I brushed his hand from my shoulder but didn’t offer a counter.
He was right, and I knew it deep down, just not enough to validate verbally.
It had only been a few days, so my understanding of my wife’s routine was rudimentary at best. She went to bed early and didn’t wake up until noon. A single bowl would be abandoned in the sink when I returned by nightfall. It was always covered in a sticky, dried juice—I suspect from her apricots. There werealwaysapricots. Her quirks remained cryptic, but I digress.
It couldn’t hurt to spend more mornings in my new home while she slept. At least I knew how much time I’d have to myself. Kostya has been sleeping in later and later, even calling in late to work due to his colicky child. It was disappointing to not see him as regularly, but a new, quiet home was just as nice.
The sofa was an improvement from the studio. The decorative pillows were barely used, still plush. There was a kink in the cushions, but it was coincidentally in the right place to support my aching back from the long days of questionable posture.
My roots were settling within my new domain. It was cluttered, but in a charming sense that made you feel like each object was important, of practical or sentimental value. A shrine of some kind. I suppose that would apply to most homes, but especially this one. There was an enchantment to it like some hidden-away place to disappear inside for days. Even the moths were beginning to appear friendly, though I was still working on a way to get rid of them. There was clearly an infestation festering somewhere.
Even with the rough start to my marriage to a complete stranger, it could have been worse. Not as passive as I expected, but that wasn’t a problem. I thought she was a pretty thing; it was good to know she was sharper than a rock, duller than a true blade.
I like it here. I do. I promise. This will all work out.
A rasping sound at the front door disturbed my brief moment of contentment.
I sat up from the sofa, stretching my back before reaching for my coffee. By now, it tasted a bit like dust. I would have to clean at some point; it wasn’t like she would do it.
More rasping, quicker and louder this time.
They will wake the she-beast at this rate.
I abandoned the comfort of my seat and my less-than-impressive cup of coffee for the door, tucking my shirt properly before answering.
When I opened the door, a strange man stood expectantly, straight as a pin, snobbish as a bird.
“May I help you?” I raised a brow. “If you’re a solicitor, you’ve come to the wrong home.”
The middle-aged gentlemen looked almost amused, glancing to the side as if it was a cretinous remark. “Youseem to be the one in a place you do not belong.” He seemed well groomed, but not well mannered to the common man. His dark hair was interrupted by stripes of a duller gray down the sides, but it was plain to see he was attempting to hide them with black salve. His mustache was trimmed short and thin in an attempt to shave some years from his appearance, but it did nothing to hide the stress lines at the corners of his eyes and the way time had weighed on his features.
“I’m sorry, I believe you have the wrong home. This is four hundred forty-four.” I smiled politely, tapping the plaque on the door.
“I am aware.” He glanced past me, fiddling with a gold signet ring around his pinkie. “Is Miss De Villier home?”
“I don’t know about Miss De Villier, butMrs. Kamenevais resting and not receiving visitors.”
“Oh, so you’re the new fool.”
“Possibly but unlikely, as I am not the one standing on the doorstep begging for entry.”
“Am I bothering you, good sir? Surely it was not my intention.” He smirked, exposing a collection of shifted teeth with tobacco stains at the roots. “I surely don’t mean to offend.”
“Not at all.” I closed the door behind me as I stepped outside.
With one step back, his chest puffed at my gesture. “Tell her I stopped by.” He held out his calling card.
Vincent Carlisle
Coroner’s Office of New York City
“I am under the impression she isn’t going to receive you.” I held the card, inspecting the small text.
“She will receive whoever comes.” He retrieved a cigarette from his lapel pocket and lit it in front of me.
“Is that so?” I lifted my gaze from the card, pulling out my own cigarette. “Mind me stealing a light?”
“It’s the least I could do for any poor fellow who falls between the jaws of Petronille. You’re going to need more than tobacco.”
