Page 62 of Petrify

“What are you talking about?” His face screws up in ugly confusion. “Wait, do you meanMallary?”

“Another piece of advice: don’t play stupid.”

His hands come up. “Whoa, I’m not—we just talk, it’s nothing?—”

“What did I just say?”

I hardly move, and the idiot’s eyes are widening, his hands shaking. “Fine! I won’t talk to her! I’ll leave her alone!”

“You don’t deserve her anyway, if that’s how quickly you’d give her up.”

He swallows and must have a stroke of genius because he stays silent.

“I know what you’ve been up to. Let me make something clear.” I lean forward only another inch and he goes pale. This terror is what I’ve fed on for years. Now that I have her, though, it doesn’t do it for me like it used to. Her fear, her pleasure, satiates me the most. I’m finding I couldn’t care less what any of them think anymore. “She doesn’t know. I won’t tell her becauseyouare the last thing she needs to even think about right now.”

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about?—”

“Shut up.”

His jaw snaps shut.

And when I peer into his eyes, I make sure he can see the threat in mine. It would be so easy to take care of him, right now. But I won’t. Because I know it would make herunhappy. “Before you look at her again, before you even think about her, I hope you remember this moment. Remember my face. Because if you so much as make her frown, I will be the last person you will ever see. Understood?”

Chapter 31

The Pianist

“Let’s talk, Miss Doyle.”

It’s not the first time one, or now both, of the Beauchenes showed up after my lesson with Henri. Marianne’s perfectly trained mask is cracked, just enough, to reveal her irritation. Leo’s lips threaten a smile.

“Okay. Sure.”

They stand between me and the door, close enough I’m forced to stand awkwardly next to the piano.

“It’s been almost three weeks now, since you’ve come to stay with us, and your progress with Henri is… behind.”

“Behind?” I glance between them. There’s no way. “He’saheadaccording to the curriculum.”

The corner of her eye twitches. “Regardless of the curriculum, he is not where we want him to be.”

“And where is that?”

Maybe I should think before speaking. Her painted lips press into a thin line.

“L—my husband has informed you of the New Year’s party, yes? We want Henri to be able to show off what he’s learned. There will be some very important people attending. We’d liketo put his musicianship front and center in their minds, for his future. You understand, don’t you?”

“Mrs Beauchene, we've been working very hard the last?—”

“Work harder.” The words ring through the space between us. “We know Henri can do better and we know he is capable of improving at a greater pace. We want you to push him harder. This party is a chance for him to potentially secure his future. It could be the beginning of him establishing his name. It’s good to start early.”

I nod, but I know they likely have no real understanding of his skill level, and how truly impressive it is for his age. He’seight years old, tackling etudes that I struggled with only a few years ago, and switching between scales like they are second nature. Picking up new tunes with only his ear.

“Unless you think it’s notpossibleto get him there,” Leo says.

Our eyes meet and instantly my stomach twists.

“That is what we hired you for.”