Eve fluttered her eyes open, her chest tight and her heart heavy. The sunlight filtering through the curtains cast soft shadows on the walls of the grand bedroom, but it brought her no comfort. The events from last night flooded her mind—Nathan's cold, damning words, the revelation of his sister's death, the truth about her father.
Her head pounded from the weight of it all. Her marriage, once a hollow agreement she could endure, now felt like a suffocating cage. She couldn't even gather the strength to rise from the bed. The conversation with Nathan had left her emotionally exhausted, and yet here she was, alive, stuck in the numbness of it all.
Just then, Eve felt a few cold drops of water hit her face. She blinked, startled, sitting up immediately to find Clara, her housekeeper, standing beside the bed with an expression of mild disdain.
"Buongiorno, principessa addormentata," Clara greeted sarcastically, the Italian rolling off her tongue as smoothly as silk. She crossed her arms, her sharp eyes observing Eve.
Eve wiped the drops of water from her cheek and frowned. "Clara, was that really necessary?"
Clara merely shrugged, not the least bit apologetic. "It's past your bath time, signora. You slept too long, and I have work to do. Now get up."
She motioned toward the open door where, from the adjoining bathroom, the soft scent of lavender and rose petals wafted out. The bathwater had been drawn, no doubt prepared by Clara with meticulous care, despite her brusque demeanor.
Eve exhaled heavily, swinging her legs over the side of the bed. She felt her head spin from everything that had transpired last night.
But Clara, in her usual unbothered way, was completely immune to her turmoil. And maybe that was exactly what she needed—someone who wouldn't coddle her.
"You look like you've been hit by a train, and not the luxury kind," Clara remarked as she moved to gather Eve's robe, tossing it on the bed. "Get yourself cleaned up. No use lying here, wallowing in misery. It'll do nothing for those dark circles under your eyes."
"Thanks for the compassion, Clara," Eve muttered, her voice hoarse. She stood slowly, feeling like her limbs were weighed down by invisible chains. "I'm really feeling the love."
Clara let out a scoff as she placed a tray of bath essentials—candles, lotions, oils—on the side of the tub. "Love? I've been dealing with your moods since the day you walked into this mansion, thinking marriage would solve your problems. You think I don't know?"
Eve sighed. She appreciated Clara's bluntness, but some days, it was like a slap in the face.
She shuffled toward the bathroom, and the moment she stepped inside, the warmth from the steam enveloped her, offering some semblance of comfort. The water in the tub rippled slightly, filled with rose petals and a mix of herbs and oils Clara insisted were 'good for the soul.'
"I've also prepared your coffee," Clara called after her, now busying herself tidying up Eve's vanity, where perfume bottles and jewelry were strewn haphazardly from the night before.
Eve slid into the bath, closing her eyes, trying to let the warmth relax her. But she could still feel the chill from the night before, still see Nathan's indifferent gaze as he spoke of Juliet, his mistress.
"How's the lady of this house doing?" Clara asked casually, as if speaking about someone else entirely. Her voice echoed from the other room as she continued her tasks.
Eve's eyes shot open. She stared blankly at the ceiling, "The usual," Eve murmured, her voice flat. She sank deeper into the water, letting it lap against her chin.
Clara hummed knowingly, stepping into the bathroom again. "Did I mention that Juliet came by last night? Beautiful woman, that one. Always so well put together." She clucked her tongue. "If I didn't know better, I'd say she runs the place sometimes."
Eve's fingers tensed beneath the water, but she said nothing. She could only feel numbness.
Clara's words didn't sting the way they might have before, and she wondered if that was a good thing or not. Maybe she had finally hit the point of indifference. Maybe she was learning to live with the reality of it all.
Clara seemed to sense the shift in her. She glanced over at Eve, eyeing her carefully. "I take it you don't care that Juliet waltzes in and out like she owns the place?"
Eve stared ahead, her voice barely above a whisper. "Should I?"
Clara raised an eyebrow. "Well, most wives might. But then again, you're not most wives, are you?"
"I stopped being a wife the moment this marriage became a transaction," Eve muttered bitterly. Her eyes burned, but no tears came. She was tired of crying.
Clara paused, her usual sharpness softening slightly. "I suppose that's true." She sat on the edge of the tub, her arms folded. "But you've got to do something, cara. You can't just drift through this life like a ghost. Nathan may not care, but you should care about yourself."
Eve let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. "Care about myself? I don't even know who I am anymore, Clara."
Clara's gaze softened for the first time that morning, and for a moment, the harsh edges of her personality faded. "You're stronger than you think, Eve. I've seen it. Maybe it's time you start remembering that."
Silence filled the room, save for the gentle ripples of water as Eve slowly began to wash away the remnants of the night.
Clara eyed Eve for a moment, then sighed dramatically as she grabbed a small bottle of hair oil from the vanity. Without asking, she unscrewed the cap, poured some into her palms, and sat down beside the tub, ready to massage her scalp.
"Alright, enough with this deep, existential crap. Let's talk about something more interesting."
Eve raised an eyebrow as Clara began massaging the oil into her hair. "Like what?"
Clara leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You'll love this one. Apparently, Juliet—yes, that Juliet—she's been getting some heat from another woman. Some redhead, shows up at Nathan's office. Rumor is, Juliet's not too thrilled about her constant visits there."
Eve's lips twitched, but she remained silent.
"Redhead's got a temper too, from what I've heard," Clara continued, her tone full of drama. "One of the chauffeurs overheard her tearing into Nathan over the phone the other day. Real fiery stuff. Something about respect and 'what kind of man lets his mistress parade around like that?' Honestly, it was quite the show."
"Hmm." Eve wasn't sure what to say to that, the numbness creeping back in, but Clara didn't seem to care. She continued, oblivious to the emotional landmines she was stepping on.
"I mean, it's one thing to have a mistress, but two women fighting over Nathan? Please. He's not even that charming," Clara scoffed, making Eve snort in agreement. "Honestly, it's all so… what do you Americans say? Messy."
"Well, they don't call him a media mogul for nothing," Eve muttered.
Clara laughed, her hands pausing for a moment before resuming the rhythmic motion in Eve's hair. "True, true. Still, if I were you, I'd march right up to that office and remind them all who the real boss is."
Eve smiled softly, though her heart wasn't quite in it. "You make it sound so easy."
"That's because it is," Clara replied matter-of-factly, leaning over to look Eve in the eye. "You just need to remember who you are. You're Eve Windsor, for crying out loud. Stop letting these fools make you forget it."
Eve exhaled deeply, appreciating Clara's unwavering confidence, even if she didn't feel it herself. "Maybe."
"There's no 'maybe' about it," Clara said with finality, squeezing Eve's shoulder before standing up. "Now, finish your bath before the water gets cold. But don't stay in too long. You'll shrivel up, and I don't have time for any of your melodramatics today. And when you're done, you march out there like the queen you were born to be. I'll be downstairs, ruling my kitchen empire."
Eve watched Clara leave the room, her familiar demeanor returning as she gathered Eve's clothes and placed them neatly by the vanity.
She smiled faintly. "Thanks for the pep talk."
"Don't mention it," Clara quipped, giving her a sly grin. "It's not like I get paid to be your therapist."
Eve didn't know how to fix what was broken, but maybe, just maybe, Clara was right. She had to start somewhere. Maybe it was time to start taking control of her own life again.
But for now, she'd soak in the warmth and let herself forget, even if only for a moment.