Chapter 4

That night I waited a long time, and no message from Samuel ever came.

The clock crept to one, and my whole body had gone stiff with cold.

People who have known poverty can bear the cold. What they can't bear is the cost of getting sick.

On my third sneeze, I quietly opened the door and went in.

I didn't go back to the bedroom. I curled up on the sofa and pulled the blanket around me into a tight ball.

Bit by bit the warmth returned, and just as I was drifting off, a shadow fell across the space in front of the couch.

Cigarette smoke drifted over. I fought down the urge to open my eyes.

Even with them shut, I could feel the heat in that stare.

What had Samuel come for?

Maybe to warn me.

But in the end he didn't "wake" me.

He finished one cigarette and left.

And I opened my eyes, and couldn't fall asleep again.

At six in the morning, after a quiet, quick wash, I didn't go back to the bedroom.

I just took two half-dry shirts off the drying rack, pulled them on, and went out.

After all that, I caught a cold anyway.

Probably afraid of catching it from me, Samuel stopped making me cook.

But Lena still came by often.

The young master and the young lady liked to order a whole table of expensive delivery food.

My only job was to come out of the room once they were done, mask on, and clean up what was left.

Now and then Morris came too, but he only ate in silence.

Watched, in silence, as Lena leaned in close to Samuel's ear on purpose and giggled right in front of him.

He didn't get angry.

He'd even help me clear up, then walk into the kitchen and ask where the dish soap was.

I told him not to bother, because Samuel had had a dishwasher installed.

"Stop washing by hand from now on. It's not as clean as the machine."

When Samuel said it, he glanced at my hand, still wearing a bandage.

There was something unsaid in that look.

I figured it was disgust.

So I didn't tell him that when I said I liked washing dishes, it was true.

In those years at the orphanage, washing dishes was the chore that earned me my first piece of candy.

Later, in school, washing dishes at a small restaurant was how I earned the first ten-dollar bill of my life.

It was like the hidden card in my drab life.

But how would the young master ever understand that.

He didn't need to.

That time, Morris looked awful when he left.

The next day, he asked for a breakup.

Lena clearly couldn't take it. She nearly tore the room next door apart.

Samuel, though, was in a good mood.

He took me to the highest-view fine-dining place in Los Angeles and opened a very expensive bottle of red wine.

I cradled the wineglass, sipping in small mouthfuls, and it went to my head a little.

Samuel lifted his eyes lazily and suddenly said,

"Still want to see the ocean? Your birthday's in a couple of days. I'll take you."

I froze for a second.

I thought of the time I took his fifty thousand, grinning ear to ear, and he asked what I was so happy to spend it on.

I'd said, offhand, that I wanted to see the ocean.

Because my mother's only photograph was taken by the sea.

Standing in front of the water, she smiled soft and sweet.

Growing up, I'd stare at that photo and wonder if maybe the ocean had some secret power, something that could draw out the hidden other side of my serious mother.

The thought had taken deep root.

But I'd never once acted on it.

And I never thought Samuel would still remember.

The alcohol had left me warm all over, and I agreed, glad.

Before we set out, I dug out the long dress Samuel had given me and put on light makeup.

Only when I arrived did I learn that Samuel's trip out to sea wasn't to celebrate my birthday.

It was just to lift Lena's spirits.

And the ones there to keep her company, besides me, were that crowd of his friends who had never once thought well of me.

"Damn, this really was set up for Lena, wasn't it?"

"Why does that dress feel like Lena has almost the same one? Tsk, so shameless."

"Say what you want, this little schemer really is different. She's got a bit more flavor to her than the real thing."

"Look at her, she's about to cry from us just looking at her. Sam, you didn't tell her this was some private date, did you?"

Samuel, standing at the edge of the crowd with his head bent, listening to Lena, glanced up at me.

His expression was careless.

"You lot, don't scare her."

The crowd dispersed, the chatter faded.

But the ill-meaning eyes stayed on me.

I stood in the corner. Now and then a server passed, and by the time they reached me all that was left was juice that did nothing for an empty stomach.

I drank two glasses, and my stomach burned.

Then a message came in from my advisor.

"Zoey, your review's been approved. You can book your flight."

I let out a breath. My mood finally lifted a little.

Turning to head outside, I looked down to type a reply.

I didn't expect it: a hard shove came from behind, and I toppled straight into the champagne tower beside me.

First the cold, then the pain.

Then the sound of the crowd laughing around me.

And last, I saw Samuel, standing at the very center of them, frowning, his lips pressed tight.

Glass shattered across the floor, and by the time I dragged myself up out of the wreckage,

I could no longer tell where I'd been cut. Blood dripped down my arm.

Lena scrambled in panic into a man's arms.

A server came forward and draped a bathrobe over my shoulders.

"Mr. Fisher says for you to go back to your room and rest. He's going to stay with Miss Fisher. If you can't look after yourself, then try not to come out."

"He also said... if you insist on distracting him, I'm to arrange for you to go back right now."

The sea at this late hour looked black and bottomless, and the sound of the waves breaking against the rocks echoed in my ears.

I looked over at Samuel.

He wasn't looking this way at all. His head was bent, all his attention on Lena.

The wind hit me, and I shivered.

"Fine. Then I'll trouble you. I want to go back."