He gasps. “How did you know my name? Can you read minds? Are you a telepist?”
I giggle, both at his rendition oftelepathand at how much his mien smacks of Jonas’s “suspicious face.”
“Wouldn’t that be great?” I say. “But, unfortunately, I’m no telepath. Your dad told us your name.”
“Jonas,” he corrects me. “My dad is dead.”
Say what?I stare at him, open-mouthed.
He points at the puzzle. “Are you giving up?”
“Who, me?” Recovering my cool, I push my chin up. “Giving up is for quitters. Margot Nolan is no quitter! Is Matteo a quitter?”
He shakes his head.
My eyes wander across the room. “We must think outside of the rug.”
“K.”
“Let’s split up.” I gesture to delimit one side of the room. “You search this half and I’ll take that one. Leave no stone unturned, OK?”
Nodding to each other, we proceed to scouring the floor.
I’m peering under the bed when Matteo cries out, “Found it!”
I turn around.
Matteo is on his feet by Jonas’s desk, brandishing a piece. “It was hiding inside the box!”
I crawl back to the puzzle. “Let’s see if it fits.”
He places it into the hole in the tree, and the piece fits perfectly with the ones around it. A satisfied grin spreads over his face. We continue to work in silence, watching the magical garden come alive. Birdies perch in the sprawling tree. Butterflies flutter around the blooming flowers. There’s even a small pond where two ducks swim around each other.
Someone makes a noise at the door. It’s a dull thumping sound, like the person was using a foot to knock.
Matteo opens to a young woman carrying a tray with biscuits, a cup of tea, and a mug with what must be his chocolate milk. She has a perfect body—the kind that would send Miss Universe scrambling for a better diet and workout routine.
That being said, Miss Universe has nothing to fear from Celeste’s face. Dark-eyed and dark-haired, she has the same strong, angular features as her brother. But where that rugged quality accentuates Jonas’s hotness, it gives Celeste a rough look undesirable in a woman. A heterosexual woman, at any rate. While most would try to mitigate it with makeup or plastic surgery, I detect no trace of either on Celeste’s face. Maybe she’s gay. Or maybe she’s a black belt in the Olympic art of giving zero fucks.
“I’m Margot,” I say in response to her surprised look. “Caroline Bingley in the show.”
Relaxing, she sets the tray on the desk. “I’m Celeste, Jonas’s younger sister and”—she glances at Matteo—“this gentleman’s aunt. I’m sorry I missed the live shows, but I watched the recording of your opening night.”
The one where Jonas whisked me out of the Sky Hall before the audience could see the red stain on my bum…
I rise to my feet, smiling awkwardly. “I stopped by to check something with Jonas, and Matteo asked me for help with the puzzle…”
Matteo picks up a biscuit from the tray. “She taught me how to think outside of the rug, Aunt Celeste! And she knew my name! She’s a telepi—” Interrupting himself he looks up at me.
I mouth, “Path.”
He shifts his eyes back to Celeste. “Telepath!”
“Impressive!” Celeste studies me with curiosity, her eyelids at half-mast, and her face sporting the exact same expression I’ve seen on Jonas and Matteo.
I fidget. “Well, I’ll leave you to your tea and biscuits.”
“You were a fantastic Caroline,” she says.
