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“I’m sorry, Stephen, but you must move her back into your room. It’s too bad about the balcony, but my things are in that room.” He emphasized again, “ My things .”
    “I like Lancie’s room best,” Yvette added, backing up her husband. “It has the prettiest view. Rachel needs to get out.”
    Feeling trapped and like he could use a hit of something, Stephen slunk out of the room and climbed the stairs to confront his wife.

Chapter Nine

    Yvette took off her leopard coat, exposing a low-cut leopard cocktail dress that clung to the voluptuous shape of the Playboy centerfold she had been a dozen years and twenty pounds ago. At thirty-nine, Yvette was seven years older than Lance. Never lucky in love and used to rejection, he still couldn’t believe he’d married Miss April, 2004. They had been married for three years, and he cherished her.
    Yvette set the dog on the floor and looked at him expectantly. “Duchess needs some water.”
    “I’ll get her some and then get the bags. You just relax, honey.” As Yvette settled onto the leather couch, Lance bent down and kissed her on the cheek. She barely seemed to notice as she hunted through her purse for her compact and lipstick.
    After he left, a familiar sound from across the room caught Yvette’s attention. Glancing up, she saw Duchess wetting on the hardwood floor. She jumped up and grabbed the dog.
    “No, no. Naughty girl,” she scolded. “Helga! Helga!”
    A few moments later, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway and noticed the puddle on the floor. She put her hands on her hips and glared at Yvette.
    “Helga, Duchess just piddled on the floor. Would you be a dear and clean it up?” Yvette started dabbing powder on her nose and examining her face in the compact. “Oh, and would you bring me a glass of white wine? The trip was exhausting.”
    “Goldie and Silver house trained,” Helga said sternly. “You need train your dog too.”
    Yvette’s brows furrowed into a frown, but her gaze didn’t leave the mirror. “Be that as it may, you need to clean up Duchess’s accident. You’re the servant, and that’s your job.”
    Helga turned her back and left the room—and didn’t return to clean up after the dog.
    When Lance came back in with the luggage several minutes later, he noticed immediately that his wife was upset.
    “What’s wrong, cupcake?” he asked, using his favorite term of endearment for her.
    “Helga was rude to me.” She pouted, crossing her arms in front of her.
    Lance frowned. “What did she say?”
    “I asked her to clean up Duchess’s piddle, and she wouldn’t do it. She said I needed to train Duchess. And I asked her to bring me a glass of wine. She brought it, but she banged it down on the coffee table so hard, I thought she would break the glass. Then she stormed out.”
    Lance stood, pulling up his belt and tucking in his shirt. “I’ll take care of this.”
    Lance walked into the kitchen and found Helga with her back to him, stirring a pot on the stove.
    “Hello, Helga.”
    She turned around and lifted an eyebrow. “What?”
    He cleared his throat. “Helga, did you have a problem with my wife earlier?”
    Helga set down the spoon and turned to face him. “Your wife ask me to clean up after her dog. I not do that. She need house train her dog.”
    “Well, Helga,” Lance began cautiously, “I don’t think that was an unreasonable request. That sounds like it would fall under your housekeeping responsibilities.”
    “I not clean up after Sally’s dogs. They house trained. If dog come in house, it need be house trained.” She turned back around to the stove.
    “I would appreciate it, Helga, if you would do this for us. She’s a new dog and—”
    “No. I tell you I not do that.” She pointed to the end of the counter. “Paper towels over there. You do.”
    At a loss for words, Lance walked over and pulled several paper towels off the roll. He frowned and gave Helga one last look, but then left the