CHAPTER 7

Ronan

“Wait here,” I said before moving towards the staircase.

My shoes click on the floor, a sound that mirrored the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. Dealing with Ace shouldn't be this difficult, yet every interaction felt like navigating a minefield.

I walked towards his room and knock briefly before opening it. He gets pretty startled for no reason, so I try to knock in advance to prevent this from happening. 

Well, that’s what the doctor said. "Sensory sensitivity," they called it.

 To me, it just felt like my own son was allergic to my presence.

I opened the door and scan the room briefly but I don’t see him.

The bed is perfectly made and the pillows are undisturbed. His toy chest is closed. The room is a museum of a childhood that isn't being lived. This instantly sends worry in my spine and I decide to call out.

“Ace?”

Nothing. Not even the rustle of sheets.

I call 3 more times, searching every nook and cranny of his room, but he seems to be nowhere. I check under the bed, behind the velvet curtains, even the walk-in closet where his tiny suits hang in neat rows. 

I leave his room in a hurry and search everywhere I know a kid might be. The library, the pantry, the upstairs den. My heart is beginning to thud against my ribs. With still no idea of his whereabouts, I pull out my phone and dial the security officer of my house.

“Sir?” He answers on the second ring, his voice crisp and professional.

“Find Ace for me. Search every part of this house and tell me where he is.”

“Affirmative Sir.”

I hang up. At this point I was beginning to sweat and felt hot all of a sudden even with the Air conditioner blasting on. I loosen my tie and try to think of where next to search when I feel a buzz in my palms.

“Speak.”

“Your son is currently in the sitting room extension with a young lady.”

“A lady?”

“The one just brought in.”

“Got it.”

I felt a rush of relief followed immediately by anger and somewhat irritation. He was supposed to be upstairs. He was supposed to follow the schedule. I ended the call as I jogged back downstairs.

I round the corner into the sun-drenched extension and stop short.

“I see you have met my son,” I say, practically trying to calm my breath.

Her eyes widened and she took a step back almost like she has been caught in something she shouldn’t do.

My eyes dart to Ace and find him sitting on the floor. His eyes are wide and puffy from crying from only god knows why. He is still clutching that teddy bear, the same one his mother gave him. The fur is matted, the ribbon frayed. He looks terrified, well he always looks terrified of me.

This alone gets me more upset. It’s a stinging rejection I feel every time I look at him. He doesn’t stay in his room like I have told him to and now he is out here crying?

I will never understand kids. 

“Shouldn’t you be in your room?” I demand.

My voice comes out harsher than intended. He lets out a small whimper and looks like he is about to cry all over again. He shrinks into himself, trying to disappear into the carpet.

“Get up, and go to your room, now.”

He slowly stands up, his small frame shaking. He is about to walk toward me with his head slightly bowed like a defeated soldier,  that is when I see a hand hold his arm preventing him from moving forward.

He looked up and sees Livia. She looked like a wounded mother bear about to attack. 

“I'm sorry Mr. Sterling, but permit me to ask this: Is this the child I am to babysit?”

I stare at her. Wandering what exactly she is trying to do. Does she not realize who she is speaking to?

“Yes,” I say in one breath.

“Mr. Sterling, I cannot allow him go to his room, especially in this condition.”

I straightened, my shoulders squaring. “And why is that?”

“Because when a child cries like this, it’s most likely a sign of a cry for help or distress or…”

“Stop,” I interrupted her, not wanting to hear anymore of this. “ I have paid the best child psychologists in the country for "lectures." I don't need one from a girl I hired ten minutes ago. “You have a job here, and that is to babysit: nothing more,” I say the last part slowly.

She looked at me with jaws locked and hands clenched but she still refuses to let Ace go. Her defiance is an insult, yet there’s a flicker of something in her gaze. It is pure empathy and that makes me hesitate.

“If he goes to his room, he will be in a much worse condition,” she continued, with an unwavering voice. 

“Let that be the worry of his parents. Now, let him go.”

The look in her eyes is something I have never seen before. Even Ace’s mother has never looked at me like that.

She squats to her kneel to reach his level and says—

“Hey, it’s okay. Sweet boys don’t cry okay. I tell you what: If you ever feel sad, try talking to your daddy okay?”

 Ace immediately shakes his head no with a kind of force I thought would break his neck. The rejection is a physical blow to my chest. 

The look in Livia’s eyes softened so much I thought she would cry.

“Hey, it’s okay. How about you tell your little teddy bear here. He will listen to you, okay.”

I see Ace nod his head, and his face relaxes a bit. The tension drains out of his small shoulders. She has done more in two minutes than I have managed in two years.

She wipes the tears from his face and says something to him that I didn’t hear.  After which Ace walks past me, avoiding my gaze entirely, and goes to his room.

I look at Livia, not believing what she just did in my presence. I feel angry and somewhat relieved that she could at least make Ace better. But regardless, she is still just a babysitter, which makes her a stranger as well. 

“Resume tomorrow instead. My driver will pick you up at exactly 3:30pm in front of my office. Do not be late.”

Grace walks into the room almost on cue.

“This is the head maid. She will see you out.”

Without another word, I walk out of the small living room to my office. 

I shut the heavy oak door behind me, the click of the lock providing a momentary sense of security. I give a long, tired sigh and I stare into empty space. My eyes unconsciously lands on my table and I see a clean, well-packaged envelope. It wasn't there this morning.

I pick it up, noting the lack of a return address. The paper is expensive and heavy vellum. 

As i read the contents, the air in the room seems to vanish and the anger I felt minutes ago, immediately surged back in twice the fold.