I Was Her Servant for Five Years, Now She Begs Me to Stay novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Prove It

Nolan tells Camille at the yacht club luncheon that they were engaged. Guards remove him and Gerald calls the garage note, but Camille looks at his scar and texts him a place.

"Don't tell her," Dean said. "Not for me. I'll sell the garage before I let you stay in that house another day."

"You won't sell it."

"I'll live in the truck."

"You hate the truck."

"I hate Gerald Ashworth more."

We argued until the lawyer's car was gone, and the argument ended where it always did.

I wasn't going back, and I wasn't going to be quiet.

Two days later I put on the one suit I owned and walked into the yacht club.

The Ashworth Foundation was holding its spring luncheon on the terrace, with white tablecloths and a harpist.

Camille sat at the head table in a pale green dress, with Preston on her right.

Lucille was beside her, and Gerald stood at the microphone, thanking donors.

Nobody stopped me at the door.

I had stood behind that table with a water pitcher for five years, and half the room still saw me as part of the furniture.

I walked straight to the head table and stood in front of Camille.

Gerald stopped speaking.

"Nolan," Camille said. She looked up with polite annoyance. "You're not supposed to be here."

"I know."

"If you've come about your last paycheck, ask the housekeeper."

"I haven't come for a paycheck."

My voice was shaking, so I said it again, louder.

"Camille, we were engaged."

The harp stopped.

A hundred forks stopped with it.

"Five years ago, I gave you a ring in a diner on the coast road," I said. "Three hours later we went off Marsh Road Bridge. You woke up and didn't know me. Your parents told me not to say anything, so I didn't. I've been in your house since that night. I carried your coffee because it was the only way I could stay near you."

Camille stared at me.

Then she laughed.

It was a bright, clear laugh, and half the tables laughed with her.

"That is the saddest thing I've ever heard," she said. "Preston, did you know the help was this delusional?"

"I'd heard rumors," Preston said, and put his napkin down.

"I'm not lying," I said.

"Nolan." Lucille's voice broke. She was already out of her chair with her hand over her mouth. "Oh, honey. We talked about this with the doctor. You haven't been sleeping."

"Mrs. Ashworth, tell her."

"Tell her what, sweetheart?"

She said it so gently that I almost doubted myself.

Then I remembered the tea, and the pearls, and the squeeze on my scar.

"Tell her I'm telling the truth," I said.

Lucille began to cry.

"He's been so loyal," she said to the nearest table. "He's not well. It's grief, I think. He was in love with her."

"Get him out of here," Preston said.

Two men from the club's security were already walking toward me.

One took my left arm and one took my right.

"I don't need help," I said. "I'll go."

"You're going," Preston said. "And if you come near my fiancee again, I'll make sure you can't work a garage door in this state."

Gerald's voice carried across the terrace, calm and exact.

"Mr. Tierney," he said. "You signed an agreement."

"Then I'll see you in court, Mr. Ashworth."

"I don't think you will." Gerald took the microphone off its stand. "Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for this scene. A former employee has become unstable. I'll be calling a debt tomorrow that I've been kind about for five years. His family will have thirty days to pay."

"Thirty days?" I said. "It's a hundred and sixty thousand dollars."

"One hundred and sixty-two," Gerald said. "Thirty days."

The guards pulled me back.

I looked at Camille one last time.

Her face had gone smooth and pleasant, the one she wore for guests.

Then her eyes dropped to my arm.

The guard had dragged my sleeve up when he took hold of me, and the burn scar showed along the inside of my forearm, shiny and pink.

Camille stopped smiling.

She looked at the scar for a long time, longer than a woman looks at a servant's arm.

She didn't ask me where I had got it.

I thought she was going to say something.

Then Preston laid a hand on her shoulder, and she turned back to the table.

The guards walked me out through the front door and down the steps.

They let go of me at the gravel lot.

"Stay off the property," one of them said.

I was standing by Dean's truck, trying to breathe, when my phone buzzed.

It was a number I didn't have saved.

There was no name, only a message.

"Marsh Road Bridge. Thursday midnight."

I read it three times.

Thursday was the night before the anniversary.

Nobody in that house had ever known I went to that bridge.

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