Chapter 2 - The New Room
The second floor of the Rossi mansion was a place Beatrice had only ever seen while carrying heavy laundry baskets or pushing a vacuum cleaner.
It was carpeted in thick, cream-colored wool that swallowed the sound of footsteps, the walls lined with original oil paintings and gold-leaf sconces that cast a warm, flickering light over the mahogany doors. It was the family wing, a sanctuary where the staff was only permitted during designated cleaning hours, and never without supervision.
Beatrice’s new quarters were located at the end of the hall, directly opposite Lily's room.
When Mateo opened the door for her, Beatrice stopped on the threshold, her breath catching in her throat. The room was twice the size of her entire apartment in Cicero. It had a king-sized bed with a carved headboard of dark walnut, a private fireplace that was already crackling with a warm, cherry-wood fire, and a bay window that looked out over the dark, restless expanse of Lake Michigan.
"The doctor is on his way up," Mateo said, his voice flat but not unkind. He stood in the doorway, his hands tucked into the pockets of his dark trousers. "He'll look at your hand and your face after he's done with Lily."
"Thank you, Mateo," Beatrice said, her fingers tracing the soft velvet of the armchair near the fireplace. "But... are you sure about this? The other staff... they won't like it."
"The other staff don't have to like it," Mateo said, a small, grim smile touching his lips. "They just have to remember who pays their wages. You did a good thing today, Beatrice. Leo doesn't forget a debt. And he doesn't forgive one either."
He closed the door behind him, leaving her alone in the quiet luxury of her new room.
Beatrice walked over to the vanity mirror. She looked at herself, the reflection staring back at her unfamiliar in the soft, golden light.
She was twenty-eight, a large woman whose body had always felt like an obstacle in the narrow corridors of the servant's quarters. Her face was swollen, the split on her cheek still oozing a thin line of blood, and her dark hair was matted with dust and sweat. Her uniform was ruined, the white apron stained with the red wine Victoria had spilled and the dirt from the cellar floor.
She looked like a survivor of a shipwreck who had somehow washed up on the shores of a palace.
A quiet knock on the door broke her reverie.
Beatrice opened it to find Dr. Evans, a kind-faced man with grey hair and a leather medical bag, standing in the hallway. Behind him, Leo was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest, his shirt sleeves rolled up to reveal the thick, corded muscles of his forearms.
"How is she?" Beatrice asked immediately, ignoring her own pain.
"Lily is stable," Dr. Evans said, stepping into her room and setting his bag on the vanity table. "The inhaler worked in time to prevent full respiratory failure, but she has some inflammation in her lungs from the cold dampness of the cellar. She needs rest, warm liquids, and constant monitoring for the next forty-eight hours. Now, let's look at you."
The doctor guided Beatrice to the bed, having her sit down while he pulled a pair of sterile gloves from his bag. He examined her hand first, his fingers gentle as they pressed against her swollen knuckles.
"Two fractured fingers," Dr. Evans diagnosed, shaking his head. "And a deep contusion on the palm. It looks like it was caught in a heavy door."
"It was," Beatrice whispered, her eyes shifting to Leo, who had walked into the room and was standing near the foot of the bed, his dark gaze fixed on her swollen hand.
"And your cheek?" Dr. Evans asked, turning his attention to her face. He used a sterile gauze pad to clean the dried blood, making Beatrice wince as the antiseptic stung the open wound. "This is a clean cut. A ring, perhaps?"
"Yes," Beatrice said, her voice barely audible. "She... she hit me when I tried to take the keys."
Leo didn't say a word, but the air in the room grew noticeably colder. His fingers clenched into fists at his sides, the leather of his watch strap creaking in the silence.
"I'll stitch the cheek," Dr. Evans said, pulling a small suture kit from his bag. "Only three stitches. It will leave a small scar, but with your skin, it should fade in a year or two. As for the hand, I’ll splint it. You won't be using it for at least four weeks."
"I have to use it," Beatrice protested. "Lily... she needs me."
"Lily needs you healthy," Leo's voice cut through the room, firm and absolute. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. "You will not do any heavy lifting. You will not clean. Your only job is to be there when she calls. Do you understand?"
Beatrice looked up at him, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight. "Yes, Mr. Rossi."
"Leo," he said.
May you like
Beatrice blinked, confused. "What?"
"My name is Leo," he said, his voice dropping into a quieter, more personal register. "Inside this house, when we are alone, you do not call me Mr. Rossi. You saved my daughter's life, Beatrice. That makes you family. And we do not use titles with family."
