With the few coins we have left, we take a bus that whisks us to a very fancy neighborhood.
A few other people are on the bus with us, most of them looking like gardeners or cleaners. Of course.
We go over our freshly written CVs, having used pages from my mom's notebook, making sure there are no errors. I help tie my mom's blonde hair and she ties my light brown. I look at her hazel eyes to reassure me and she does the same as she looks into my eyes whose color that resembles hers. I took a lot from my mom, as I see. Including her height. 167 cm.
When the bus stops at our stop, we can't help but gasp. This is such a posh gated neighborhood.
As we walk down the street with our suitcases, we check the address again; the bus wasn't allowed to enter the estate.
When we finally arrive at the location, I gasp once more. We double-check to ensure this is the right place. The house looks like a castle manor.
I scan the neighborhood, marveling at how nice it is. Every house here is a villa, and this one is the largest of them all. It screams power and wealth.
I've lived in a big house before—technically, all my life—until yesterday.
With a deep breath, my mom presses the doorbell. It feels brave, as we have no idea what awaits us inside.
A clear, strong voice comes through the intercom: "Yes?"
"Hello. Maureen Orlando and Lisa Volkov here. We have a job interview," my mom replies.
We hear some rustling before the same voice says, "Come in, Miss Orlando and Miss Volkov."
We leave our suitcases outside, taking only our CVs, and push open the grand doors. I hold my breath as we walk along the beautiful path toward the stairs, finally reaching the front door, which opens without me even having to knock.
A tall middle-aged man stands before us, his round belly accentuated by his fine, elegant clothing. I assume he's the butler.
"Miss Orlando and Miss Volkov, we were expecting you," he says, his voice powerful yet soft. I detect a hint of a French accent.
I take in his features: a round face, dirty blonde hair slightly tousled, and large eyes that seem almost too big for his face. He has a rounded nose and a short beard.
I nod, balling my hands into fists to stop them from shaking. I dig my nails into my skin—a bad habit when I'm nervous.
"Thank you, sir," my mom responds with a friendly smile.
"Come in. Mrs. Romanov will be with you shortly."
The butler steps aside, allowing us to enter the house, and it feels like stepping into a fairy tale. Everything here screams wealth. Though elegant, the vast space is intimidating—this house truly is a castle. My dad's house could fit in here three times, if not more.
Warmth envelops me, hitting my face and making my skin tingle. It's a sharp sensation, but I welcome it.
We hear the clicking of heels, and then a beautiful face atop a petite body appears, dressed elegantly. She holds her head high, her light blonde hair styled in an intricate updo.
At first, she looks stern, but her gaze is friendly. She seems to be around my mom's age, perhaps in her forties.
"Mrs. Romanov, Miss Orlando and Miss Volkov are here for a job interview," the butler announces.
I glance up at her. She doesn't acknowledge the butler's words; instead, she studies my mom and me, as if assessing something about our appearance. We may not be perfectly polished, but we've done our best to look presentable.
Suddenly, she smiles and says to my mom, "You must be Maureen."
My mom returns the smile, albeit nervously. "Yes, ma'am."
Then she turns to me. "Lisa?"
I offer a crooked smile. "Yes, ma'am. It's nice to meet you."
The woman nods and then pivots on her heels. "Follow me," she orders.
My mom gives me an encouraging nod, and we grasp each other's hands, stepping forward to comply. I force my legs to move after her. Even her walk is elegant, powerful, and deliberate. Her head is held high, and I can't help but think she must have been a model in her youth—she's beautiful and tall enough to have graced the runway in her twenties.
She leads us up the stairs, her pace quick. We struggle to keep up, barely having time to absorb the opulence around us. I steal a glance at the décor; I've never been in a house like this before.
Pictures adorn the bright walls. One catches my eye—a boy who resembles Mrs. Romanov, leading me to guess he must be her son. He looks incredibly handsome, and I wish I could linger over the image a bit longer. The space is bright and vast.
We turn left and walk down a long hall when Mrs. Romanov suddenly stops in front of a door. She pulls a key from her pocket and unlocks it, inviting us inside.
My mom steps in first, and I follow.
We stand in the middle of the room, and my nerves flare up all over again, especially when Mrs. Romanov sits behind the imposing mahogany desk. It's already intimidating enough on its own, but her presence behind it amplifies my anxiety. This isn't going well so far.
She appears to be judging us, her hands clasped on the desk, staring down at us with her head held high. I swallow hard.
With a slight nod, she gives us the go-ahead, and we take the empty chairs in front of the desk. Mrs. Romanov watches our every move, particularly mine, and that intensity is daunting. I square my shoulders and lift my chin, trying to project confidence. Ah, the illusion.
"Well, Miss Orlando…" Mrs. Romanov begins, her tone calm and authoritative as she looks at my mom. My mom takes a deep breath before replying, "I'll need your CV."
My mom hands it over, and Mrs. Romanov reads it intently.
Her eyes flick over my mom's face before shifting down to assess me. "Any working experience?"
My mom clears her throat. "No, not for the past 18 years. I was a housewife and a stay-at-home mom until my ex-husband and I divorced."
"So, as a housewife, you have housekeeping experience, having taken care of your own home for years, correct?"
My mom nods, her voice steady. "Yes, ma'am. I know my way around a house, and I'm sure that experience will be helpful for this job."
Mrs. Romanov acknowledges this with a nod and a friendly smile before turning her attention to me. "Your CV, Lisa."
I hand it over, my hands trembling slightly.
She reads through it before looking up to ask, "Are you a student?"
"No, I haven't joined university yet, but I'm hoping to soon."
"And studying won't interfere with your job?"
I shake my head firmly. "No. I can assure you of that, Mrs. Romanov."
A smile tugs at the corner of Mrs. Romanov's mouth. "I see. Well, you both are hired."
I expected her to ask about my experience, but her words take both my mom and me by surprise.
"Really?" The question slips out before I can stop myself.
"Of course, the job is yours. Let me explain your responsibilities first before I give you your work contract."
I can barely hear her over the chorus of angels singing in my head.
"You will be assigned to my daughter-in-law, Meredith. She is in university, just like my son. You'll be cleaning her room, doing her laundry, and cooking for her," Mrs. Romanov explains to my mom before turning to me. "As for you, Lisa, you are assigned to my son, Nikolai Romanov. He wakes up early for school and has a job, so you'll need to rise early to make him breakfast—around 6 a.m. That's when he gets up. Each of you will receive a book filled with chores related to your assignments."
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Romanov. We won't let you down," my mom replies, her voice brimming with happiness as she takes my hand.
"I hope so," she says with a smile. "You'll be moving here immediately. When do you think you can bring your things?"
My mom and I exchange glances, and I let her handle it. "Actually, our things are outside."
"Oh," Mrs. Romanov's eyebrows shoot up. She picks up her phone and presses a number. "Robert, please bring Miss Orlando and Miss Volkov's things into the living room." Her gaze returns to my mom. "Where are your things?"
"We left them outside by the gate."
Her eyebrows raise further. "Bring them up."
She puts the receiver down, her attention returning to me. Then she turns to my mom and says, "Meredith is your responsibility. If she needs her laundry done, meals cooked, or anything cleaned, you handle that, okay?"
My mom nods. "Yes, Mrs. Romanov."
Mrs. Romanov then hands each of us a job contract to sign.
Just then, there's a knock on the door. "Come in." With that, the butler, Robert, walks in. "The luggage is in the living room, Mrs. Romanov."
She nods and then focuses on me again. "My son is your boss. He works and studies a lot, so he's rarely home, which means there will be times he comes home late. You'll need to wait to serve his dinner and make sure he eats. You will also do his laundry, clean his room, and cook any meals he requests. You are his personal maid. Just as Maureen is assigned to Meredith. On days he comes home too late, past your working hours, you will be compensated for those hours, so don't worry about that."
I nod, keeping my mouth shut this time. Mrs. Romanov continues to stare at me before she dismisses us by looking down at the desk. "You can escort her to her room, Robert."
We take this as permission to stand up and follow him out. My body shakes with excitement, and I find myself actually looking forward to this. I'm not thrilled about being someone's maid, but after sleeping outside yesterday and feeling so hungry, I can't bring myself to complain. This is far better than finding a shelter for the homeless.
Robert doesn't speak to us, and we don't bother to engage either. We grab our suitcases from the living room on our way to wherever he's leading us.
I take a moment to admire the house, feeling less rushed than before. My gaze drifts back to the photo, lingering on who I assume is Nikolai. We leave the grand mansion and head toward a smaller building, which I can only assume is the servants' quarters.
As we walk, we pass numerous doors, finally stopping in a dimly lit hallway near the end. Robert leads us to our rooms. My mom has her own, and I have to pass hers before reaching mine. He opens a door to a small room after showing my mom to hers.
Well, it's smaller than my old room, but I'm not complaining. I'll take it without objections. "Thank you," I say to Mr. Butler, and he nods in response.
"Settle in the SQ and then come down. Rebecca will inform you of your duties and show you around." I like the pleasant tone of his voice; it's soft and reassuring. His warm walnut-colored eyes make me instantly like this man.
"SQ?" my mom asks, puzzled.
"SQ means servants' quarters," he explains with a small smile.
"Oh," my mom replies, and I nod, stepping into my room with my suitcase. I'm really, really happy that we have somewhere to stay. Now I just want to make sure I don't mess this up, because this might be our only opportunity to get back on our feet. My father won't break us. We will be alright.
⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆
After we put our suitcases in our rooms, we both take a shower, and Rebecca brings us our maid uniforms. They are blue and white, long enough to touch our knees.
Rebecca is the woman who spoke to my mom on the phone before she got Mrs. Romanov. We love her instantly. She's somewhere over fifty, sharp as a tack, and has a way with words. It seems like she has a penchant for talking—or maybe she just doesn't have a problem with it? I can't decide.
She's probably been working here for a long time because she's friendly with everyone, even the owners of the house. I don't talk much, allowing her to take the lead, but she and my mom hit it off, chatting like best friends.
Rebecca explains our duties, which I anticipated; I just need to learn the schedule for the tasks. We wash clothes four to five times a week, meaning we'll be folding and ironing almost every day. Everything needs to be put away by the end of the workday, and we have to do it as discreetly as possible. She handles Mr. and Mrs. Romanov's clothes and bedroom cleaning, so that's not my mom's or my responsibility. I don't see the other maid, though. They mentioned hiring three of us, which confuses me since I haven't met her yet.
The house has to be spotless at all times—that's what we're paid for. If we see a spot, we need to remove it immediately. Dust? God forbid there's any, especially in such a huge house.
Then there's cooking and dish cleaning (thank goodness for whoever invented the dishwasher). Rebecca also mentions that guests sometimes stay late, which means we'll have to take care of them. Well, that's less than ideal, but it also means more hours, and with that, more money.
They even have an elevator in this house because Mr. Romanov was in a car accident some time ago, which left him limping to this day as he had surgery. He uses the elevator instead of the stairs. But Rebecca says that his daughter-in-law uses it even more than he does because she's "too cute" to take the stairs. Those are Rebecca's words, not mine. It makes me wonder if she's stuck up or something, but I decide not to judge before meeting her.
I do everything with a smile. Taking care of the couple will start tomorrow, so today I focus on cleaning the house with Rebecca and helping her cook. The day passes quietly as we work diligently, and soon, it's dinner time.
That's when I see Mr. Romanov for the first time. He and his wife are seated in the dining room. My mom and I stand in a corner, waiting for the couple. As Rebecca serves their dinner, a woman with long blonde hair strides in, wearing a pink crop top, a miniskirt, and towering high heels that make me worry she might fall. She is stunning, her face expertly made up, and I can tell she comes from a wealthy background just by the designer purse she carries.
Seeing her enter, Mrs. Romanov smiles warmly. "Meredith, there you are. You're just in time for dinner."
Instead of responding, Meredith scans the room with an angry glare. "Nikolai isn't home yet, is he?"
Mrs. Romanov shakes her head. "He must be either held up at work or at the library. He should be home soon."
Meredith rolls her eyes and takes her seat. My mom recognizes this as a cue and approaches Meredith to start serving her.
Meredith turns to my mom, sizing her up. "My new maid?" That's all she asks.
Mrs. Romanov nods. "Yes, I hired her today. Her name is Maureen." She glances at me. "And this is Nikolai's maid, Lisa."
Meredith's expression shifts as she looks at me, her eyes narrowing as she inspects my figure.
"So you're just basically giving Nikolai a woman to cheat on me with?" Meredith bellows, her voice dripping with disdain.
Her comment takes me by surprise, and I stare at her in confusion.
"Meredith," Mrs. Romanov warns. "Nikolai would never do that."
Meredith rolls her eyes and groans. "Oh please," she deadpans. "He is my husband. Why wouldn't he answer his wife's phone calls? And why isn't he home yet? Isn't he supposed to be having dinner with his wife?"
I honestly didn't expect the boy in that picture to be married, nor did I anticipate that this girl would be the daughter-in-law. The boy in the photo looks like a teenager—he has to be 19, I think. Unless it's an old picture. But then again, this girl also looks like she's 19 or 20.
"Like Amelia said, there must be a good reason. Why don't you just give him the benefit of the doubt?" Mr. Romanov says calmly, though I can see a flash of rage in his eyes.
Meredith mutters something under her breath that I can't catch. Mrs. Romanov, Amelia, sighs tiredly before turning to me. "Lisa, you'll need to wait until Nikolai comes back so you can serve him his dinner."
I can feel Meredith's gaze on me, but I avoid looking at her. Instead, I nod at Mrs. Romanov. "Yes, Mrs. Romanov."