The water shimmered softly as Harper prepared to shift into her other form, her eyebrows knitting together in concentration. She turned her head to peer into the depths of the tub, taking careful breaths.
Suddenly, a wave of irritation washed over her as she wondered who dared to invade her sanctuary—it certainly wasn't one of her brothers. As she broke the surface, her fingertips gripped the cool edge of the porcelain tub, her gaze locking onto a woman standing before her. The woman wore a black skirt paired with a crisp white blouse, topped off with a cozy cream sweater vest. Her long, flowing brown hair framed a delicate face, and her wide blue eyes reflected genuine surprise as they met Harper's.
Her eyes narrowed at the door to see the woman had pulled her shoes outside. Very thoughtful of her.
"What are you doing? I thought you were..." I trailed off, concern lacing my voice as I crouched down to meet her striking blue eyes.
"Drowning?" Harper shot back, the sharpness of her tone cutting through the air. I nodded, a sinking feeling gnawing at my insides as I glanced anxiously at the water that had once enveloped her. A flicker of panic gripped me at the thought of something terrible happening on my first day of work.
"Here, let me help you get out," I offered, stretching out my hands in a gesture of assistance. But Harper simply stared, her expression a mixture of annoyance and defiance as my hand approached her.
"I'll be fine. Just wait outside for me," she said, her voice dismissive. I nodded reluctantly, turning sharply to leave the opulent room. As I descended the staircase, I paused momentarily in the dining area, taking in the extravagance that surrounded me. Beautiful chandeliers hung from high ceilings, and intricate artwork adorned the walls. It seemed almost unimaginable that they managed this vast, beautiful place without help.
Shaking off the contemplative thoughts, I reminded myself they could always hire someone else once my short stint was over.
After a while, I looked up to see Harper descending the staircase, her movements graceful as she adjusted the gown that flowed around her. In that moment, she resembled a fairy tale princess—strikingly beautiful with her long black hair cascading around her shoulders and bright blue eyes that sparkled with life, a stark contrast to my own darker hues.
"Are you my tutor?" she asked, arriving at the bottom of the stairs and gravitating to a chair in the dining area. As she settled in, I couldn't help but watch her, intrigued.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied, injecting a note of formality into my voice, embodying my professional demeanor.
"My name's Harper," she retorted, her expression revealing her displeasure at being addressed so formally. At just five years old, she was far more perceptive than many her age.
"Okay, Harper," I acknowledged, ensuring to take note of her preference. She gestured for me to join her at the table, and after a moment of hesitance, I took a seat across from her.
"My name's Carol, and Julian has employed me to tutor you and take care of you until he returns from school. If you need anything, please don't hesitate to ask," I explained, keeping my tone gentle and reassuring. It was essential that she understood my role in her life during this time.
When she remained silent, staring vacantly at me, I pressed on. "I'd like to know how much time you typically spend reading so I can determine where to start."
"Boring," she muttered, averting her gaze to the side. I momentarily halted, replaying my words in my mind; nothing seemed off to me.
"You are boring," Harper declared, her voice flat as she faced me again, her eyes reflecting her disinterest. "I like someone who can have fun."
I narrowed my eyes, confusion swirling within me. Fun? Just the other day, I had been blowing bubbles, and she had turned away in disdain. What kind of fun could she possibly want if she rejected such simple joys? It felt unprofessional for me to engage in anything resembling fun with her; after all, she was my employer's child, not a friend.
"Fun in a situation where others are in misery" she clarified, her deadpan gaze leaving me bewildered.
"Miss Harper, I was employed to tutor you—" I started, only to be interrupted once again. It seemed clear that Harper really needed tutoring on how to listen and not interrupt people while speaking.
"I heard that a while ago," she stated bluntly, her bold stare challenging me. In truth, she was correct; my options were limited. I could not reprimand her or risk the wrath of her brothers, who might not take kindly to me enforcing discipline.
"I study for thirty minutes maximum," she replied, her tone casual, as if the conversation were a trivial exchange rather than the beginning of a new chapter in her education.
My eyes narrowed as I focused intently on her, the afternoon sunlight streaming through the window highlighting the lines of concern on my face. "Thirty minutes," I said slowly, "How many subjects do you grasp in that time?" I probed, my curiosity piqued.
"All of them," she replied, her gaze vacant as if she were staring through me. I furrowed my brows, mulling over her words, and within moments, she ascended the staircase, the door to her room clicking shut with a soft, finality. I settled at the dining table, the wooden surface cool against my hands, and waited patiently for her to reemerge.
A few minutes later, she appeared, tossing a few of her books and some assorted files onto the table with a nonchalant flick of her wrist. I reached for the files, my fingers brushing against the paper as I scanned through her report card. To my astonishment, she had topped every single subjects in her class. Why did she need a tutor when she was excelling so brilliantly? I questioned internally, glancing up at her then back at the paper, my brows raised in disbelief.
"Harper Golden…" I muttered her name under my breath, as if testing its familiarity.
As if reading my thoughts, Harper clarified matter-of-factly, "There's been a switch in our teachers, and the new one isn't exactly gifted at explaining the topics, which is why I needed help."
"That's not a very kind thing to say about your teacher," I remarked, placing her files back on the table, then picking up her notes to skim through. Her handwriting was elegant and clear, a welcome reprieve from the usual scrawl I encountered.
"Julian didn't hire you to correct my manner of speaking," she retorted, her tone blunt and unwavering.
I smiled warmly, attempting to bridge the gap between us. "But you know, it'll serve you well to understand how to respectfully address your elders at this young age." Harper rolled her eyes, an unmistakable look of disapproval shadowing her features. It struck me that if she continued down this path, learning would be an uphill battle.