8. Isolde #2
“Sammie would—”
“Don’t.”
He ignores me. “Sammie would want you to—”
“You don’t have to keep doing that. You don’t have to keep acting like I’m your responsibility because you have some misguided loyalty to my dead sister.”
Sometimes, I think the both of us would have been better off if we’d parted ways long ago.
“You were good to my sister, but we both know the truth. After Oxford, you and Sammie would’ve never been together.”
His life had always led back to New York. Sammie wanted to give London a try. She’d been debating about grad school. Their relationship was never strong enough to withstand the Atlantic Ocean.
“You didn’t love my sister,” I say, my skin heating the more I talk. “You don’t have to pretend like you care about me.”
Hadrian is too respectable to snort. Bitter amusement lines his face before freezing into scornful fury.
“I didn’t love your sister,” he agrees. Hearing him say it twists my heart in a way I don’t want to feel. “I think you’re an annoying shit most of the time, Isolde. But I always help you, don’t I?”
“Only because you need an excuse to ignore all the ways you need help.”
I don’t like the smile he responds with. “It’s always a pleasure hanging out with you, Isolde.”
I’ve stood up before he can finish the sentence.
A burst of activity helps me hide. Abe has started a fire in the kitchen. A group arrives, while another leaves.
But it’s still not enough, because Tristan meets my eye. I look away, but I know from the way his muscles tense he’s about to stand.
I duck through the swinging door that leads to the kitchen.
Used to seeing me in the kitchen, the small staff doesn’t bat an eye.
Ren uses the front door, but I like slipping in through the alleyway.
That’s where I’m headed when I make the split decision to head into the storage room.
I’m standing there like an idiot next to a stockpile of soy sauce when I feel movement behind me.
Squeezing my eyes shut, the last thing I need is the Ghost seeing me cry.
Jane pulls me into a hug, her presence bringing forth hot tears. I suck them back as quick as I can, but I know it’s an ugly cry. My face squished up, the water running down my cheeks.
The older woman says nothing, just holding me.
It’s been over four years since I’ve seen my mum. She’d stopped hugging me years before that.
Jane runs a hand down my back, not even needing words. If there was anybody who would yell at Hadrian on my behalf, it’s her; the Hallows and their money be damned.
“I’m okay.” I wipe the tears away. My eyes burn when I reopen them. “I’m okay.”
“Why did you not stay home and rest?” Jane chides. It’s the gentle tone of her voice that brings another swell to my chest. “Abe told me you were injured.”
I shake my head, stepping back. “No, it’s fine.”
Jane levels me with a motherly look but doesn’t argue. “You barely ate. Let me get you something else.”
“I’m all right, really.”
When I step out of the supply closet, Abe’s dad is just on the other side. He offers me two bowls of ice cream, along with his signature toothy grin.
“Thank you.” It’s directed to him and his wife.
I slip back through the swinging door. Ben picks up whatever he’s working on, tucking it under his arm, and heads to his boyfriend.
I’m confused to find Tristan at the front door, acting as hostess. But when I see Jane heading to him, relief unknots in my chest, grateful the woman distracted him.
I hand Ren a bowl of ice cream, her mouth dropping open. She snaps it closed a second later as if remembering she won’t be bribed with sweet treats.
“Abe’s dad gave it to us.” Which means any lecture Abe might be inclined to give us is void.
Ren pushes her planner away, the edges of the paper wrinkled from use. She settles back in her seat. I pretend her wariness doesn’t chip at my defenses.
At least she takes a bite of the ice cream, her cheeks puffing out.
For a few minutes we’re just two friends sitting in a restaurant eating dessert.
It comes as no surprise that I don’t know what to say to her. Until I catch sight of Tristan leading a couple to a table.
“He took me to a gym today.”
Ren lurches, her spoon stabbing the melting vanilla ice cream. “What?”
I take a tiny bite of ice cream, licking the spoon and shrugging.
“Isolde, you don’t have to work out with him,” Ren says, completely serious.
It’s said in the same tone as ‘You don’t have to go home with him just because he bought you a drink.’
“Did you remind him you’d almost been shot?” I’m worried we’ll veer into territory we shouldn’t go back to, but Ren is worked up now. “Kale smoothies are one thing, but that’s out of line. You’re the client. Your schedule dictates the day, not his. Taking you to go work out.”
She gobbles up more ice cream, incensed on my behalf.
“It was all right. Adeline was there.”
Ren wrinkles her nose, realizing two of her friends had the audacity to consider exercising.
“Look, I’m sorry,” I say it before I can back out, focusing on my spoon as I scoop up more ice cream. “About this morning. I shouldn’t have shouted at you.”
Ren pulls a leg up on her booth, trying to get comfortable. “Will you take some time to think about the job offer?”
She catches my face, and holds me off. “Seriously, just think about it. Let it marinate before you turn me down.”
“I don’t want to change jobs.”
“Because you love it or because you’re a creature of habit?”
I pause mid-bite.
“Just think about it,” Ren makes me promise.
We finish the dredges of our ice cream.
“I’ve never wanted to be pushy or nosy,” she says quietly. “But now you’ve got some guy after you.”
“Yeah.” I don’t mean for it to sound glib. I see what she’s saying.
“I want to help.”
This time I say nothing. She probably thinks she still hired me a bodyguard. There’s no need to correct her.
“Is Hadrian helping?” Ren sounds shy for once.
You’re an annoying shit most of the time, Isolde. But I always help you, don’t I?
Except I don’t want his help.
Ren rubs her lips together, looking off before facing me again. It’s when I realize how tired she is. “You ever seen those pretty jewelry boxes? The ones where you open them up and a ballerina is spinning and music plays.”
I nod.
“That’s how I think of your mind.”
Is she comparing me to a ballerina going in circles and circles, getting nowhere?
“It’s like a treasure box,” Ren explains. “You’ve got all this beauty you keep hidden.”
More like monsters.
“I’ve known you all these years and it’s like you don’t want anyone to hear that music.”
As if to prove her point, I stay silent.
“You don’t have to talk to me,” Ren says, her voice more neutral than I’ve heard it before. She leans her elbows on the table, people watching. “You know Tristan gave me some really good advice when he was my bodyguard.”
Jane now has Tristan rolling up napkins.
“I thought asking for help was a weakness. It’s not. And sometimes it doesn’t even mean you’re looking for a superhero to save you. Just talking it out can help.”
I think of all the shifting, entangled weights on my chest. If I could just sort them out, maybe I wouldn’t feel so bad. But how can I voice all the things in my head when I can hardly make sense of them myself.