"But not all omegas are the same," Santos says quietly. "Jennifer could be different. We didn't even give her a chance."
The thing we're not agreeing to, and haven't discussed, is whether we're ready to give it a try again.
I'm not sure if I can go through all that pain again, but then again, who says there has to be pain?
18
JENNIFER
I'm trying to do the thing where I pretend I'm not exhausted and act as if everything's together on the outside, but inside all I'm thinking about is my bed right now. After I'm done with this sauce, I'm definitely going to take a nap. I deserve it.
"They'd like to see you in the main study before lunch," Carmen says as she approaches me.
Why didn't she tell me before? She has been here all morning and said nothing.
"But I'm making a sauce," I protest.
"I understand, but you've been working hard all morning. We both have, which is why I forgot to tell you."
It's as if she read my mind. I think she was up to something, but it was innocent. I need to stop being so paranoid, but I can't help it when it comes to those three.
"It will break if I leave it."
Carmen looks at me. Then back at the sauce. "I'll watch it," she offers.
No, Carmen. I've been avoiding them, I want to keep avoiding them, please don't do this. I know I have no choice. Myaim is to get through the time on the island without falling apart, and this is what I intend to do.
I hand her the whisk and give her very specific instructions about heat and movement and what will happen if she stops whisking even for a second, and she nods to show she understood. So I take off my apron and go.
"Don't worry, they don't bite. They're harmless really," she says. She can probably pick up on my fear. She has no idea why I'm really nervous, and I'm not about to tell her. We've only known each other for a short time, and I really need this job.
The main house is cool inside, all that white stone keeping the heat out, and I've only been in here twice since I arrived, both times to deliver food and leave immediately on the grounds that the longer I spend in their space the more likely something goes catastrophically wrong. The study is at the back, overlooking the water, because of course it is, because every room in this house overlooks the water because this is a billionaire island and nothing about it is understated.
I knock.
"Come in," Tomas says.
All three of them are in there, which is not a surprise and is also a problem.
Santos at the window, because Santos gravitates toward light like something photosynthetic, his dark hair slightly undone the way it always is, the tattoo on his neck catching the morning sun. He's in a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbow and I have approximately zero business noticing that and I notice it immediately.
Matteo is behind the desk. Of course he is. That is where Matteo belongs, behind a large solid object that communicates authority, pale blue eyes already on me before I've fully entered the room, doing the thing where he reads you without advertising it.
Tomas is in the chair nearest the door with his glasses on.
The glasses are still doing things they have absolutely no business doing and I am not going to acknowledge that today or any other day for the rest of my life, so help me.
"Jennifer," Matteo says.
"Matteo," I say, because we are apparently doing this now, using first names like adults, fine.
Santos turns from the window and smiles, just like he did at the roulette table, distracting me for a minute.
Focus. They speak. I leave.
His saffron scent reaches me half a second later. Warm. Sharpening.
Tomas gestures toward the chair on my side of the desk. I sit. I fold my hands in my lap and look at all three of them in sequence and wait.