it up. It’s my only hope, our ticket out of Berea. I’ll just have to put my plans on the backburner for nine years.

  After getting lost in corridors and too many rooms with sofas and chairs––How many lounges can one family need?––I finally locate the kitchen at the far east end of the mansion. The size of the house overwhelms me. It’s going to be a hell of a job to keep the place spotless.

  Marie waits for me in a sterile looking kitchen, a hostile expression on her face. “I better show you around.”

  Wordlessly, I fall in behind her. We go through the ground level with its reading, sitting, television, entertainment, and dining rooms, and up a flight of stairs. The bedrooms and bathrooms on the first level are luxurious and comfortable. As we move along, my heart sinks lower and lower. It’s too much.

  “Who’s currently cleaning the house?”

  Marie looks at me as if I asked her for a gold coin. “A cleaning service. I presume since you’re here, they’ll be fired.”

  Poor people. They’re going to lose a big contract, but at least they’re free.

  At a wooden door with an intricate carving, she stops. “This is his bedroom. Next door is

  Miss Carly’s. Mr. Louw’s mother is at the opposite end.”

  She knocks on Miss Carly’s door and opens it without waiting for a reply.

  A girl of about sixteen lies on her stomach on the bed. The room is one of the prettiest I’ve seen. It’s decorated in blue with whitewashed furniture.

  “Carly,” Marie says, “this is Valentina. She’s the new live-in.”

  Carly lifts her head to look me up and down before burying her face in her iPad again.

  “His daughter,” Marie says, closing the door. She lowers her voice. “She sometimes lives with her mom, but she’s mostly here.”

  So, Gabriel and Carly’s mom are separated or divorced.

  We explore the house until we end up back in the kitchen. Only the kitchen is surgical white. It’s not a room the inhabitants of the house live in. There’s no breakfast nook, books, or flowers, not a trace of warmth. It’s a functional room equipped for the staff. This is where Marie pauses the longest to show me the adjoining scullery where they keep the household appliances and a fridge for the staff.

  “You can keep your food here,” Marie says. “The one in the pantry is only for the family.”

  Cleaning products are neatly stacked on the shelves on the wall. Everything is tidy and in its place. At least there are a state-of-the-art vacuum cleaner and washing machine to work with.

  “Do you know how to operate these?” Marie points at the washing machine and tumble dryer.

  I nod, even if I don’t. I washed our clothes in the bathtub, but how difficult can it be to figure out a washing machine?

  “The washing has to be sun-dried,” Marie explains, “unless it rains. Mrs. Louw doesn’t believe in wasting electricity.”

  From the scullery, a door leads to the maid quarters. This is where I’ll be sleeping for the next nine years. I put my head around the frame. The room is small, the double bed taking up most of the space, but the cream-colored carpet is clean, and the mattress looks new. The paint is white, and there are no foul smells or damp to darken the walls. A connecting door gives access to a small bathtub with a shower nozzle fitted inside, a basin, and toilet. It’s mu
ch better than what I’m used to. There are no linen or towels, and I didn’t bring any, but I don’t ask.

  “Well,” Marie dusts her hands, “I’ll let you get on with it. Your uniforms will arrive later.

  For now, you’ll have to work like this.” She gives my legs a disapproving look.

  “Can I have my phone?”

  “You’ll have to ask Mr. Louw about that.”

  The minute she’s gone, I use the bathroom to splash water on my face. The enormity of the situation pushes down on my chest. I can’t breathe. Needing air, I open the window, letting the breeze on my wet cheeks cool me. From here, I have a view over an enclosed courtyard. There’s a circular clothesline in the center and a wheelbarrow pushed up against the wall. Through the open door giving access to the backyard, the blue water of a pool is visible.

  Since I don’t know how to go about my new job with the massive size of the house, I decide to dive into the deep end and swim. It’s an approach that always works for me. For the next few hours, I work out a plan of action as I go, starting with laundry and dusting, then vacuuming and finally washing the floors and windows. My mind is filled with Charlie and Puff, and even if I can’t fight my tears, I can hide them while I bend my head over the mop. As I

  mourn for Puff, I let my hate for Gabriel and the guy who shot him ripen. The only ray of hope in this nightmare is that today is Wednesday. On Sunday, I’ll see Charlie.

  * * *

  In the late afternoon, Gabriel summons me to the reading room. Stepping inside, I’m taken aback by the presence of an elderly man dressed in a Mandela style shirt and chinos.

  Gabriel turns to me. “This is Dr. Samuel Engelbrecht. He’s going to take a blood sample and examine you.”

  I look between the men. “What for?”

  Gabriel ignores my question. “Are you on birth control?”

  The wind is knocked out of me by the implication of the question, even if I expected it as an inevitable part of the deal I’d made. If the doctor recognizes the shock on my face, he doesn’t acknowledge it.