Conrad placed the egg timer in Erica’s hand. She strode to the corner, as Burke had done, and gave the timer a careful twist. In a flurry of colorful dresses and dark suits, the ten other guests dashed out of the parlor. The sounds of shoes and laughter dissipated in the mansion. For a fleeting second, Dom peeked over his shoulder, swept away with the other guests. Again, Rozie gave a small wave. She watched them leave before slipping out the side door toward the entrance hall.

  She thanked God for her sneakers and rolled her feet as she walked—the only thing she remembered from one year of high school marching band. From the entry hall, she dashed into the library. The faded covers that lined the shelves distracted her. Just at eye level sat a line of books covered in artistic swirls and geometric designs. She pulled open the glass cabinet door. Her fascination prickled until Rozie realized she was staring at decades of old Reader’s Digest abridged novel compilations. Titles she had never heard of, let alone abridged versions. Her hand fell from the books when the loud ticking from the other room brought her to her senses, and she made a note to return to study the library’s shelves in the morning.

  Rozemarijn raced from the library into the dining room again. She heard whispers and giggling under the tablecloth. Rozie glanced beneath and saw a man’s hands and knees and a glimmer of patterned gold fabric—crouching face to face. The Fonsecas would be a great diversion if she could stomach listening to the couple’s flirtations.

  She dismissed the solarium attached to the dining room with a glance. A beautiful space full of white wicker chairs and flowering plants, a couple of decorative trees, and no hiding places large enough.

  The timer went off in the parlor, startling Rozie. She pushed her way through a heavy wood-paneled door. Stacked porcelain dishes behind glass. A commercial-grade dishwasher—as big as a refrigerator— hurned and rumbled, crammed in next to a turn of the century granite topped sink, standing on spindly cast-iron legs. Heat and humidity washed over Rozie, and she realized her mistake—not a public space.

  As soon as she thought it, the wooden door across the room swung open. The older, stocky woman backed through the portal carrying a large plastic crate filled with dishes, ready for the wash. Her full cheeks shone red with exertion. A loose strand of black and silver hair hung limp over her forehead. She spun and gasped at the sight of the pregnant woman. It was clear from her dour expression that the staff member found Rozie’s presence unseemly. Black-brown eyes fell on Rozie’s midsection. Her glower darkened further.

  “This area is off limits to guests,” she said with a thick accent.

  The words struck Rozie. Northern or Eastern European. Similar to her grandparents, all frown lines, no smile lines. Rozie nodded, beseechingly, apologetically, and glanced back. Still wanting to put distance between herself and Erica, she edged forward to the door at the end of the room. The woman stood too close. Rozie’s swollen abdomen knocked into the crate, raising a chorus of clinking china. She raised her hands in apology and shuffled out the door.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  She emerged into the dark room beyond. Recognising the back stairs from the last round, she climbed the wooden steps. A lone globe of light affixed high on the wood panelling cast the steps in an otherworldly orange glow, broken by the banister’s shadow. Her own shadow loomed into a hideous caricature as she climbed. When she emerged on the second floor, she heard laughter and conversation, the sharp quick steps of high heels, the broad cadence of men’s dress shoes. Her pulse quickened when she heard the familiar hollow thud of feet on carpeted steps.

  Erica pinned her in on the second floor. Rozie crossed the open landing and found herself in the tiny bathroom. Behind her, feet left carpet for wooden floorboards. Rozie spun in place, scanning the room—sink, toilet, claw-footed tub. She slapped the light switch down and stepped over the rim of the tub and backed up into the white fabric shower curtain that encircled it.

  Erica’s sensible heels dashed off in another direction, toward the second-floor bedrooms at the front of the house. When the footsteps faded out of hearing, Rozie looked about the bathroom. A showerhead stuck out from a pipe that rose from the faucet. The curtain hung from an oval rail suspended from the ceiling. With the inward-opening door and the gap by the shower curtain, Rozie took the opportunity to conceal herself better.

  A smile broke across her face. Maybe it wasn’t so bad. She imagined playing with her child in a few years, when he was older. Maybe with a sibling too. As quietly as she could, she raised the curtain, ears turned to the sounds beyond the door. She turned and gasped.

  Benny had wedged between the freestanding tub and the dark corner of the room. Benny was the smallest man in the group—the only one who could have squeezed into the hiding spot. He shrugged with a sheepish smile on his face, then waved Rozie closer and helped her smooth out the fabric sheet. Rozie didn’t notice at dinner, but in the slice of light from the doorway, he looked gaunt. Weariness pulled at his half-hearted grin. She leaned back against the wall, and they stood shoulder to shoulder, she in the tub and he in the corner.

  Outside, Conrad’s distinct voice boomed as turned the moment of his discovery into a startling surprise. His baritone voice carried through the plaster walls, all vowels and singsong. Benny shifted and crossed his arms, pushing his glasses back up his nose. Rozie watched the light on the opposite wall, waiting for the shadow that was bound to come.

  Willow shrieked with laughter. “I was ready for another glass of wine, anyway!”

  Ben straightened his posture, unavoidably close. His shoulder pressed against Rozie’s. She felt his elbow against ribs. Outside, footsteps pounded closer. The fingers of his left hand, under his right arm, grazed her belly. She shifted, but the fingers remained there, pressed against her body. Then, Rozie felt Ben caress her abdomen, over the fabric of her dress. She sucked in a breath.

  Rozie lurched forward through the shower curtain. Footsteps bounded toward the bathroom, and the lights flicked on.

  “Gotcha!” Erica flung back the curtain. Her eyes fell on Benny. “Another twofer! You’re it Ben.”

  Rozie reached for Erica’s hand, stretched a smile on her face, trying to hide the revulsion. Erica held back the curtain as Rozie hobbled out of the tub and leaned against her. Rozie felt Erica studying her as she took her by the hand. Then she glanced back at Ben. He struggled out of the corner and under the shower curtain. As they left the bathroom, Erica pulled Rozie close. Rozie’s ears pounded in time with the footsteps behind her.

  “Are you okay?” Erica asked in a whisper.

  Rozie glanced back to see Benny fixing his tie in the mirror. “Yeah. Let’s just get downstairs.”

  “I hoped I’d find you last. I think it’d be fun if you were it.”

  Rozemarijn scoffed. “They’d be waiting a long time.”