Tasha quickly averted her gaze as Clinton's eyes met hers. Her nervousness hit its peak, and she swallowed hard as she saw him draw closer. Her mind was racing in a thousand directions, and she could feel the warmth of his body just inches away from hers. His chest was almost touching hers, and she swore he could hear the rapid thudding of her heart. She tried to think, but her mind went blank.
"What do you want?" Clinton's quiet voice broke the silence. Tasha was surprised by his question, her mind struggling to process it. What did she want from him? Was it his heart or just his body? She glanced up at his eyes, watching hers, and cleared her throat, feeling a flush creep up her neck.
"Your love," she whispered, barely able to breathe as the words left her lips. Clinton pulled back slightly, staring at her for a moment. A grin spread across his face, revealing a perfect set of white teeth. He shook his head, biting his ruby lips. Tasha's curiosity piqued—what was going through his head after the words she'd just said? They were alone in this small corner, and she desperately tried to read his thoughts.
Clinton said nothing for a while, his eyes slowly traveling from her flushed face, to the curls of her hair, and then down to her neck, before coming back to her face. He wasn't surprised by her response. He had heard similar words from other girls before. For a few moments, he grew bored.
"You're beautiful," he finally said, gently tucking a lock of Tasha's hair behind her ear. Tasha inhaled his scent, feeling her shyness deepen. She smiled faintly. "But you're very unkempt," he added, pulling back slightly.
Tasha froze. Unkempt? The word stung more than she expected. Her hands trembled as they instinctively went to smooth down the hem of her dress. She felt sadness wash over her, and she fought to hold back tears. She hadn't expected him to say that. If she had known he'd be there, she would've dressed up, maybe added some gloss to her lips or a little powder to her face.
Hearing Clinton, the boy she secretly loved, say those words hurt more than she could express. If it had been anyone else, she could have brushed it off, but from him, it felt like a blow to her self-esteem.
"You hid in my closet for my love?" Clinton's voice was laced with disbelief. He didn't take his eyes off her face.
"I was here to clean," she said softly, her voice betraying her sadness.
With a raised eyebrow, he cut her off. "With the brush on the floor and sanitizer on the dresser?" he said, his tone mocking. "Oh, I see. You're the reason my curtains were left open… and my door unlocked?"
"I was still cleaning!" Tasha protested, her voice cracking. She didn't care if he noticed the tear in her tone. She was too upset to care. The hurt from his words was already sinking in, and she knew she'd be moody for days. He had just crushed something inside her with that one comment.
Clinton raised his hand, signaling for her to stop speaking. "Never mind," he mouthed, his expression unreadable. "Just walk away." He saw no point in continuing this conversation. He should be in bed, wrapped in his duvet, resting for an early departure tomorrow. "Make sure you shut my door properly," he added as he turned toward the bathroom.
Tasha's heart pounded painfully as she bent down to pick up the cleaning tool at her feet. She caught a whiff of the scent from the bathroom before she shut the door, her hands trembling slightly.
She hurried down the corridor, eager to escape to her room where she could cry in private. Clinton's words repeated in her mind, a continuous loop of hurt. She tried to hold back the tears, sniffling quietly as she fought the battle in her chest.
Before she could reach the stairs, she was stopped by a voice. Tasha hadn't noticed the red-haired girl, who looked strikingly like Clinton, coming toward her. Lost in her thoughts, her eyes had been focused downward as her feet carried her forward.
Jose studied Tasha's face, noticing her obvious distress. There was a space between them, only a single step separating them. She wondered who this girl was and why she looked like she might cry.
"Are you alright?" Jose asked gently, reaching out to touch Tasha's arm.
Tasha nodded quickly, her eyes avoiding Jose's as she tried not to break down. It isn't worth your tears, she tried to convince herself, but the thought wasn't enough to calm her. She knew she was a very emotional person, and this felt like the second time in recent memory that she would cry—after the death of her pet dog.
"You're sure?" Jose took a step closer, her concern growing.
Tasha nodded again, though it was clear she was struggling. "I'm fine," she forced out with a small, shaky smile, trying to keep her voice steady.
Jose squinted at her, still unconvinced. "I'm sorry, but… who are you?" she asked, her tone soft but curious after noticing that the girl in front of her was unfamiliar.
Tasha cleared her throat, praying it wouldn't betray her emotions. She didn't want to explain herself, didn't want to get into it. "I'm Tasha, the gatekeeper's daughter," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she averted her eyes. The soft radiance of the chandeliers illuminated everything in the house, and Tasha noticed a tattoo on Jose's neck beneath her left ear with a quick glance.
"Oh, nice to meet you," Jose said, her smile warm but noticing the way Tasha was trying to hide her face. "My mom's spoken a lot about you. Your father is a very good man."
Tasha smiled weakly, but the kindness in Jose's voice made her feel worse. She didn't want anyone to see her in this state.
"Something wrong with your face?" Jose asked, her eyes narrowing with concern. She had been sent by the family to find Clinton, with a request that he join her and Daisy before they left for their flight. An hour earlier, they'd made a toast to long life and prosperity, clinking glasses in celebration. However, Clinton had been absent.
The Cornell family had long been accustomed to his unexplained departures. They had waited patiently for hours after he'd left, holding out hope that he'd return before they raised their glasses in his absence.
Tasha quickly shook her head. "No, nothing's wrong," she said, though her voice quivered. She took a step to walk away, but Jose gently held her back.
"You're not telling me the truth, are you?" Jose's eyes were fixed on Tasha, searching for answers.
"I am," Tasha said quickly, forcing a laugh. "Nothing's wrong." She tried to sound convincing, but the sniffles gave her away.
Jose hesitated. "You saw my brother?" she asked, the question coming naturally.
"Not at all," Tasha replied, her voice almost too quick.
"Cleaning?" Jose asked, now noticing the sanitizer bottle in her hand. "Where?"
Tasha was uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was heading. She was already thinking about Clinton's words—unkempt—and didn't want to revisit it. She just wanted to be alone, to forget what had just happened, but instead, she found herself caught in another awkward conversation.
"Clinton's room," she said, almost absentmindedly. The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her eyes widened in realization. I shouldn't have said that.
Jose's eyes lit up. "Oh, is he in?" she asked, glancing down the corridor. "I've checked the house but haven't found him anywhere."
Tasha shook her head. "I don't think so," she said quietly, her stomach turning. "I'm just going to get some water. My throat's dry from all the cleaning." She gave a nervous laugh, lifting the dust brush as if to explain herself.
Jose seemed to accept that, but her next words caught Tasha off guard. "You'll follow me to his room, right? You have his key."
Tasha felt a knot tighten in her stomach. Of course, Jose would assume she had the key since she had been cleaning. Tasha nodded reluctantly, stepping aside to let her pass.
"After you," Jose insisted with a gesture.
Tasha sighed inwardly, leading the way back through the hallway. She felt trapped, as if things she couldn't avoid kept pulling her back in.
When she reached Clinton's room, Tasha reached into her pocket, but it was empty. Her heart sank. She had forgotten the key in Clinton's room, resting beneath the duvet when she'd left in such a rush. The thought of him discovering it there made her stomach churn.
Jose, noticing her hesitation, raised an eyebrow. "Is something wrong?" she asked, her voice curious.
"The key," Tasha whispered, her face turning red. "I left it in his room."
Jose blinked in confusion. "How did the door get locked, then?" She stepped closer to the door, trying to guess the passcode. After a few failed attempts, she looked at Tasha again. "How did you lock the door?"
Tasha panicked. "Don't you think your brother must've locked it? The door wouldn't lock by itself, right?"
Jose cocked her head, pondering. "You think so?" she said, and when Tasha nodded, she tried knocking on the door.
One knock. Then two. Then three.
"Maybe he's asleep," Tasha suggested after a few minutes of no response. She felt a strange sense of relief that Clinton hadn't answered. She didn't want to face him, not like this, not in front of his sister.
Jose sighed and stepped back. "I would've liked to see him one last time before I leave," she said, biting her lip. "But I'll just call him. You should go," she added, giving Tasha a quick nod.
Tasha smiled weakly, watching Jose turn and head toward her own room, just a few steps away. She watched her leave, relieved for a moment of peace.
But then, just as she was walking away, a voice called out.
"You, come back."
Tasha froze. It was Clinton, standing by the wall in only loose pants, his arms crossed as he looked her way. His presence made her heart skip a beat.
Tasha gulped, feeling a knot in her throat. His good looks only made her feel more nervous.
"Come over here," he said, his voice commanding as he pointed to a spot just a step away from where he stood.
Her legs refused to move, her body frozen in place. Clinton rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You want my love, huh? I'll show you," he said audibly, then marched over to her, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward his room.
The door clicked shut behind them, and Tasha's chest tightened. She could hardly believe what was happening. Then Clinton's voice came, low and close, just behind her neck.
"Why did you knock at my door?" he asked quietly.
Tasha's breath caught in her throat. She wanted to explain that it wasn't her, it was his sister—but she couldn't find the words. And before she could respond, his lips found hers.