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“Is that enough?” Jericho asks when he sees my plate of pasta with olive oil, salt and pepper. I sprinkle a generous serving of spicy pepper flakes and pick up my fork and knife. “You need protein.” He picks up the grated parmesan cheese and raises his eyebrows.
“A little,” I say, not having tried it yet.
He sprinkles it on then we eat. Angelique and I drinking water out of fancy glasses while he and his mom drink red wine. Angelique proceeds to tell him all about our day. About what she learned in her lessons. About the flowers she collected outside with which she made a sort of bouquet for the table. She also asks about the next story time she will be allowed to go to.
Jericho smiles. “Maybe we can have story time here,” he says. “But tonight, I was hoping Isabelle would play something for us after dinner. What do you think about that Angelique?” he asks her, not me.
“Oh! Yes! That’s a great idea. Belle, maybe you can play the one you did this afternoon,” she says to me then turns to her father. “It’s from a story called Romeo and Juliet, daddy. Romeo and Juliet love each other but they can’t be together because their families hate each other. It’s so sad.”
“Maybe we can stick to the happier fairy tales, Isabelle,” Leontine says to me.
“Romeo and Juliet is closer to reality, don’t you think?” I ask.
“She’s right. Star-crossed lovers it’ll be,” Jericho says as he takes a bite of his food. “How are your lessons with Mrs. Strand?” he asks Angelique.
Her face darkens and she shrugs a shoulder. I walked by her room earlier today when Mrs. Strand was there. Through the door I could hear her raised voice. I almost went inside to see what was going on, but Leontine stopped me, saying Angelique hadn’t done the work she was supposed to do. I didn’t think it was reason enough to raise her voice at the little girl but walked away making a mental note to check on them at the following lesson.
“She’s not nice,” Angelique says.
“Well, not everyone is nice in life,” Leontine tells her. “Why was she angry with you?”
Angelique sets her jaw. She looks just like her father when she does it, except that she’s cute and I have to giggle.
“Those giggles get you in trouble,” Jericho tells me but he’s smiling at her too. I wonder if he sees the resemblance.
Once we’re finished, he turns to me, takes an envelope out of his pocket and sets it on the table. He keeps his fingers on it but makes sure I can read that it’s addressed to me.
“What’s that?” I ask. He pushes it toward me. I take it and open the flap which has already been opened.
“Two. So I won’t get testy,” Jericho says.
“You opened my mail? When did they come?”
“Yes and no idea. They were on my desk.”
“It’s a crime to open someone else’s mail.”
“Are you going to call the police?”
I glare.
He grins.
“Can we go?” I ask him.
“It’s why I’m giving them to you.” I open my mouth, but he puts up a finger. “One stipulation. You play for me tonight. For my family.”
“That’s blackmail.”
“It’s a choice. Choose.”
I’m not sure why I don’t want to play for him. Is it that I want to keep that piece of myself secret from him? Maybe keep control of one part of my life? Or maybe it’s how vulnerable I feel when I play. How it opens me up. And him witnessing that scares me.
“Belle?” Angelique asks when I take too long to answer.
I look up at Jericho who leans toward me. “What are you afraid of?”
“I’m not.”
“Then play for us and I’ll take you to your concert.”
“Okay.”
He nods and we eat. When we’re finished, he wipes his mouth with his napkin and stands. “Shall we?” he asks, holding out his hand to me, palm up. I slip mine into his.
14
Jericho
The library is alight with candles. There must be more than a hundred of them. I had Catherine set it up this way and place a chair for Isabelle beneath the arched, iron-clad windows where the moon casts an other-worldly light around her.
“Oh. Wow,” Angelique says and I lay my hand on her head. My eyes are on Isabelle who slipped her hand free as soon as we got here, going in ahead of us. She’s wearing a simple white dress and I think I should have put her in a gown. Something soft and flowing and beautiful. Like her.
She turns to me and bites the inside of her lip.
I tilt my head a little. It’s almost imperceptible. I want her to like it. It’s important that she likes it.
She smiles a small smile and her eyes glow. Tears. Not sad ones I think. She turns away and I notice her hand go to her face before she opens her violin case sitting on top of the coffee table.
