Shrieking, she jumps up and down. “They want me to audition for a leading role in Chicago.”
“Oh, Jazz, that’s wonderful.”
“The director saw me at the audition for Arabian Nights. He asked for me by name. Can you believe it?” Her brow pleats. “Actually, it didn’t go that well at that audition.”
“That’s good, right?”
She makes a show of biting her nails. “It’s the opportunity of my life.”
Giggling, Noah points at her animated expression. “Your face looks funny.”
She bends down to his level and makes big eyes while asking in her monster voice, “Am I good?”
He laughs louder. “Stop it, Jazz. You’re making my tummy hurt.”
“We have to celebrate.” Jazz has been trying for a big part ever since she graduated from the performing arts academy.
She straightens and holds up a finger. “Shit, no.” Slamming a hand over her mouth, she says, “Sorry, Noah. If you repeat that your mom will have to wash your mouth out with soap.” She drops her hand. “No celebrating until I actually get the part. You don’t want to jinx me.”
“You’re not superstitious. Being invited for a private audition is a big deal. We’re celebrating it whether you get the part or not. Remember what we used to say, that every achievement deserves to be celebrated, no matter the outcome in the end? I’m buying champagne and putting it on ice, and that’s that.”
She does her crazy dance, uttering another shriek. “I guess I should practice. Okay. Bye.” She rushes for the stairs. “Catch you later.”
“Let me know if you need an audience,” I call after her.
When Noah is installed in the playroom where he’s building a Lego plane, I decide to go on a tour of the house. I know the layout because I’ve been in all the rooms, but I haven’t really inspected them.
I leave the door of the playroom open so that I’ll hear Noah if he calls for me. Then I take my time wandering through the lounge and dining room and taking in the views.
Did Dante and I choose the house together? The contemporary architectural style is inarguably beautiful, but it doesn’t seem like something I would’ve chosen. It’s a stunning home. I’m not complaining. It just doesn’t feel like mine.
Walking around the rooms, I look for personal touches or photos, maybe something that will spark a memory, but there’s nothing that hints at our family history. The style is excessively minimalistic, which is definitely not me.
I go down the hallway and stop in front of Dante’s study. Just as I’m about to knock, the door opens in my face and Kent exits.
I reel, taking in the bloodied napkin he holds under his nose as well as the bruises on his jaw.
He gives me a stiff nod, not looking me in the eyes. “Mrs. Morici, I owe you an apology. I overstepped my boundaries by invading your privacy. It won’t happen again.”
Keeping his head down, he walks to the front door. Shock followed by unease spreads through me as I watch him leave. He made it obvious that he doesn’t like or respect me. He didn’t apologize because he wanted to but because Dante no doubt ordered him to. Yes, I didn’t appreciate his attitude, but that doesn’t mean I wanted Dante to beat him up about it.
I peer around the door frame. Dante sits behind his desk, staring at the screen of his laptop with a deep line running between his eyebrows. He too has a bruised jaw.
He looks up when I knock.
I motion at his face. “It looks as if the two of you got into a fight.”
His tone is hard. “He had to be put back into his place.”
Guilt assaults me. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”
His nostrils flare. “You didn’t. He had no business standing so close or looking at you.”
“Did that justify a fist fight?”
He’s dead serious when he says, “He can be glad he didn’t lay a finger on you, or his body would’ve been carried out of here right now.”
The sinister promise makes me shiver. “You do realize you’re overreacting, right?”
