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"Eve, you better sit down," he says, following me as I dance away from him. "You're going to hurt yourself."
I imagine I have on a costume with long flowing skirt, moving my nightgown as if it were a full costume. I don't care – I feel giddy, laughing as I run, my face flushed, cheeks hot. He's smiling as he comes after me and I try to elude him but he's far too fast, then I collapse into a fit of laughter when he catches me from behind, leaning back when he turns me around to face him, my arms out, my head to the side, eyes closed.
"That's more like it," he says, letting me lean back as far as possible, so that I feel as if I'm floating, falling, not caring what happens.
"I think I'm stoned," I say, my arms starting to feel unwieldy, my head spinning.
"Oh, yes. You aredefinitelystoned."
Finally, I stand up straight and he pulls me close and I feel so loose and free that I don't care what happens. He bends down and picks me up and carries me back to the couch, sitting down with me so that I'm once more lying with my legs over his lap, my head leaning on the armrest.
"Tell me about court," he says, his voice soft, one hand stroking my calf.
"I don't really remember," I say. "But it was very scary." I nod, my eyes closed. I feel so good lying there, so free. "I was supposed to testify about him, but he scared me and I didn't. They got custody, and then there were no more dance lessons. No more piano. Just martial arts and science."
"That's too bad."
"No," I say, wistful, listening to Debussy'sArabesquein my mind, my hand directing. I dance the steps I learned as a young girl in my mind's eye and hum the music. "I'm glad. Dance and music are pointless. Who cares? I prefer science."
"They aren't pointless. They make humanity beautiful. Worth saving."
I sigh. Such sweet thoughts.
"I wish he was dead."
"He will be."
He sits and just stares at me, his face dark.
"You're so serious," I say, giggling at the frown on his face, barely able to open my eyes. "I want to dance again, with you as my evil prince."
"I'm not evil."
"In the play – you have to be evil, the dark prince. The vampire prince. And I'm your captive, a tiny white swan held against my will." I laugh to myself, imagining him with a crown on his head, in a dancer's costume. "You were a vicomte after all." I hold my hand up to my forehead in my best damsel-in-distress mode.
"And if I let you go?"
"Oh," I say, filled with theatrics. "What would the swan do? She'd fly away. Away to the police and enter the witness protection program, never to be seen again."
He says nothing for a long while. Finally, I force my eyes open and see him sitting there, no longer smiling.
"What?" I say, poking his arm, laughing. "The world is so smooooth. Why are you frowning?"
"Would you?"
I feel my mind tumbling, my sense of time unreal as if reality is stretched out thin.
"Would I what?" I laugh at the world.
"Would you join the witness protection program if I let you go?"
"Oh, you won't let me go, silly," I say, the thought ridiculous, making me giggle. "You'd kill me first." I tilt my throat to the side and laugh at myself. "I'm too valuable to fall into enemy hands." I make an exaggerated face of pain, my tongue lolling out to the side, then go into a fit of hysterics at the sight of him, frowning like a spoil-sport.
He leans over me, his arms on the armrests beside my head. "Is that what you really think of me, Eve? That I'll kill you?"
"Eventually," I say. I open my eyes, look up into his hooded ones. "You’re a killer. That’s what you do.”
I burst out laughing at his frown.
