Chapter 4 - The Third Floor
The private quarters on the third floor of the Callaway mansion were off-limits to everyone except Nathaniel and the head housekeeper. It was a space of quiet wood, gray slate, and deep silence.
When Nathaniel pushed open the door to the small clinic room, he found Grace sitting on the edge of the white examination bed. Her hands were wrapped in thick white gauze, making them look like clumsy mittens. Lily was sitting on her lap, her face red from crying, her small fingers holding a plastic cup of apple juice that Dr. Evans had given her.
The room smelled of antiseptic and lavender.
Grace looked up when the door opened. When she saw Nathaniel, she immediately tried to stand, her face tightening with anxiety. "Mr. Callaway... I’m so sorry about the mess downstairs. We’re ready to leave. As soon as my hands stop throbbing, I’ll pack our things from the cottage. We’ll be out by tonight."
Nathaniel stopped in the middle of the room. His tie was gone, the top three buttons of his shirt undone. He looked older than thirty-four, his dark hair messy where he had run his hands through it.
"Pack your things?" he asked, his voice rough. "Why would you pack your things, Grace?"
"Because of the scene," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper so Lily wouldn't hear the panic. "The Marshes... Vivien... she’s your fiancée. I brought drama into your house. Lily shouldn't have been in the ballroom. I know how things work, sir. Wealthy people don't keep servants who cause trouble."
Nathaniel looked at her for a long time. He looked at the fear in her eyes—the deep, structural fear of a woman who had been beaten down by bad luck and hard winters until she expected every hand raised toward her to be a fist.
"Vivien Marsh is no longer my fiancée," Nathaniel said.
Grace blinked. "What?"
"She is currently being escorted off the property by security. Her family’s business will be liquidated by the end of the quarter." He walked closer, his long legs crossing the space between them until he was standing right over the bed. He knelt down, putting himself at Lily’s eye level. "And you aren't leaving."
Lily looked at him over the rim of her plastic cup. "Is the bad lady gone?"
"Yes, Lily," Nathaniel said. His face softened in a way that would have terrified his board of directors. "The bad lady is gone. She’s never coming back."
"Did Bunny go to heaven?" Lily asked, her voice cracking. "Like my Daddy?"
Grace’s breath caught in her throat. She looked away, her eyes filling with tears she had spent three years trying to hide.
Nathaniel reached into his pocket. He didn't have a new toy. He didn't have a quick fix. Instead, he pulled out the purple-maned lion drawing that Lily had given him months ago. It was folded neatly, the edges slightly frayed from where he had kept it in his breast pocket.
"Bunny had to go get fixed," Nathaniel said, holding out the drawing so Lily could see it. "But the friendly lion is still here. And until Bunny comes back, the lion is going to guard your room. Is that okay?"
Lily looked at the drawing, then at Nathaniel’s serious, gray eyes. Slow as a snail, she reached out her small hand and touched his shoulder. "You have a sad face again, Mr. Callaway."
"I’m just tired, Lily," he whispered.
"Mommy gives hugs when people are tired," Lily announced.
Grace’s face turned bright red. "Lily, no—"
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But Nathaniel didn't move away. He stayed perfectly still as Lily leaned forward from her mother’s lap and wrapped her small, grape-juice-scented arms around his neck. Nathaniel froze for a fraction of a second, his body rigid with the habit of a man who hadn't been hugged in ten years. Then, slowly, his large arms came up, holding the little girl against his chest with an awkward, fierce tenderness.
Over Lily's shoulder, his eyes met Grace’s. She was watching him through a blur of tears, her wrapped hands pressed against her knees. For the first time, the distance between them didn't feel like a safety barrier. It felt like an empty space that was beginning to shrink.
