“What do you mean?”
“Just that you may be better off here in this house than your half-brother’s.”
“I don’t understand. Why wouldn’t I be safe at my brother’s house? That doesn’t make any sense.”
He folds his arms across his chest. “He loved her very much, you know.”
I’m taken aback at this change and hearing him say the words somehow makes my stomach hurt even though I already knew it. Jericho loved Kimberly.
“Back to your earlier question. No one needs to blame him for her death. He does that all on his own.”
“Carlton didn’t kill her. He’s not capable—”
“You don’t know what your brother is capable of, Isabelle, and you being here, under our roof, it may be keeping you safer than you realize.”
“Your mother said something similar the night before the wedding. She said Jericho would protect me, and that I needed protecting. I’m sure you understand why I wouldn’t believe either of you though.”
“We’re not lying to you.”
“Well, you’re not telling me the whole truth either, are you?”
“Why are you here, Isabelle? Why have you come to me? You are my brother’s wife, not mine.”
“You said—”
“I said you could come to me if he hurts you. I didn’t say I’d gossip with you.”
“I’m not gossiping.”
“You should talk to Jericho. Ask him your questions.”
“Jericho hates me.”
“He may want to hate you, but he doesn’t.”
I’m confused by this but before I can think what to say, there’s a knock and the door opens. It’s Leontine. “Dinner’s ready. The girls are waiting.”
“We certainly don’t want that,” Ezekiel says and gestures for me to get up, our conversation over.
41
Jericho
Isabelle’s room is empty when I go to get her but when I hear a giggle from down the hall, I find her in my daughter’s room dressed in an indigo gown, hair twisted intricately on top of her head, her back fully exposed. Angelique is standing behind her, attention captured wholly by the dragon tattoo she’s tracing with her finger.
“It’s like daddy’s but smaller,” she says.
Neither of them has heard me and I stand in the shadow of the door watching.
“Can I have one too?” Angelique asks.
Isabelle closes the book on her lap and draws Angelique around. “If you want one when you’re older, that’ll be up to you, but you’re too young now. Besides, what would happen to it when you grow taller?”
“It would get all weird and stretched out,” Angelique says making claws out of her hands.
Isabelle mimics her and they cuddle. My mother has told me about the two growing closer and about Angelique’s reliance on Isabelle. Her affection for her. I’m not sure what I think about it, so I stand here and watch them together. Isabelle clearly cares for Angelique and it seems mutual.
“You look very pretty, Belle.”
Belle. She thinks Isabelle is one of her princesses. It grates on my nerves although I shouldn’t mind. Angelique comes alive around Isabelle in a way she doesn’t around anyone else. Her little fingers play over one of the twists of Isabelle’s hair.
“Thank you,” Isabelle says.
“Is your tummy better? You didn’t eat very much at dinner. Nana says you need to eat more.”
“I wasn’t too hungry,” Isabelle says. She reaches for something on the nightstand. When I realize what it is, something I hadn’t realized had been unpacked since we moved into the house, I tense up.
“Is this your mother?” Isabelle asks.
Angelique nods. “It’s what Nana tells me, but I don’t remember her.”
Something twists inside me.
“She was very pretty,” Isabelle says. “You look like her, you know that?”
Angelique shrugs a shoulder, not interested in the photo. “I want to look like you,” she says.
“What?” Isabelle asks.
“You’re my mommy now, so I want to look like you.”
“Angelique, I—”
“You’re married to my daddy. It makes you my mommy, Belle.”
I push the door open too hard and it bounces off the wall, startling them both. Isabelle’s eyes meet mine and the book on her lap slips to the floor as she stands.
“Oh no!” Angelique cries out and drops to her knees.
Isabelle and I remain staring at one another a moment longer before she, too, is on her knees. It’s one of Angelique’s many princess books and the pop-up castle has been bent.
I walk inside, take the book from them. The two get up.
“It’s broken!” Angelique says.
“I’m so sorry,” Isabelle tells her.
Angelique gives me an angry look but takes Isabelle’s hand sweetly. “It’s not your fault,” she says, and turns back to me.
It’s my fault then. My daughter has just chosen the side of the enemy over her own flesh and blood.
“I think we can fix it,” Isabelle says. “Look, it’s just bent. Should we try?”
“I’ll get you a new one,” I say, feeling strangely defensive and on the outside.
“I don’t want a new one. I want mine,” she says. This fight is with me, and I get the feeling she’s expressing feelings she has subconsciously been holding back.
“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I ask her sharply, too sharply. She’s in her pajamas and it’s almost nine o’clock.
“That was my fault,” Isabelle says when Angelique presses against her leg, both hands around one of Isabelle’s now. “I wanted to kiss her goodnight and I woke her up by accident.”
I look from my daughter to this invader in my house.
“Everything all right?” We all turn to find my brother standing at the door.
“Fine,” I say. Taking Isabelle by the arm, I walk her to the door. “See that Isabelle waits downstairs while I tuck my daughter in.”
Isabelle looks at me like she wants to tell me to fuck off but holds her tongue and it’s a good thing she does.
“Isabelle?” Zeke says.
“We can fix the book together tomorrow. If your daddy lets us, that is. Goodnight, sweetheart,” Isabelle says before spinning on her heel and walking out of the door right past my brother.
My hands fist, my jaw tenses.
“Why don’t I tuck Angelique in. I’m overdue reading her a bedtime story anyway,” Zeke says.
I nod, bend down to kiss Angelique on top of her head, but she doesn’t wrap her arms around my neck like she usually does. Instead, she folds them across her chest and makes a point of turning away, letting me know she’s angry.
“Go. You’re already late,” my brother says.
I gently lift my daughter’s chin up. “We’ll fix it tomorrow.”
She glares at me and I don’t know what else to do but leave. But the moment I’m out of her bedroom, anger returns.
I find Isabelle downstairs by the door, arms folded across her chest looking as petulant as Angelique.