“Fuck if I can’t.”
“She asked about school. She’s been having her afternoon snack with Nina, Catherine’s granddaughter. Nina’s her age and she was telling Angelique all about her kindergarten class. Has she asked you about it yet?”
I look at my brother because no, she has not.
“She asked me,” he says. “Asked when she would start school.”
I pick up my coffee mug and drink. “Why is Catherine’s granddaughter coming here in the afternoons? Is it a regular thing?”
“Really?” Zeke looks at me. “You may be the older brother, but I’ve been running things here while you’ve been gone. Catherine has her routine and if her granddaughter comes over every day after school until her mother can pick her up after work, that’s fine by me. You know Angelique will meet people. You can’t keep her locked away in a tower forever.”
“I’m not planning on forever. Just until Bishop is no longer a threat.” I drink another sip of coffee and study my brother who clearly does not agree with my plan. I set my mug down. “Bishop looked at you last night. When he made that comment about Zoë and dad.”
“Did he?” Zeke asks but I see the momentarily flicker of tension before he schools his features. “Your point?”
“Why did he look at you? Because Santiago gave you the same knowing look when he told me he had no evidence that Bishop was involved in our father’s accident.”
“I didn’t realize.”
We sit in silence for a long, long minute. “Is there anything I don’t know, brother?”
“Like what?”
I shrug a shoulder and wait.
“I have to get to the office,” he says, standing.
I remain seated, watch him. When our father was killed Zeke took over the management of the investment firm our great-grandfather founded. It’s one of the family businesses.
“Brother?” he says it like a question but it’s my invitation to leave.
I get to my feet. “I’ll see you later,” I say, taking my coffee mug and walking out into the corridor where Dex is casually waiting. “Find out for me if Carlton Bishop is having his breakfast in the usual spot, will you?”
“Sure thing.”
“And bring my car.”
He nods and when I go into the dining room to set my mug down, I find it empty. Angelique and my mother have finished breakfast and their plates are being cleared. I walk into the kitchen to find Catherine pouring pink batter into a cake form.
“Well, good morning, Jericho,” she says, stopping. She wipes her hands on her apron.
“Is that color natural?” I ask of the pink.
She smiles proudly. “Not completely. Did you get breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry. Zeke tells me your granddaughter comes by after school.”
She is taken aback. I’m not one to get involved in the personal lives of the staff. “She does. Her mother has a new job and only finishes work at five, so she spends two hours with me in the kitchen. She’s no trouble and I still do my work.”
I shake my head. “No, that’s not why I’m asking. It’s fine. She and Angelique get along?”
The older woman smiles. “They do.” Her forehead wrinkles and I get the feeling there’s more she wants to say but won’t.
“I’m glad,” I say. “It’s good for Angelique to have a friend her own age. But if they play outside, you send someone with them?”
“They don’t go where they’re not supposed to. Angelique knows the rules.”
“Send a man with them anyway. Just to be on the safe side.”
She hesitates, then nods. “Yes, sir.”
I nod and walk out of the kitchen, the exchange feeling awkward. I’ve known Catherine since I was a kid but now, so much has changed. I’ve been gone so long, and it all feels different. Like it’s not my house. Like they’re not my staff.
But I remind myself why I’m here and why things are the way they are. When I get to the front door and see Dex standing beside the Lamborghini, I focus on what I must do today. Because there was something in the look Carlton gave my brother yesterday. It’s no coincidence that Santiago De La Rosa exchanged a similar look with him during the same topic of discussion. And I mean to understand what it’s about.
32
Isabelle
I’m not surprised when I wake up sore all over the following morning. I am careful not to roll onto my back, afraid it will be tender but when I sit up, I wince, tender in other, more intimate places.
Jericho is gone. His pillow is cold. And on the nightstand is a note, brief and to the point telling me he hopes I’m feeling better, that we’ll discuss the dream later and not to shower so as not to get the tattoo wet just yet.
I roll my eyes. I won’t be discussing that nightmare with him. I won’t discuss Christian with him. Or that night. Ever.
But then I remember how he held me. How gentle he was when I scratched bloody lines down his chest. Then again, maybe he deserved that considering what he’s done to my skin.
I get up and walk into the bathroom to look at the mark. Turning my back to the mirror, I crane my neck to see the reflection and gasp. The colorful tattoo spans the length of my spine. It’s narrow and more slender than the one on his back. Somehow more feminine. And although I can’t study the details just yet, it is beautiful. I can see that much. It’s still covered in plastic, so I leave it alone, wrapping a towel around myself and walk back into the bedroom to go to my own room. I use the adjoining door since I’m only wearing this towel. I don’t need Angelique to catch me taking my walk of shame.
But my gaze finds the once-white sheets and blanket covering the bed. I gasp. It’s stained with my blood, not to mention the other things. At the sight I feel sticky between my legs and hurry to take the bedding off the bed. Just as I’m rolling it into a ball a knock comes on the door before it opens. The housekeeper I’d met the other morning smiles after her surprise at finding me here.
“Good morning, Miss,” she says and shifts her gaze to what I’m doing.
“Good morning, Catherine, right?” I say, leaving the sheets and trying to stand there like I haven’t just been caught in the act of trying to hide my shame of last night.
“That’s right. And you don’t need to worry about that. I’ll take care of the washing. You just leave your things to me, too, all right?”
I hadn’t even thought of laundry. The day-to-day tasks of living. “Um, okay. Thanks. Is… Jericho home?”
“No, miss. He left a few hours ago.”
“Okay. Thanks. And please call me Isabelle.”
She smiles sweetly. “All right, Isabelle.”
“I’m going to go get dressed,” I say awkwardly and quickly head to my own room, feeling my face burn at the thought of what she’ll find when she unrolls those sheets.
Back in my room I wash myself carefully without getting the tattoo wet. Then dress in a pair of shorts and a loose-fitting top that will hide the tattoo but not irritate it. As I come out of the bathroom, I hear the buzzing of my phone. I hurry to where I have it hidden beneath my pillow. It’s silenced but the buzzing is enough to alert me and when I see who it is, I answer quickly.