I close my eyes and sigh at the memory, the residual thrill still buzzing in my veins. Not only did I have an amazing time with Noah, but my audition tape got me to the next level. I have reason to be optimistic, and reason to hope my career might survive.
But as I look at my phone, that buzz in my blood fades. Ruined by the truth I learned tonight.
The truth about Luci.
She isdouce bête. Sweet beast. And she clearly knew Rose much better than she let on.
But why would Luci lie? Is she simply trying to stay out of the drama? Maybe. And after Alice’s display this afternoon, I can’t blame her.
I rub my temples where a headache is trying to bloom. All the back-and-forth is wearing me down. Seeing Rose’s posts gaveme hope that she’d left Paris on her own. That she was avoiding Alice and their personal issues.
Now I’m filled with questions again.
A scratch on the door tells me Clairee is outside. Peering out, I see her on the steps, so I open the door to let her slip inside.
“Waiting until I got home?” I say, following as she beelines for the kitchen.
She doesn’t try to hide what she wants from me, her eagerness for dinner evident as she does her little dance while keeping hungry and hopeful eyes on me.
“Okay, okay. Give me a minute.”
I sweet-talk her as I open the packet of food and put it in a bowl. Yes, she wants something from me, but she also gives back. Affection and trust. She lets me rub her belly at night. Two times. No more. Then she snuggles up next to me to purr herself to sleep.
Newly born trust can be such a fragile thing, yet she gives it freely.
I stare out the kitchen door and down the hall, my thoughts on the man across the courtyard. I haven’t known Noah long, but it’s nice to confide in someone, to have an ally while I’m here at Maison Marteau. Another outsider. Someone I can talk to. Maybe even trust.
Though I’m not ready to tell him the whole story.
When a yawn overtakes me, I leave Clairee to eat, turning out the kitchen light as I go. Exhaustion weighs on me as I pass the piano. Today has been an emotional rollercoaster, and all the drama has left me depleted.
Moonlight filters through the windows, the shining parquet floors lighting my way. My bare feet pad softly as I walk—the apartment still, the shadows silent.
Until I hear a thump.
Loud. Solid. Then followed by another noise.
Shrrrrr.Like something sliding across the floor.
Cold fingers poke their way up my spine.
Sounds carry strangely through the cavernous apartment, but the rasp has a sandpaper quality, light and crackling as it floats through the air.
And on the heels of the scrape, another sound.
Athump-thumpfrom somewhere inside. Not the pipes. Not the settling of old wood. But something else.
Something human.
I reach for the first thing I see, a heavy brass candlestick on a nearby table. Removing the candle, I grip the metal weapon in my fist.
One shoulder grazing the wall, I creep up the winding stairs, eyes locked on the open air above.
Part of me expects to see a figure staring down from above.
But the view remains clear all the way to the top.
My heart swells in my chest, a muffled throb, sluggish with fear. I pause long enough to take a few deep breaths and clear my head. My imagination is running wild again.
