The future boss's room

Livia's Point of View

As I push the door to the room open, a musty smell hits me immediately. Not surprising: this room hasn't been used in years.

Daylight filters through the thick curtains, casting a soft glow on the furniture. An immense room, just like the rest of the house. A large solid wood bed, an imposing wardrobe, a mahogany desk by the window, and shelves filled with old books.

This is where he will sleep. Alessandro.

My future boss. The thought troubles me more than I want to admit. His father has passed away, his mother is too ill to manage the house. As soon as he walks through that door, he will become the man of this home.

I take a deep breath and get to work.

I start by throwing open the windows, letting in the fresh morning air. A light breeze flows into the room, slightly lifting my skirt, caressing my skin. I chase away that feeling and grab a cloth. First, the shelves. Dust has settled everywhere, forming a fine gray layer on the spines of the books.

My fingers skim the titles. Works on economics, philosophy, a few classic novels. A cultured man, evidently.

I wipe the surfaces, each movement sending particles flying in the light.

Has he changed since the time he lived here?

I think of the photo. His captivating gaze, that smile that seems to hide a thousand secrets. What if he is a cold and arrogant man? Or worse… a dangerous man? I shake my head and continue my work.

I move to the bed and remove the old sheets, immediately sensing a slightly sour odor. I quickly roll them up and set them aside. Then, I stretch my arms to lay out a pristine white sheet on the mattress. The fabric slips through my fingers, soft and cool. I add fluffy pillows, gently patting them to give them more volume.

Will he sleep here tonight? The thought of knowing he will lie there, on the sheets I just arranged, sends a strange warmth to my stomach.

Pull yourself together, Livia. I turn away and continue. The floor next. I grab a mop, soaked in a lavender scent. The handle slips through my hands as I scrub, my movements wide and precise. A drop of sweat rolls down my neck, sneaking under my collar. The silence of the room is almost oppressive.

I imagine Alessandro entering here, observing every detail, judging my work. Would he be demanding? Indifferent? Or the kind of man to notice the slightest imperfection? The idea makes me want to double my efforts.

I finish by placing a clean towel on the chair near the desk and setting a bottle of water on the bedside table. Everything is perfect. I wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and step back to survey the whole. The room is ready. And me… I am not sure I am.

I have lost track of time.

I scrub, clean, adjust every detail meticulously, but fatigue begins to weigh on my shoulders. My body protests, my aching muscles plead for me to stop, but I refuse. Not yet. I want this room to be impeccable, perfect for his return.

I move busily, my cheeks flushed from the effort. The scent of detergent and lavender fills my nostrils, mingling with the smell of polished wood and fresh sheets. I am hot, too hot. My neck is damp, a few strands of hair cling to my skin. I take a step back to admire my work. Everything is clean. Everything is in order.

But me…

A dizziness takes over, my eyelids grow heavy. My legs wobble slightly, but I refuse to give in. I take a few steps, searching for support, but my knees buckle under the accumulated fatigue. My body tips forward, and before I even understand what is happening, I find myself kneeling on the plush carpet.

A sigh escapes me. The softness of the fabric under my fingers surprises me. I let my hand glide over the thick surface, unexpectedly appreciating this soothing sensation.

Just a second. I let myself fall forward, my cheek brushing against the warmth of the carpet. My breath is slow, deep. My body surrenders without my consent, my muscles finally relieved of this dull exhaustion.

I should have gotten back up. I should have returned to my room. But my eyelids close of their own accord, and everything becomes blurry. The last thing I perceive is the whisper of the wind slipping through the slightly open window. Then, nothing. Sleep engulfs me.