Chapter 5 - THE EVE OF THE GALA
By midnight, the mansion had finally grown quiet. The florists had gone home, the caterers were asleep in the local hotel, and the glittering crystal chandeliers in the grand ballroom cast a warm, silent glow over rows of empty tables dressed in white silk.
Naomi was standing alone in the glass conservatory, watering a row of exotic orchids with a long-spouted copper can, when she heard soft footsteps approaching behind her.
She didn't turn around. She knew the cadence of those footsteps by heart.
“You’re still awake,” Ethan’s voice murmured out of the darkness.
“Plants don't water themselves, Mr. Whitmore,” Naomi replied, tilting the spout gently over a vibrant purple bloom.
Ethan stepped into the dim light of the conservatory, running a hand through his hair. He looked restless, the weight of the upcoming wedding pressing down on him like an anchor. He stopped a few feet away from her, leaning against the glass pane looking out into the dark, moonlit gardens.
“Vanessa came to my study an hour ago,” Ethan said quietly.
Naomi continued watering the orchids. “I take it she didn't come to discuss floral arrangements.”
“She demanded that I fire you tonight. Before the party.” Ethan let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “She said you threatened her. She said you looked at her with malice.”
“And what did you tell her?”
“I told her no,” Ethan turned his head, looking at Naomi in the shadows. “I told her that firing the best housekeeper this estate has had in a decade because of a personality clash right before a major event is absurd. But... she’s furious, Naomi. She’s planning something. I can see it in her eyes. She’s going to try to humiliate you publicly tomorrow night in front of three hundred of Boston’s elite.”
Naomi finally set the copper watering can down on the stone ledge with a soft clink. She turned to face him, her dark eyes catching the moonlight.
“Let her try,” Naomi said simply.
Ethan stepped closer, his brow furrowing with a mixture of worry and intense fascination. “You aren't scared of her at all, are you? Most people would be terrified of losing their livelihood, let alone being publicly degraded by someone like Vanessa.”
“Mr. Whitmore,” Naomi said, her voice dropping into a register so steady and profound that it made the hairs on the back of his arms stand up. “For eight years before I came to Whitmore House, I stood in rooms where men with knives and guns threatened to take lives. I protected people who had targets painted on their backs. Do you honestly believe a woman who gets stressed about silk flower arrangements and table linens is a threat I haven't seen before?”
Ethan froze. The air in the conservatory seemed to freeze with him.
“What... what did you just say?” he whispered.
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Naomi didn't answer. She simply looked at him, letting the mask slip just enough for him to catch a terrifying, beautiful glimpse of the formidable protector living beneath the gray housekeeping uniform.
“Get some sleep, Mr. Whitmore,” Naomi said softly, walking past him toward the service door. “Tomorrow is going to be a very big day. And whatever happens... remember to stay calm.”
