//CLARA//
The door to Casimir's bedroom clicked open.
I didn't move. I couldn't.
I was currently bundled like a human burrito dead center in the middle of his bed, buried under his silk comforter with his coat still wrapped tightly around my naked, throbbing shoulders. Every muscle in my body felt like it had been systematically disassembled and put back together backward.
Hattie stepped into the room, carrying a fresh stack of thick towels. She didn't say a single word. She didn't even look toward the bed. For a woman who had seen entirely too much, she went straight to work, turning the brass handles to fill the adjacent clawfoot tub and pouring a heavy, fragrant stream of lavender and eucalyptus essential oils into the steaming water.
"Mr. Guggenheim left about twenty minutes ago, miss," Hattie announced softly, her back still turned. "He mentioned something came up regarding the eastern docks that required his immediate, personal attention."
