Page 67 of In Ruins
My stomach starts to grumble again, meaning our baby girl is definitely letting me know she’s really hungry right now.
I search the closet but don’t find my bags, so I grab one of the panties with the tag still on and rip it off before pulling them up my legs. I hope whoever it belongs to doesn’t mind. Then I walk over to his side and grab one of his white button-down shirts.
I put it on and see it’s long enough, looking like a mini dress on me, ending just above my knees. This will have to do for now until I have a chance to speak with him. I have no idea where he’s gone or when he’s going to be back. Our conversation will have to wait.
Once I’m done dressing, I head out of the room and down toward the kitchen to get something to eat before I look—okay, snoop—around the penthouse to see everything else I didn’t get to last night.
As I walk down the stairs and into the living room, intent on going toward the kitchen, I can’t help but stop when I come to the little hallway that leads to the front door. Before I can even think about what I’m doing, my feet are moving, and I’m making my way toward the door.
I try the handle, but it doesn’t move. I look at the scanner and try to scan my fingers, but nothing happens. Of course, he locked me in here like a damn prisoner. Why did I even think for one second that the door would open?
I guess I just have to be optimistic and look on the bright side, right? My father doesn’t know I’m here, which means he can’t get to me.
Sighing, I walk back down the hallway and turn right to head to the kitchen. As I get closer, I become aware of the sounds coming from in there, as though someone is moving around. My heart and tummy instantly flutter at the thought of him still being here. I guess he didn’t leave after all.
I try to hide my disappointment when I step into the kitchen to see an older woman there instead. She’s washing dishes. I must make a sound because she turns around to look at me.
“Hello, Miss. You’re finally up. I was just about to come up and see if you were awake,” she says in a friendly voice.
“Hi there. Not to be rude or anything, but who are you?” I ask.
“Oh, silly me! Where are my manners? My name’s Dorothy. I’m Mister Andretti’s housekeeper and cook,” she replies in a warm tone. I don’t know what it is about her, but I kinda instantly like her.
“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Dorothy. My name is Aria.”
“It’s nice to meet you, too, Miss Aria.”
“Please, it’s just Aria.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, and I nod. “As you wish, then, Aria. Come, come. Have a seat, and I’ll make breakfast for you,” she says and motions for me to sit at the table.
“Oh, you don’t have to go to any trouble for me. I can make something for myself,” I protest, but she’s hearing none of it.
“Nonsense! I’m sure you’re tired of that baby in there. When I was pregnant years ago, I remember I didn’t want to lift even a finger,” she says, smiling.
“I guess you’re right. I do get tired easily these days.”
“So, what would you like for breakfast?”
“I’ll have toast, an omelet, and some fruit along with orange juice if you have that,” I tell her.
“Of course, I do. Mister Andretti made sure I stocked up the pantry, fridge, and freezer with lots of stuff for you. He said, andI’m quoting here, stock up on stuff that’s going to be healthy for my future wife and our baby,” she replies as she starts to make what I asked for. For some reason, her words form tears in my eyes. He cares about the baby and me. I don’t even realize she said future wife until a few seconds later. Did he really say that about me? Maybe this won’t be so bad after all. Besides Giana and Isabella, I haven’t felt like anyone cared about me at all.
“Are you okay? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you upset,” she tells me with a kind and worried expression when she turns back around and sees the tears still in my eyes.
“No, no. You’re fine. I’m sorry, it’s just these damn hormones,” I say with a laugh.
“I definitely don’t miss that!” She chuckles, bringing the fruit and orange juice for me first to nibble on in the meantime. I’m so hungry.
“So how long have you worked for Enzo?” I casually ask, as I nibble and she works.
“I’ve worked for the Andretti family for twenty-five years, but I’ve only worked solely for Enzo for about two years.”
“Oh, that’s pretty cool,” I tell her as she walks back over to bring the toast and omelet to me.
She made me French toast, and I’m not going to lie. That, along with the omelet, tastes like heaven! It might actually be the best I’ve ever eaten. When I’m done, I feel stuffed to the max, but it was so worth it. I go to get up to take my dishes to the sink to wash, but she’s not hearing any of it and scolds me a little.
“Uh, uh, uh. You don’t worry about a thing, Miss Aria. I’ll handle it all.”
