They’re well matched. Same height, built about the same. Jericho’s angrier, though. But Ezekiel, in his casual manner, leans toward his brother in a way that says he’s not afraid of him.
“Relax, brother. She’s yours,” Ezekiel finally says.
“Remember it.”
A moment passes between them, and I wonder at this exchange. It’s charged, wrought with tension, and my mind wanders to Angelique’s mother.
“I never forgot it. I don’t forget much, in fact.” Ezekiel turns to me. Smiles. “What I said stands, Isabelle.”
He leaves before I have to respond, thank goodness because I have no idea what I’d say.
Jericho comes to stand behind my chair and in response, every hair on my body rises on end.
“What did he say?”
“I don’t remember.”
“No?”
I keep my eyes on the table and shake my head.
He leans down, bringing his face to the crook of my neck, sending a shudder down my spine.
“Did he touch you?” he asks, words a whisper.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” My voice is a squeak.
“Because you’re mine. Do you understand that Isabelle?”
I turn my head just enough to see his eyes.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” He turns his face, closes his mouth over my pulse. When he draws away, I shiver. “Because if anyone touches you, I will cut off their hands.”
I gasp and he pulls back. I look at him, shocked at his words, at the violence of them.
“Finish eating and then go put on your bikini,” he says. “I want you at the pool.”
“He didn’t mean anything.”
“Didn’t he?” He reaches over me to snag a piece of bacon from one of the serving dishes. “You don’t know our history, Isabelle. You just stay away from him.”
“We have lemonade!” Angelique announces from around the corner and holds up a thermos.
Jericho doesn’t take his eyes from mine. “Good. I’m thirsty,” he says. He sticks the bacon into his mouth, picks up my napkin to wipe his fingers and drops it on the table before turning to his daughter and walking out of the dining room like a whole different man. Not the one who just threatened to cut off his brother’s hands. Not the one who did what he did to me last night.
The sight of it leaves me wondering which of them is the real Jericho St. James.
37
Isabelle
He is a different man with her. I watch them in the pool but keep to the side, dipping my feet in and looking after Baby Bear. They’re splashing and laughing. He pretends to be a shark and she squeals with laughter when he bites her toes. He teaches her to float on her back. Teaches her to doggy paddle. Tells her she’s never allowed in the pool alone.
They’re having fun. It’s the strangest thing to see. And the sweetest. So at odds with the man of just moments ago. The one who threatened violence to anyone who laid a hand on me. I can’t reconcile the two very different sides of this man.
Angelique adores her father. Shines under his attention.
“Isabelle,” Jericho calls from across the pool.
I raise my eyebrows.
“Get in the water.”
Setting Baby Bear aside, I slip into the pool and swim toward them.
“Watch, Isabelle!” Angelique says and I stop a few feet from her. Jericho reluctantly releases her and for a moment, she goes under, but her head pops back up in a heartbeat and she’s smiling and paddling toward me.
“Wow!” I clap my hands and reach out my arms to catch her. She can only manage a couple of moments but it’s a great start. We send her back and forth between us a few times until she tires out just as Leontine walks out toward us, a warm smile on her face.
“Well, look at you,” she says to Angelique who is beaming.
“I can swim, Nana!”
“I see that,” Leontine says, unwrapping the little yellow towel that matches Angelique’s bathing suit. “Maybe your daddy will take you swimming again later but for now, we need to get you bathed and ready for your lesson. Mrs. Strand will be here soon.”
Angelique deflates at the mention of the woman’s name. “I don’t want her.”
“She’s your teacher. Don’t be silly,” Leontine says.
“Why can’t I go to school like Nina?”
Jericho’s expression darkens but before he has to answer, Leontine does.
“Come Angelique. Catherine made you a snack and there’s going to be cake for you and Nina later. We’d better hurry.”
She pouts but Jericho carries her to the stairs where he climbs out and hands her over to be wrapped up in her towel and lifted up by Leontine.
“I don’t like her,” Angelique mumbles. “She’s not nice.”
“Now, she’s fine. You just have to get used to each other,” Leontine says as Jericho wraps a towel around his hips and watches them.
I walk to the edge of the pool and haul myself up. “Don’t forget Baby Bear,” I tell Angelique.
“Will you come too?” she asks me, taking the bear.
Although I’m not sure Mrs. Strand will like that I nod because from my brief meeting with the woman, I am on Angelique’s side. I don’t like her much either. “I’ll come after I shower.”
“Okay,” she says and lets Leontine walk her away. I don’t miss the look Leontine gives me.
Jericho turns to me, eyes sweeping over me. I’m wearing one of the bikinis I found in the dresser. I wonder if he chose it for me. I pick up a towel and wrap it around myself, flushing when his eyes meet mine again.
“You saw the woman?”
“Briefly.”
“How is she?”
“I don’t know.”
“First impression.”
“You’re asking my opinion?”
“I think you have my daughter’s best interest at heart regardless of how you feel about me.”
Well, that is true. “I really only spent a few minutes in the lesson.”
“And?”
“Angelique is very sensitive, and Mrs. Strand may not be used to that.”
“You don’t like her.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to. She thinks you’re going to give her music lessons.”
I smile nervously.
“Did you tell her that?”
“I guess. Maybe I told her I’d show her.”
“Hm. If I need to hire a music teacher—”
“I can do it. Teach her some basics.”
“I haven’t heard you play.”
I study him for a moment. “I’m not in the right headspace I guess. Considering.”
He draws in a long breath and exhales. But when he opens his mouth to say something, Dex walks out, and he stops. He glances at me then to Jericho. “I have that information you wanted.”
Jericho holds his gaze and nods. “Let me get showered.”
Dex returns to the house and Jericho puts a hand at my back to walk me upstairs. “If you want me to consider resuming your violin lessons, you’ll teach my daughter. You figure out your headspace whatever the fuck that means,” he tells me as we head to his bedroom.