“Can I talk to her?”
“Let me interrogate her first, and we’ll call you back.”
She sniffles. “You don’t think I can get answers out of our child?”
“I think you need a drink.”
“Already on it.” Aunt Cora’s voice joins the fray, and I can imagine her slinging a tattooed arm over Mom’s shoulder, squeezing in close for the camera.
“Isn’t it a little early for that?” Mom mutters.
“Keep your hands to yourself, Astor,” Dad warns, referring to Cora by her maiden name, even though he and her husband are the closest of all the adults in their social circle. Too close, if you ask me. Same with their wives.
“I always do when you’re away,” Cora replies, her smirk audible. “It’s way less fun when there’s no audience.”
Horror settles on my face as he hangs up and strolls back into the room, arms at his sides.
Dad settles on the arm of the sofa, staring at me with those unreadable, almost black eyes. Impassive on the surface, but I’m sure he’s just as upset with me as Mom is. “Your mother sends her?—”
“Emotional instability?”
His eyes crease a little, the crow’s-feet at the corners deepening. “One of my favorite things about her.”
“You like that she’s volatile?”
“Immensely. I struggled to show emotion due to environmental and psychological factors. Your mother was raised in a similar fashion, but she rejected the sentiment and did whatever she wanted anyway. I’ve always admired how readily she wears her heart on her sleeve.”
Glancing down at my hands, I interlace my fingers and pull, discomfort settling in the pit of my stomach.
“You’re just like her, you know.” Dad lifts his chin, looking out the front windows where he pulled open the curtains. Probably the first time Sutton’s living room has seen light during his residency. “Ever since you were little, anyone within a mile radius could tell what you were thinking or feeling just byreading your face. Even when you were onstage or rehearsing for a part, whatever that character needed to convey, it all shone so brightly in your expressions. The honesty was refreshing.”
Which is what makes the admittance of lies more unsettling. He doesn’t say it—doesn’t have to. But I hear the unspoken words anyway and feel the disappointment swelling up alongside them.
“Asher wasn’t an open book, but he’d tell us anything if we asked. Getting information out of your sister was never an easy task. I guess I wrongly believed your honesty would carry over no matter what situation you were in.”
I chew on my lip, swallowing hard.
“So where is this Jean-Louis Dupont? When was the last time you had contact with him?”
Confused, I meet his gaze. “I didn’t tell you his name.”
A long, weighted pause ensues. He gives me a look. “Noelle. Did you honestly think I wouldn’t have done any homework after being summoned to my injured child’s side?”
Scoffing, I cross my arms over my chest. “So why’d you make me tell you about it all?”
“Well, there had to be some sort of recompense. I think you’re getting off fairly easy, but I can’t speak for what your mother will do when you’re home.”
“Home?” I blink, frowning. “I don’t want to go home.”
His features strain. “Noelle, the deal was?—”
“I know, but I’ve made a life for myself at Avernia. You didn’t make Asher and Lucy go home when they got into trouble. Why do I have to?”
“You don’t have to. You’re a twenty-five-year-old woman. Despite how I may want to on occasion, I can’t force you to do anything… Though I do want you to consider the consequences of staying.”
“If I leave, Sutton has to deal with it all alone.”
“Sutton?” Dad’s eyes narrow. “The professor?”
