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“He may want to hate you, but he doesn’t.”
I’m confused by this but before I can think what to say, there’s a knock and the door opens. It’s Leontine. “Dinner’s ready. The girls are waiting.”
“We certainly don’t want that,” Ezekiel says and gestures for me to get up, our conversation over.
41
Jericho
Isabelle’s room is empty when I go to get her but when I hear a giggle from down the hall, I find her in my daughter’s room dressed in an indigo gown, hair twisted intricately on top of her head, her back fully exposed. Angelique is standing behind her, attention captured wholly by the dragon tattoo she’s tracing with her finger.
“It’s like daddy’s but smaller,” she says.
Neither of them has heard me and I stand in the shadow of the door watching.
“Can I have one too?” Angelique asks.
Isabelle closes the book on her lap and draws Angelique around. “If you want one when you’re older, that’ll be up to you, but you’re too young now. Besides, what would happen to it when you grow taller?”
“It would get all weird and stretched out,” Angelique says making claws out of her hands.
Isabelle mimics her and they cuddle. My mother has told me about the two growing closer and about Angelique’s reliance on Isabelle. Her affection for her. I’m not sure what I think about it, so I stand here and watch them together. Isabelle clearly cares for Angelique and it seems mutual.
“You look very pretty, Belle.”
Belle. She thinks Isabelle is one of her princesses. It grates on my nerves although I shouldn’t mind. Angelique comes alive around Isabelle in a way she doesn’t around anyone else. Her little fingers play over one of the twists of Isabelle’s hair.
“Thank you,” Isabelle says.
“Is your tummy better? You didn’t eat very much at dinner. Nana says you need to eat more.”
“I wasn’t too hungry,” Isabelle says. She reaches for something on the nightstand. When I realize what it is, something I hadn’t realized had been unpacked since we moved into the house, I tense up.
“Is this your mother?” Isabelle asks.
Angelique nods. “It’s what Nana tells me, but I don’t remember her.”
Something twists inside me.
“She was very pretty,” Isabelle says. “You look like her, you know that?”
Angelique shrugs a shoulder, not interested in the photo. “I want to look like you,” she says.
“What?” Isabelle asks.
“You’re my mommy now, so I want to look like you.”
“Angelique, I—”
“You’re married to my daddy. It makes you my mommy, Belle.”
I push the door open too hard and it bounces off the wall, startling them both. Isabelle’s eyes meet mine and the book on her lap slips to the floor as she stands.
“Oh no!” Angelique cries out and drops to her knees.
Isabelle and I remain staring at one another a moment longer before she, too, is on her knees. It’s one of Angelique’s many princess books and the pop-up castle has been bent.
I walk inside, take the book from them. The two get up.
