That means he trusts Antoine enough to let him do this kind of work.The thought flashes in my head. Does that mean that maybe I'm not as foolish as I initially thought for agreeing to come in here with a stranger?
It doesn't matter, Camilla; you are not allowed to date him anyway; you are not allowed to date at all,I remind myself, clearing my throat because it goes dry every time I get nervous.
That doesn't mean I can't enjoy the company of a nice guy who decided to show me a secret place. It won't hurt me to relax a little at least once.
Right?
"I thought places like this existed only in fairy tales. I mean, places with secret corridors and hidden rooms," I say, finally lowering my gaze to look at Antoine.
He smiles at me, taking one more step closer. I'm getting nervous again. I'm getting scared of what he might do with every step he makes. What if he kisses me?
It's not like I'm afraid of the kiss; I secretly want him to do it. But what ifI like it? What if I enjoy it so much that I won't be able to stop myself?
I can't do this. If I fall for this guy, it will break my heart because I know for a fact that we'll never be able to be together.
Antoine stops approximately five feet from me as if scenting my fear. Or maybe he doesn't want to kiss me, and I’m just imagining it because I read too many romance novels?
"This building was created at the end of the nineteenth century. A lot of manors were made with secret corridors and exits then," he explains, looking directly at me. "Rich people were always afraid that someone would come for them."
He smirks, and I do too. Poor peasants wanted to get rich to become independent and secure, while wealthy owners were afraid they might get robbed and be killed for their fortune.
People always want what they can't have.
"It must be so pleasant to come here," I say after a pause. "The owner of this place is so lucky."
I imagine the owner of this hotel coming here after a long hard workday to relax near the fireplace with a good book or to play the piano. It's a real-life fairy tale, nothing less.
"He doesn't come here very often," Antoine says after another long pause. I can see a slight bitterness on his face. "He never stays here for a long time, only looks around and walks away. It was his wife's library, as well as the piano."
"Was?" I ask immediately and see how Antoine's face changes in a second, the brightness in his eyes turning into sorrow.
"She died six years ago." He lowers his gaze, and it’s obvious that it's hard for him to talk about it. I guess he knew her well.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper in despair because I have nothing else to say.
For a couple of moments, he looks somewhere in the distance, into the abyss, as if his body is in this room, while his mind has gone to some other place.
And then he whispers, "So am I."
CHAPTER THREE
ANTOINE
"Did you know her well?" Camilla asks after a long pause, interrupting my thoughts, and I look up at her again. When I finally get what she just said, I smirk involuntarily out of how ridiculous it sounds, at least for me.
Of course, I knew my mother!I want to tell her but stay silent.
There's a reason I don't want to tell Camilla who I am. And it's not because I want to deceive her. I like her and want to see if she likes me back. If she likes me forme, not for who my father is, not because I'm the heir of a multi-million empire.
As we sat on the grass in the garden earlier today, Camilla suggested that I work here, and I didn't argue with her. That's the truth: My father gives me tasks according to his mood and behavior, as he would say.
I'm his right hand when I do everything 'right,' like studying at business school and not partying a lot. But when I spent two days in jail last summer for violating the speed limit, he punished me by telling me to work in the kitchen. I cleaned the dishes instead of using the washing machine for a whole month. But what pissed me off was that the plates were put into the washing machine anyway after I did them.
Dad thought it would be a great life lesson for me. I haven't gotten into jail again since then, so I guess he was right.
"My whole family worked in this place before I was even born," I say after a long pause. All this time, Camilla has been looking at me as if trying to figure out what am I thinking. "So yeah, I know the owners quite well; we're like a family."
We are a family,I remind myself. Since Mom died, everything changed. Our happy family almost fell apart. Almost.