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“Room’s ready,” Dex says, not sparing her a glance.
I nod, rise to my feet then turn to Isabelle. “Up.” I pull her chair out and she rises. With the tips of my fingers just brushing her lower back I guide her toward the stairs. When we pass the hallway which ends at the steel door leading down to the cellar, I feel her stiffen. Good. I walk more slowly, only feeling her relax once we’ve passed that corridor and are climbing the stairs.
“Left,” I say at the top of the stairs.
She casts a suspicious glance over her shoulder but moves. When we get to the door beside mine, I stop her with a hand on her shoulder and take the key out of my pocket to unlock the door. I push it open. She steps inside and I follow her in, closing and locking the door behind us, making a point to tuck the key back into my pocket.
She’s watching me when I turn back to her, but I leave her standing there while I go into the bathroom to wash my hands. When I return, she hasn’t moved. She’s looking around, forehead furrowed as she takes in the room dotted with her belongings.
“My things,” she says to me.
“Some of them.”
“Your mother said someone brought them.” She walks to the far wall where her violin case is resting, touches it.
“You play violin?” I ask. I don’t know the first thing about the instrument or her level of proficiency. I guess low considering she hasn’t enrolled in any school since graduating high school.
She glances at me, nods, but doesn’t elaborate. She moves to the desk, peers inside the backpack at the notebooks there. A glance at the notebooks earlier showed they’re full of sheets of music.
“My cell phone?” she asks.
“You won’t need that. You’re a vegetarian. Anything else I should know?”
“Like what?”
“Like medications, allergies, etc.”
“Nothing. How long am I staying? If you brought my things—”
“You’re mine. You’ll stay until I put you out.”
She winces at the ice in my voice and it takes her a moment to recover. “When do you think you’ll be putting me out?”
“Why? You have plans?”
“Your family seems nice enough,” she says, walking into the closet which is sparse even with all her clothes in it. “Are you adopted?”
“Funny. A word of warning. Watch out for my brother,” I say, remembering last night, the conversation still bugging me.
She doesn’t remark.
“You’ll remain inside the house while you’re here. You may venture outside with permission and then only within the walls of the property.”
“Permission?”
“Permission.”
“From you?”
I grin.
“How long do I have to be here really?”
“Indefinitely. You’re in my care now, Isabelle.”
“Care is a stretch.”
“It’s a matter of perspective.”
