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I’m taken aback by this but then I remember how he was with Paul. Wonder if he’s only saying these things, arranging the lessons to get me away from Paul and my group. To isolate me even more than I already am.
“Jericho,” I start, but before I can continue a woman comes toward us, looking hurried.
“Are you Isabelle St. James?”
We both look at her. She’s young, dressed in black slacks and a black blouse, wearing a nametag. Amanda.
“Yes,” I say.
“We have a problem. Kind of a big problem. One of the violinists who is to go on is caught in traffic. Her piece starts in twenty minutes, but she won’t make it. Paul said you could maybe take her place?”
“What? I can’t just—”
“Please. It’s not a big part but it’s important. Only ten minutes on stage then you can watch the rest of the show.”
I look to Jericho whose eyes are narrowed like he doesn’t trust this. He shifts his gaze to me, but the girl starts again.
“Please. We’re desperate.”
I nod, get to my feet. “I’ll be back I guess,” I say and before he can say anything, I’m walking backstage with the girl. “Where is Paul?” I ask.
“This way,” she says, walking swiftly ahead of me and away from the stage. Three stagehands pass me. I hear the sound of the concert beginning, and a moment later, applause. I glance behind me to see if I can get a glimpse of Paul. I just catch sight of him in his seat on the stage and can’t help my smile. I’m so proud of him. I see the other three seats on the stage are taken and wonder about the woman who is running late. I turn back to follow Amanda’s rapidly moving footsteps and my mind doesn’t process what happens next. It can’t make sense of it. Amanda’s gone and in her place stands a man I’ve never seen before.
I falter, stopping just before I walk straight into him. He’s staring down at me and something about him makes me back up a step. Right into another man’s chest.
I look from one to the other, two giants dressed in suits that are too tight, too wrong.
The one in front of me steps toward a closed door and opens it. “In,” he says.
I turn to the one behind me, but he shoves me forward. I would scream but the music from the concert would drown out any sound. So when he places his hand at my back again, I move forward. I stop when I get to the door and see who’s inside. I’m confused.
“Julia?”
The dressing room isn’t brightly lit and there are costumes everywhere. The table she’s sitting in front of is loaded with makeup and a scented candle burns on the corner. Cinnamon. I used to like the scent but now it makes my stomach turn. On her lap is a very sleepy Matty.
Julia gets to her feet, hugging her son to her body. He’s in his pajamas, one thumb in his mouth, the other holding a little blue blanket with a rabbit on one corner. His head is on Julia’s shoulder and he’s so tired he can barely manage a smile.
“Thank you,” Julia says to the man behind me. “Wait outside.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
I watch the two hulking men step outside and close the door. When I turn back, Julia smiles at me. She looks tired, too.
“What’s going on?” I ask, hugging them both tight.
“Belle,” Matty says around his thumb.
I kiss his little cheek and take him from Julia. “What are you doing here, buddy? It’s late for you.”
“He wanted to see you and this was the only way. He misses you. And I thought with the anniversary coming up…” Julia trails off.
The anniversary. The night Christian was killed.
We take a seat, she on the same chair she just vacated, me on a couch where there’s just enough space for me to perch with all the costumes stacked on top of it.
I lay my hand on the back of Matty’s head, feeling him grow heavier as he drifts off to sleep.
“I can’t believe it’s been three years,” I say, speaking of the anniversary of Christian’s death.
“No. It’s gone fast,” she acknowledges. “Anyway, we don’t have much time. I’m sure your goon husband will have an army searching for you in a few minutes.” I am surprised by this sharp turn in conversation but I’m not sure I want to talk about the night of the break in, or my brother’s murder, with Julia. Or with anyone else.
“Those men… Who are those men?” I ask. “One of them shoved me.”
“Shit. Sorry about that. I told them you were pregnant. Not to touch you.”
“Who are they?”
“Protection,” she says. “Carlton hired them for Matty and me after your husband threatened us.”
“He did what?”
