Chapter 8 - Shadows on the Cream-Colored Marble
The transformation of the mansion began before the sun had fully cleared the perimeter stone wall, but by evening, the downstairs had become an entirely different world. Caterers in black vests and crisp linen aprons wheeled massive racks of glassware across the cream-colored marble floors, their footsteps echoing sharply beneath the crystal chandeliers. Delivery trucks idled on the crushed gravel drive, their headlights washing through the tall arched windows of the foyer and casting long, erratic shadows across the wrought-iron staircase.
I kept my green uniform neat, the white collar starched against my neck, as I hurried between the service wing and the grand ballroom with a stack of silver-plated trays. Every corner of the main level buzzed with the frantic energy of an event planner shouting instructions about floral centerpieces and acoustic placements. Julian was nowhere in sight yet, presumably shut inside his second-floor study to review his foundation speech, but his presence hung heavy over the entire staff.
The contrast between the roaring chaos of the lower level and the cold silence upstairs gnawed at my chest. I had checked on Mateo twice during the afternoon, finding him huddled in the small service pantry near the butler's pantry, refusing to touch the plate of crackers and cheese I had left him.
By seven o'clock, the exterior security gates swung wide to admit the first wave of town cars and private sedans. The low murmur of arriving guests began to swell over the ambient hum of the catering equipment. I ducked into the service hallway, wiping a damp cloth across my apron before slipping toward the pantry.
Mateo was sitting on a low wooden crate behind a stack of spare linen bins, his knees pulled up against his burgundy polo shirt. His small face was pale, his eyes wide and unblinking in the dim overhead light as the rhythmic thumping of heavy bass notes began to vibrate through the floorboards from the ballroom.
"Mateo," I whispered, kneeling down beside him on the tile floor. I kept my voice low to cut through the muffled roar coming from the grand foyer. "They're starting to come in now. The house is going to be very loud for a few hours."
He didn't answer right away. He just reached out, his small fingers catching the edge of my white apron and twisting the fabric until his knuckles turned white.
"I don't like the noise, Valeria," he murmured, his voice trembling slightly. "They look like they're wearing masks."
"I know, sweetheart," I said softly, gently placing my hand over his clenched fist to ease his grip on the cloth. "It's just for tonight. Your father has to host these people for the foundation. But you don't have to go out there. Stay right here in the quiet. I'll check on you whenever I can slip away."
"Is my dad going to be mad if I stay here?" he asked, looking up at me with tearful eyes that mirrored the anxiety I had tried so hard to soothe since morning.
"No," I lied quietly, knowing Julian expected his son to present a polished, picture-perfect image whenever outsiders gathered beneath the crystal chandeliers. "He's busy with the guests. He won't even notice."
A sharp knock on the service door made us both jump. One of the catering managers poked his head in, his face flushed with irritation. "Valeria! They need extra water service at the north bar immediately. Move it."
"Coming," I called out, giving Mateo's hand one last reassuring squeeze before standing up. "Stay hidden, Mateo. Just a little while longer."
I hurried back out into the bright, deafening glare of the foyer. The marble floors were now packed with silk gowns, velvet tuxedo jackets, and glittering diamond necklaces. In the center of it all stood Julian, wearing his tailored dark suit and white shirt, shaking hands with the city's elite and smiling that practiced, camera-ready smile that never quite reached his eyes. He caught sight of me carrying a tray through the crowd, his gaze sharpening for a fraction of a second before he turned back to greet a prominent city councilman.
May you like
The charity gala had begun, and the secrets resting behind the upper doors felt heavier than ever against the music and laughter echoing off the walls.
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