Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black by Kelly McClymer Read Free Book Online

dream room for a girl whose life was perfect. You know, the two-loving-parents, no-icky-stepmother kind of girl.
    My bathroom had a shower with six jets. Six! After a few false starts where I sprayed cold water directly into my face, I figured it out and stayed in there for at least half an hour with no sign of the hot water running out. Sarah was going to be so jealous when I told her.
    Part of me was enjoying the luxury; part of me felt like the cops were going to burst in and arrest me for so obviouslynot belonging in this place. It didn’t seem right that the nanny had a room this amazing. I wondered what the twins’ room looked like.
    There was a coffeepot in the bathroom. One of those fancy machines that makes one cup, fast. I made myself a cup of the Brazilian roast. New day, new life. The coffee was good, especially when I poked around under the smooth green granite countertop and found a minifridge with organic half-and-half and a few containers of yogurt and bottles of juice. There was a note, too, that said, “Miss, please enjoy these and order replacements from the kitchen when required—Havens.” How weird. He signed his name “Havens.” Did he have a first name? I bet it would be something like Sebastian or Charles or maybe Frederick like the butler in Mom’s book.
    When I went out into the common room, fortifying mug of coffee in hand, Triste and Rienne were already there. Apparently, late-night meetings with the new nanny didn’t make them want to sleep late.
    They were dressed, both mostly in black. I noticed that Triste had tried to do the layer thing like I had worn last night. I don’t think this was normal for her, though, because she’d done it all wrong, putting a bulky layer on the top and totally messing up the lighter layer underneath. Not that I had any intention of correcting her. Clearly, she was smart. She’d figure it out. In my experience, people who liked black didn’t like being told that they hadn’t quite gotten the hang of something yet. Better to figure it out on your own.
    There was a big tray with bowls and a pitcher of milk and apot of something hot on the round table. The binder had been pushed aside to make room. I looked in the pot. Oatmeal. With a bowl of fresh blueberries next to it. There’s really nothing like fresh Maine blueberries, small, full of tart flavor, and not at all mealy. Oatmeal seemed a little retrocentury, but I was hungry. I put a little in a bowl and sat down.
    “Why don’t you have breakfast downstairs with your dad?” It could be tricky asking them questions about the way the house was run. But I’d rather ask a pair of ten-year-olds than the butler—or even Geoff.
    “He’s very busy,” Triste answered as she lined her blueberries on top of her oatmeal in a checkered pattern.
    Rienne nodded. Her blueberries were in a swirl pattern, except where she’d dug in for her first bite of oatmeal. “He used to run the business with our mother, but now that she’s gone he has to do it alone.”
    Triste added, “He just got a new partner, and she is very demanding of his time.”
    “A new partner?” She? Maybe I was oversensitive, but it sounded like the twins were on the way to joining me in stepmotherland. “I guess running this place is a lot for one person.”
    Rienne said, “Besides the yoga instructors and meditation counselors and masseuses for the guests, we have a staff of six: Ginger, the cook; Havens, the butler; Geoff, the gardener; Graciela, the housekeeper; Lionel, the chauffeur; and Laurie, the personal assistant.”
    Triste shook her head. “Seven. Don’t forget Pippa. She’s staff too.”
    Rienne argued, “But she doesn’t help keep this place running smoothly for the guests, now, does she?”
    I didn’t quite like being low on the staff totem pole. “I get the most important job,” I told them.
    “What’s that?” they both asked at the same time, staring at me with identical gazes.
    I’d only meant it as a joke,