Sub rosa. In secret.
If there was one thing I wouldn’t tolerate, it was secrets when it came to mine.I stared at the roses before picking them up and bringing them into Scarlett’s room, then out on to the balcony.
Cold air swept over me; a relief to the inner fire. The street was quiet, not one car, not one bird, not one human in sight. I dumped the entire vase over the iron railing, except for the card, watching as it collided with the cement in a mixture of soft velvet petals and sharp crystal shards.
“Brando?” Mick knocked on the door, though it was open. “You about ready?”
“Yeah,” I said.
I left the balcony door cracked open, the card on the dresser, right next to the picture of us.
* * *
I never felt like much of a friend to Mick. He was my best friend’s little brother, and though we hung out, and at one time I had paid him to keep an eye on Scarlett, we never really had any sort of serious conversation other than what she did at lunch. But the thicker the web grew between him, Violet, and Mitch, the further I moved from all three of them.
I worked with Mitch, had a deeper history with him, so I saw and spoke to him more often.
There were times the urge to tell Mick to watch his back was so strong that I had to walk out of the room to keep my mouth shut. Mitch and Mick were brothers though. I refused to be the one to come in between them and the traitor who caused an unforgivable line to be drawn.
Mick had always been a decent kid. Went to school like he was supposed to. Got good grades. Was respectful enough. Mitch was the total opposite. Their mother treated them as such. Mick was the wonder child, though everything he did was mediocre, but compared to Mitch, he might as well have discovered the cure for some rare disease.
Mitch was probably encouraging the kids he assumed were his to eat their boogers; Mick walked the streets of Paris. That’s how Sybil Lewis saw them. Nothing more. Nothing less.
When they were children, if Mitch’s old man bought him a new bike and Mick wanted it, it was his. Their mother made sure of it. Usually Mick would play with it for a day or two, ruin it, and then hand it back to his older brother to fix.
The first time I ever saw Mitchell Lewis cry was over a red bike his deadbeat dad had bought for him after a prolonged stint on the road. Micah ‘Mick’ Lewis wanted it, got it, and then purposely left it out in the middle of the street to be impaled by a garbage truck going too fast to stop.
Mitch was one of the few people I had bonded with; his childhood mirrored mine, even if the details from the fun house came across as different.
Mick was quiet as we walked side by side, only occasionally stopping to admire a building or something different that he thought was worth pointing out.
I welcomed the silence.
We were on our way to Avenue de la Grande Armée, the location of a Ducati dealership. Scarlett had written down a few places that she thought we might like to see. The weather was nice, another clear, crisp day, and the destination wasn’t too far. We decided to walk it.
Once we arrived at the dealership, I instructed him to go inside without me. I had something to take care of. On the way over I had found a phone and made a call. Her hired car pulled up not long after, sliding into an empty spot.
She rolled down the window. “Brando.”
“Pnina.” I nodded. “There seems to be a few details the man left out.”
“Such as?” Her eyes were hidden behind expensive square glasses. Her hair was pinned up, her clothes immaculate. A planner filled with all of her appointments sat next to her on the leather seat.
“The Frenchman. Olivier Nemours. For one.”
“I hired Neil to keep her safe, not to report on her social life.” Her tone came out too cross; she was hiding something from me.
How much more did he keep from her, therefore me?
“We had a deal,” I reminded her.
It was no accident that I waited until Scarlett was eighteen to come into her life fully. A man like me leaves little to chance. I had known the Poésy family most of my life. When Maggie Beautiful forgot to buy food, or pay the electric bill, it was Pnina who stepped in and took care of things. Eunice was usually right behind or in front of her.
Respect in my world was hard earned. I respected Pnina. The sole reason I had gone to her when I fell in love with Scarlett was to offer her honesty. Not one to mince words, I had laid it out.
Scarlett was mine to protect and love. I’d give my life up for hers.
As usual, Everett had stood in the background, listening, but allowing her to take the lead where their children were concerned.
