Page 67
The chairs are heavier after a performance. Not in truth, but certainly in spirit. By the time the final curtain falls and the last patron stumbles into the night, La Sirene always exhales. The lanterns burn lower. The mirrors collect their shadows. The stage, so alive an hour before, settles into a quiet sort of fatigue.
Madame Elisa and I move across the floor together, returning the black wooden chairs to their proper places near the back of the stage.
“You are distracted,” she says in a singsong fashion.
“I am not,” I retort defensively.
She crosses her arms over her chest, playfully turning her head at me. “You nearly placed that chair upside down.”
I look down. The chair is, unfortunately, upside down. Elisa gives me a knowing look. I set it properly upon its legs and smooth my hands over my skirts, “I have been invited to a ball.”
“You are always invited to balls.” Elisa appears puzzled, perching a hand atop her hip.
“This one is different,” I cautiously explain.
“Oh?” Her brows lift. “Does this ball come with a richer fool than usual?”
“Lord Fallere.”
Elisa hums continuing to place items back to their place sets. “Sounds slippery.”
“It means ‘deceive’ in Latin.”
This piques her interest. She pauses with both hands on the back of a chair.
I glance at her. “What?”
“You are attending a ball hosted by a man whose name means deceive?” She narrows her eyes in concern.
“Yes.” I nod my head along with my words.
“And this does not concern you?”
“It interests me.” I shrug my shoulders at her.
“That is what concerns me.”
A smile tugs at my mouth despite myself.
Elisa shakes her head and continues dragging the chair into place. Golden lantern light catches in her blond hair, turning it warm as honey and for a moment, I simply stare. She is stunning. I have known that for years, of course. Elisa has always possessed the sort of beauty men mistake for softness until she opens her mouth and flays them alive, but now I see it differently. Truly see it and appreciate it.
The gold of her hair, the soft flush of her cheeks and blue and silver threaded through the bodice of her whimsical gown. Color has returned to my life like a reckless guest, arriving without invitation and refusing to leave. It has been weeks, and still I am startled by it.
Elisa catches me staring. “What is it?”
“Nothing.”
Her expression softens. She knows better and thankfully, she does not press. Instead, she leans one hip against the chair and studies me in that dreadful way women who love you do when they have decided to become inconvenient.
“How are the brunches?” She asks playfully.
My hands still. “There have been no brunches, but we did have an encounter.”
“With the mystery man?”
I look away, “’Tis complicated.”
Elisa’s grin grows wider. “Ah.”
