Not wanting to wake her by hovering over the bed, I leaned over, placing a soft kiss on her forehead. It wasn’t enough. It never was.
One hand peeked out of the covers, thin fingers relaxed with sleep on the pillow; the ballerina ring glimmered in the pale light and against her skin.
My fingers twitched with the urge to put things in order that had somehow been left to chaos.
She wasn’t a heavy sleeper, so when I made the necessary change, she stirred. Her eyes slowly opened, but she wasn’t seeing me. She reached out and touched my face, returning to her dreams.
A man stood outside of the apartment door, hand raised to knock, when I opened it to let myself out. He backed up a pace or two, caught off guard by my sudden appearance.
“Euh,” he said, waving his hands. “I am looking for Scarlett. Scarlett Rose Poésy.”
Studying his face, I attempted to place him. His eyes gave him away. They were shocking blue but rimmed with redness that made him seem perpetually high.
“You were in the tomb last night,” I said.
He backed up another step or two, running into the railing.
“You—” he pointed “—are dangerous,Fausti.”
“Smart,” I said and grinned, “to be afraid of me.”
“You threatened Olivier.”
“I threatened the reputation of his secret club.”
“You will kill him.”
Call me hard of hearing if the clear ring of hope didn’t sound in his tone. My hearing was perfect. I stepped out of the apartment, shutting and locking it with the key that I had. “Tell me how you got in here without key or code.”
“Another tenant was leaving.” He shrugged. “I let myself in before the door closed.”
“The point of this visit.”
“Scarlett.” He waved a hand. “I need to talk to her. She came to see me not so long ago about family. It was quite odd.” His eyebrows pulled in. “I believe this is what leads me to her door this morning. She had questions about Àstrid,ma grand-mère. She was a dancer as well. She died not long after childbirth.”
I couldn’t shake the feeling that I knew him, and the names associated with him.
He stuck out his hand. “I am Emory Nemours.”
We shook.
“Brando Fausti.”
He let go first, wincing, and nodded. “Part of the reason why I came. I believe Scarlett knows more than she is telling.”
“Walk with me. I’m just going down the street, to the café.”
He followed me down the stairs, out into the cold winter air, and we walked side by side for some time in silence, until he cleared his throat.
“The dancer, Scarlett, she belongs to you, yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Olivier does not want you here.” He gave me a sideways glance. “I would like to clear the air now. I kissed her. But she did not reciprocate. Olivier stepped in after me.”
He had boyish ways. Nonetheless, the urge to hurt him grew by the second. Man or boy, I didn’t want his lips on Scarlett’s.
“Your family.” I changed the subject, needing safer ground. “Scarlett knows something.”
