I stiffened, my hands trembling.Is he coming to speak to me? Is he going to lead me to my seat like a gentleman and—
Dorien’s eyes trailed across my body, searching my rumpled t-shirt and torn jeans for something he didn’t find. He turned away with a snort of disgust and grabbed a decanter of red wine from the sideboard, pouring the dark liquid into crystal glasses.
Madame Usher nodded to me. I set the platters in the middle of the table, then stepped back awkwardly, not sure what to do. Did I sit at the table, or did she have a closet somewhere where Harrison and I shared a bowl of gruel?
“Join your fellow musicians,” Madame Usher commanded me.
No closet for me.Counting that as a victory, I pulled out the only empty chair – next to the one Dorien had vacated. Six heads whipped around. Six pairs of eyes stared me down.
“Students, this is Faye de Winter. She will be joining us for the master class on violin, as well as taking over duties from dear departed Clare.”
“There’s only supposed to be six students,” Titus broke in, his deep voice rumbling over my bones. Cornrows tumbled over his shoulders as he grabbed for the meat, narrowly missing dragging his hair in the food. “Master Radcliffe never takes more than six students, and Victor isn’t here any longer to teach piano, so—”
“The Master has accepted Faye as a favor to me, as we’re in need of domestic help. Her father istheDonovan de Winter, my greatest love.” Madame’s eyes glazed over, and for a moment she was lost in some memory of my father. Funny, so was I, although I doubt we saw the memories in the same way.
“Hewasmy father,” I corrected her. “Now he’s taking a dirt nap.”
Across the table, the brown-skinned girl snorted. Madame Usher gave no indication she heard me. “If Faye has even an ounce of his talent, then she will be a serious contender for the Manderley Prize.”
This was the opposite of what she told me, but it was obvious from the six hostile glares around the table that Madame wanted me to be hated.
Dorien handed out glasses to everyone except the male twin – he of the sapphire eyes. It was weird to be drinking alcohol at lunchtime, on what was technically a school day, when I bet most of us were still under twenty-one, but I’d been at prep school long enough to know there were different rules for the rich and snooty. When Dorien came to my glass, he’d finished the decanter, so he had to open another bottle. He fiddled with some aerator device on the lid, then filled my glass to the rim – double the amount of alcohol than he’d given the others.
“Why didn’t you save yourself the effort and hand me the bottle?” My voice dripped with sarcasm as I tried not to spill on the pristine white tablecloth.
“I bet that’s how they drink wine in theBronx.” Dorien let the word drip from his tongue, the plosive slapping me across the face. Interesting. How did he know where I’d been living? When I knew him, we lived in the East Village.
If Dorien knows about Mom’s illness and our fall from grace… could the floor just swallow me now?
My fingers curled into fists. I could flatten Dorien’s perfect nose. It would even things out between us if he had a ruined face to match my ruined life, but that was probably exactly what Madame Usher wanted – the perfect excuse to get rid of me.
Not to mention the fact that messing up a face that perfect was a cardinal sin.
Remember, you’re not here for yourself.
It took a buttload of self-control to uncurl my fist and hold my glass like I was grateful for it. As long as I toed the line, Mom got the best medical care money could buy. Maybe these fancy new specialists could figure out what the cut-rate chop-shop Dr. Frankensteins at the last hospital could not, and bring her back to me.
Now that I knew Madame Usher set me up to fail, I was more determined to stay, to win, and to find out exactly what her story was. Why was she so determined to have me here if she also wanted me to fail? Why offer to help my mom when she tried to steal her husband? And whynow?
My scraped leg stung, and I knew I’d trailed cobwebs across the rug. Under their scrutiny, I felt myself coming apart. They all wore designer clothes and smiles of cut glass. Ivan ran his hands through a feathered haircut that probably cost more than a month’s rent at our Bronx apartment. The brown-skinned girl, who I guessed was Aroha (was that Hawaiian? I didn’t think I could ask) wore several large rings on her fingers, the diamonds twinkling beneath the flickering candles.
Dorien’s eyes flicked over me, stripping away my clothing with his mind, the way his music laid my soul bare. I shuffled in my seat beside him, completely naked. He smirked – a mean expression. He didn’t like what he saw.
An awkward silence settled over the table as everyone sipped their wine and stared at the food as if it might sprout tentacles and devour them all. Madame Usher frowned at my wine glass until I took the hint and sipped. It tasted foul, like rotten apples soaked in feet. I hoped she didn’t expect me to drink the whole thing.
Finally, Master Radcliffe leaned forward and picked up the platter of lamb. “This looks delicious.” His voice had a melodious tenor to it, as though he was still within a song. He scraped three medallions onto his plate, along with a generous helping of salad. That seemed to be an unspoken cue for everyone else to dive in. I waited until all the students had food on their plates before leaning in to serve myself. They hadn’t left me any lamb (greedy bastards) so I loaded up with salad and bread. I’d need it to soak up the wine, which was already making me feel ill and, judging by Madame Usher’s furious glances, I was expected to finish.
“So, Faye, please tell us about yourself,” said the Master in his pleasant tone. “Who have you been studying under?”
I was about to say, “Ms. Finch for History and Mr. Sacks for Mathematics,” when I clicked that he was referring to my music teachers.
Eyes bored into me. “Emma Garrison,” I muttered into my plate. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, and there was this strange harshness in the back of my throat.
Across the table, snickers were muffled with napkins.
“Emma Garrison? I can’t say I’ve heard of her. Is she with the Berlin school?”
I shook my head.Is he deliberately baiting me, or does he not know?“She’s… independent.”
