Chapter 2 - The Man Who Never Laughed
“What exactly,” Vincent asked, “is wrong with my face?”
My heart stopped.
Mia considered the question with the seriousness only a three-year-old could bring to an insult.
“It’s grumpy.”
Renzo coughed.
Vincent’s eyes shifted toward him.
Renzo turned the cough into something resembling throat-clearing.
Mia pointed at Vincent’s forehead.
“And you make lines here.”
Vincent touched the space between his eyebrows.
“These?”
“Yes.”
“Anything else?”
“You look like you need a cookie.”
One of the security men made a choking sound.
I closed my eyes.
That was it.
I was unemployed.
Possibly homeless.
Maybe dead.
Then something happened that nobody in that room expected.
Vincent Castalano laughed.
Not politely.
Not the quiet exhale wealthy men used when someone important told a bad joke.
He actually laughed.
His head dropped, his shoulders moved, and for several seconds the cold, intimidating man everyone feared disappeared.
Renzo stared at him.
The guards stared at him.
I stared at him.
Mia did not.
She simply smiled as though she had successfully diagnosed a medical condition.
“I knew it.”
Vincent looked up.
“Knew what?”
“You’re not mad anymore.”
His smile faded slowly, but something warmer remained in his eyes.
“Apparently not.”
Mia reached into the tiny pocket of her yellow dress.
She removed half a cracker.
There was lint attached to it.
She offered it to him.
“Cookie?”
“That is very clearly a cracker.”
“It still helps.”
Vincent studied the crushed cracker.
Then he accepted it.
That somehow shocked me more than everything else.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
I stepped forward.
“Mia, come here.”
This time she obeyed.
I took her hand and looked at Vincent.
“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”
His expression became unreadable.
“No.”
My stomach tightened.
Then he stood.
“It won’t.”
I swallowed.
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
His voice had changed.
I knew that tone.
Everyone in the house did.
Business.
Cold and final.
I pulled Mia closer.
“Yes, sir.”
“You misunderstood me.”
Vincent walked behind his desk.
“Your daughter will not spend another morning hiding in a laundry room.”
I blinked.
He looked at Renzo.
“Call the childcare agency we use for staff events. Have someone here within an hour.”
Renzo’s eyebrows rose.
“Full-time?”
Vincent glanced at Mia.
She was copying his raised eyebrow again.
“Apparently.”
“Mr. Castalano,” I said quickly, “I can't afford—”
“I didn't ask you to.”
“I don't want charity.”
His eyes came back to mine.
For the first time, I noticed they weren't black as they appeared from a distance.
They were dark brown.
Almost warm.
“This isn't charity, Ms...?”
He stopped.
That hurt more than it should have.
I had cleaned his home for eleven months.
“Harper. Elena Harper.”
Something flickered across his face.
“Ms. Harper. I employ seventy-three people across this property and the Manhattan residence. If one sick babysitter can make an employee choose between her job and leaving a three-year-old unattended, that's an operational failure.”
Renzo looked suspiciously impressed.
Vincent continued.
“I dislike operational failures.”
Mia whispered loudly, “Grumpy face.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Renzo turned away before anyone could see him smiling.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
Vincent opened his eyes again.
“Anything else, Ms. Harper?”
“No.”
“Good.”
I started toward the door.
“Elena.”
It was the first time he'd used my first name.
I turned.
Vincent held up the lint-covered cracker.
“Does this actually work?”
Mia answered for me.
“You gotta eat it.”
Vincent looked at the cracker.
Then, to everyone's horror, he took a bite.
Mia clapped.
Renzo lost the battle and laughed.
Even the guards smiled.
For perhaps ten seconds, the study of Vincent Castalano sounded like a normal room in a normal house.
I didn't understand then how rare that sound was.
Or why Renzo watched Vincent afterward with sadness behind his smile.
I learned part of the answer that afternoon.
A nanny named Claire arrived before lunch. Mia adored her immediately.
For the first time all morning, I relaxed.
At four, I was replacing towels in the upstairs guest suite when I passed Vincent's study again.
The door was almost closed.
I heard Renzo speaking.
“You know what tomorrow is.”
Silence.
Then Vincent answered.
“I know.”
“You don't have to go alone.”
“Yes, I do.”
I should have kept walking.
Then Renzo said something that stopped me.
“It's been five years, Vince.”
Vincent's answer came quietly.
“My daughter would have been six.”
I froze.
My daughter.
Suddenly the silence around Vincent Castalano felt different.
Before I could move, a floorboard creaked beneath my shoe.
The study went silent.
The door opened.
Vincent stood there.
His eyes found mine.
Neither of us spoke.
Then a small voice echoed from behind me.
“Mr. Grumpy!”
Mia ran down the hallway carrying a pink crayon.
Vincent looked at her.
And whatever anger had appeared in his face vanished.
Mia stopped in front of him and held up a picture.
Three stick figures.
One little.
One with long hair.
One enormous figure wearing black.
Vincent stared at it.
“That's you,” Mia explained.
He took the paper carefully.
“And who are the others?”
“Me and Mommy.”
Vincent's eyes lifted to mine.
Then Mia pointed to something I hadn't noticed.
She had drawn a fourth figure at the edge of the page.
A tiny girl holding Vincent's hand.
His face went completely still.
“Who's that?” he asked.
Mia frowned.
“I don't know.”
Then she looked toward the dark study behind him.
May you like
“She told me to draw her.”
Nobody laughed this time.
