“She has you good, huh?” Angelique’saccent seemed to grow thicker when her smile rose. “Here, come help me with this.”
“Idon’tcook.”
She laughed. “Aman should know how to cook at least one meal for his woman.”
“Like Isaid—”
“Come,” she ordered, her tone harder, and despite my protests Ifound my feet carrying me over to the table. Iwas beginning to grasp how the woman managed to control her sons.
Angelique pulled alarge dish out from acupboard and set it on the counter. She pointed to the freshly rolled pastry and gestured toward the dish while she moved to the other side of the kitchen and began stirring alarge pot of something on top of the stove.
Ithought about just walking out, but the food smelled good and Iwas hungry so Ifigured anything Icould do to speed up the process would be worth my while in the long run. So Ilifted the pastry and laid it carefully inside the dish. My hands felt too large and my fingers too clumsy for such adelicate job, but Imanaged to get it inside with minimal breakage. When Ilooked up, Angelique had carried the hot pan over to me. Using aladle, she scooped the delicious-smelling contents into the pie dish—steak and potatoes and carrots, from the looks of it—and then she gestured to the other flattened piece of pastry while she carried the pan over to the sink. Ipicked it up, careful not to tear the edges, and then Ilaid it on top of the pie with asigh of relief.
“What now?” Iasked.
“We crimp the edges,” she said with asmile. She grabbed afork and began pressing the edges of the pastry together with it, but when she held out the fork to me, Ishook my head.
“I’mgood, thanks,” Isaid, and when she laughed Icouldn'thelp the corners of my mouth lifting up too.
“What the fuck is happening?” Jolie snapped as she came into the kitchen, and the beginnings of my smile fell.
“Lalangue!” Angelique snapped, her pretty features turning hard as she glared across at Jolie.
“Sorry, what the fuck is this,s’ilvousplait?” Jolie bit out, and even Iknew enough French to catch the sarcasm in her statement and bark out alaugh.
“Fermelabouche!” Angelique said, though to me or Jolie, Iwasn’tcertain.
The two of them started arguing in French and Itook that as my cue to leave. Iheaded back upstairs, not wanting to be in the middle of any more family drama than necessary.
Ten minutes and lots of yelling and plate-smashing later, Jolie stormed back into the bedroom. She came to ahalt when she saw me sitting on the floor at the end of her bed, like she'dforgotten Iwas there. My head was thrown back, resting against the foot of her bed. It was throbbing, but Iwas still hesitant to take any painkillers.
There was only asmall stool to sit on by her dressing table, and it didn'tfeel right sitting on her bed, so I’dchosen the floor instead. I’dslept on worse.
She shook off the surprise in her features and turned to close the door behind her.
“Everything okay?” Iasked.
She scowled. “Fucking peachy, why’dyou ask?”
“Because of the shit show down there.”
Her face softened and she laughed. “That? That was nothing. Family stuff.” She shrugged, the tension obvious from the way her shoulders were hunched.
“How’syour brother?” Iasked, realizing that she hadn’tmentioned the brother that she’dbeen so eager to get back to. “What’shis name?”
“Marcel,” she said, her tone still hard. “And he’sgone, again. Asshole that he is.” She headed toward her bed and sat down on it. Her feet were bare, her long hair still damp from her shower, and she pushed the clothes on the end of her bed to the floor to make room for her legs. They hit the carpet in acrumpled heap and she lay down on the mattress.
“He comin’ back anytime soon?” Iasked, frowning at the clothes. Hadn’treally pegged her to be such aslob. Guess Ihadn’treally pegged her for much of anything other than abrat, and she was surprising me in alot of ways.
She didn’treply, and after amoment Ilooked over my shoulder only to find her bare feet close to my head and an arm thrown over her face.
“Ihate this place,” she muttered, ignoring my previous question. “Ihate my brothers. Ihate…”
“You don’thate ‘em,” Isaid, “not really.”
“Easy for you to say,” she replied tartly. “Your family isn’tas broken as this one. You have your club and you see everyone there as your family, right?”
Inodded in agreement and she continued.
