The Housemaid Is Watching (The Housemaid, #3)

by Freida McFadden

It doesn’t hurt that he seems to get inexplicably sexier every year. (And I just get a year older.)

wearing a fitted white blouse and red skirt with spiky high heels that look like they could be used to gouge out somebody’s eye. (Why does my mind always go there?)

“What do you feed it?” I ask. “Flies,” Nico says. “No.” I shake my head. “No. We are not doing this.” “Don’t worry,” Nico says. “They’re flightless flies.” “They are walks,” Enzo jokes.

The words “at least my kid isn’t on a leash” are at the tip of my tongue, but by some absolute miracle, I manage to keep my mouth shut.

By the end of this night, if I have not stabbed Suzette with one of these forks, it will only be because I’m not sure which one to use to do it.

Maybe there are things I don’t know about my husband, but I know for sure that he is a good man. He has proven that to me time and time again. And even if he weren’t, I still don’t think he would cheat on me. He wouldn’t dare. I am scared of you, Millie Accardi. And he should be.

I can imagine being ninety-one years old someday, lying in a hospital bed and being bothered by the dirty floor and unfolded clothes. (Enzo will still be carrying sofas at that point.)

I feel a twinge of sadness, thinking about my childhood and how it all went wrong. What might have happened if I hadn’t attacked that boy and ended up killing him? Then again, I have a good life now. I love my husband, and I have two amazing kids. If I had to suffer a little hardship (or a lot of hardship) on the way to get there, that’s just how it had to be.

I mean, I don’t think I’m a psychopath, but I didn’t go to prison for picking daisies.

I’ve always known my husband is an excellent liar. It just never bothered me until I suspected he was hiding something from me.

“Millie!” Suzette says. “What an… interesting cover-up you have on. I love how you don’t feel like you need to spend a ton of money on a beach outfit. That is so you.”

But, Millie, walking is good for you. It’s slimming.” Would punching her in the face be slimming? Because that might happen today.

I love that I have a handsome, muscular husband. But also, sometimes I wish he would let himself get fat and out of shape.

But it’s extremely hard to sleep when another woman’s perfume is tickling your nostrils.

It doesn’t seem like a good fit, but I’ve learned that people change a lot after they say “I do.”

“Did you sleep better having your own room last night?” I ask Nico. He thinks about it for a minute and shakes his head. “No, I was scared. I missed you.” I’m glad he said that. I had so much trouble sleeping last night all alone in my room. “I miss you too.” “Maybe we can have a sleepover sometime?” he suggests. “I can bring a sleeping bag and sleep on the floor in your room.” “Or I can sleep in your room?” “We can take turns,” he says happily.

Oh no, I really do sound like Mom. Great, I take after the boring parent. Just my luck.

Of course Mom is going to say to use your words, and Dad is going to hand me a big knife.

You know what happens to kids who do bad things, right?” He chews on his lower lip. “They take you away from your parents. You have to go to this kid jail called juvenile tension.