If a person’s eyes are truly a mirror of his soul, Tatiana’s soul must be an infinite well of secrets and sadness. Or maybe it’s just an optical illusion—the way the almost translucent irises swallow the light and trap the beams before projecting them as the rarest shade of green. I’ve never seen another color like it. The mix between the cool-toned hues of the rarest, most precious jade stone and the vibrant green of young mint leaves is a whole new color created just for her. Those pools are either glowing or murky, depending on whether they reflect the sun or swallow the shadows. Set off against her porcelain skin, the contrast is striking.
Her flawless skin has always been pale. Now, it’s almost transparent. Faint blue veins run beneath the soft undersides of her wrists and arms. If I were able to trace them, they’d form a roadmap to her heart. After all, the heart is where all blood enters and exits, the throbbing center of fragile human life.
I know the map to her heart like the back of my hand. I drew that map when I taught her the secrets of a woman’s body and the carnal nature of a man’s sinful desires. How sweet and innocent first love is. How vulnerable. Completely impressionable.
Once upon a time, the crayon was in my hand, and she was the paper I filled at my whim. She was the canvas I submitted to my strokes—thick black lines or soft blue clouds, wherever the mood took me—but it always ended in fucking fireworks, an explosion of pleasure firing through hot-blooded veins and then, in the final throes of sweaty bodies and tangled limbs, with an arrow in the heart.
Yet the woman sitting across from me isn’t the woman I claimed five years ago. The tiny scar on her left cheek is new. So is the silver line from an old cut on her chin. I want to know how she got those marks. I want to know everything. And she will tell me. Because I always get what I want, no matter the methods I have to use.
When the food is served, Tatiana picks the mushrooms and onions out of Noah’s mac and cheese, which came baked in a small oval dish and garnished with fresh mustard greens. Who the fuck gives mustard greens to a child?
Noah digs in once the piping hot pasta has cooled down enough. Tatiana and Jasper pick at their salads while Ulysses and I clean our plates.
Once the table is cleared, I tell the waiter there better be ice cream for dessert, which turns out to be a scoop of strawberry sorbet served in a pavlova nest with frozen blackberries and a drizzle of raspberry coulis. It’s too sophisticated for a kid who’d probably have preferred a couple of scoops of chocolate ice cream in a cone.
Noah nevertheless tackles the pompous pavlova with enthusiasm. Every time he brings the spoon to his mouth, his attention completely absorbed by the treat he’s devouring and trying not to spill a drop, my heartbeat falls with a painful thud between my ribs.
Tatiana and Jasper decline the homemade limoncello that the waiter offers on the house. I order a coffee, and Ulysses has a cup of herbal tea. When Noah has polished every bite on his plate and, to the objection and then gentle scolding of Tatiana, has licked it clean, Ulysses gets the car while I settle the bill. Then I send Reino a text message to let him know we’re leaving.
Noah falls asleep with his head on Tatiana’s lap on the way to the hotel. When Ulysses pulls up at the drop-off area in front of the main entrance, Tatiana bends to peer at the building through her window.
Reino, who’s waiting outside, gets Jaspers’s door. Like Tatiana, she gawks at the five-star hotel with apprehension as she slips from the front passenger side.
“What are we doing here?” Tatiana calls after me as I open the door and get out.
I reach inside to unlock Noah’s safety belt.
Tatiana stops me with a hand on my arm when I try to lift him out of the car.
“Take us home, Dante. Now.”
“You can’t sleep there.” I straighten with Noah in my arms, letting his head rest on my shoulder. “The door is broken.”
“No,” she says so fiercely that guests arriving at the entrance stop to look at us.
Tatiana scrambles from the car and comes around it with outstretched arms. “Give him to me.”
Noah shifts in my hold and turns his head on my shoulder.
“He’s heavy.” I keep my voice placating. “I’ll carry him for you.”
“No,” she says again, pulling him from my arms.
I let him go without arguing. She clutches him to her chest with a wild expression in her eyes.
“Be reasonable, Tatiana. You can’t let Noah sleep in an unsafe house.”
A frown pleats her brow. She’s off-balance, clearly surprised that I handed Noah over as she’s asked. She doesn’t want me to notice, though. So she goes back to her side of the car where she left the door open and, balancing Noah in one arm, grabs her tote bag and hoodie from the seat before stalking to the swivel door.
I nod at Jasper, who quickly follows.
Ulysses leaves to park the car. He’ll stay on standby in case I need him.
Reino already collected the keycards. He leads the way to a private elevator, which he explains exits directly on the top floor, and uses one of the cards to unlock the elevator and call it down.
Tatiana looks around. It’s early enough for the lobby to still be busy. Some people are returning from dinner while others are heading out to bars and nightclubs.
I catch her gaze. “Don’t even think about making a scene. Reino is armed, and he won’t hesitate to shoot anyone who’s unwise enough to try and help you.”
