“You don’t realize how lucky you are.” “You marry him, then.” My retort is met by a swift thwack on my head with the back of the brush. I squeeze my eyes shut and mutter a bird-word under my breath. The bitterness swirls in the pit of my stomach, and my fingers ache with the need to curl into a fist and connect it with her stupid face. But Greta is Alberto’s head housekeeper and most brainwashed follower, so I know she reports everything back to him without fail. I’d rather a crack around my head from her than something more sinister from Alberto.
