Scarlett
Ican tell Sol’s trying not to laugh at my shocked expression and Ben’s staring at his brother like he’s grown a third head. Ignoring them both, I lightly squeeze Valérie’s hand, careful not to break the woman I thought was dead up until two seconds ago, only to have her squeeze the daylights out of mine.
“N-nice to meet you, Mrs. Bordeaux.”
She lets go and smiles warmly. “Please, call me Valérie.”
The Southern manners I’ve been around off and on my whole life buck against the request, but I nod once. “Yes, ma’am. Valérie, it is.”
She smiles softly before her eyes drift to her son behind me. “Solomon, thank you for the bouquet. It is so good to see you, dear. It’s been ages.”
Sol winces at her comment before kissing her on each cheek and giving her the most tender of smiles. “Good to see you, too, maman.”
I murmur out of the side of my mouth to Maggie, “I thought you said you come every Sunday?”
Maggie gives me a subtle nod before sighing and gazing at the Bordeaux family with sorrow in her dark-brown eyes.
“We do,” she finally answers with a quiver in her voice that makes tears burn my eyes.
Sol and Ben lead her to the bench across from the raised grave. The men listen to their mother in earnest while she tells them a story in reverent whispers, honoring the dead around us.
“Sweet, isn’t it? For the so-called Phantom of the French Quarter? Guess you know all about that now, don’t you?” Maggie asks me as she wipes a few glistening drops of sweat from her dark-brown skin and bounces Marie on her hip.
The toddler gives me a gummy grin, showing off two perfect dimples in her light-brown cheeks and the few tiny teeth she already has. Her jet-black curls are loose and less defined than her mother’s tight, voluminous ringlets, but her smile is all Maggie. And her eyes… they’re Bordeaux through and through. Her stunning twin midnight orbs stare at me, wide and curious.
I smile back at the little girl before glancing to the bench again. Sol holds his mother’s hands as if she’s made of glass, and murmurs something low, making her laugh.
“It is sweet… he is sweet,” I say slowly, just now admitting it out loud.
“At least to those he cares about,” Maggie offers, dragging my gaze away from the family and back to her. But she’s still looking at them, determination on her face. “God help anyone who hurts the woman Sol Bordeaux loves.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, but my question seems to snap her out of wherever she was. She shakes her head slightly and laughs.
“Sorry about that. Sometimes I just get caught up in my own thoughts.”
I huff a chuckle, but I’m dying to know what she’s thinking. She finally turns to me and steers me gently by the elbow, away from the Bordeauxs. Marie gnaws on the teething ring in her mother’s hand, not caring what we’re doing in the least.
“Hey, listen. I’m sorry about what happened on the stage the other day.” She grimaces before exhaling. “I was dealing with Monty’s—” She looks at Marie and mouths the word bullshit before continuing. “And then I walked in on y’all’s argument. I should’ve… done something. I didn’t know what to say at the time, though. I recognized Sol’s seal, but I hadn’t known he’d been writing you. It was a shock to see and I wasn’t sure how to play it, and I played it wrong. I’m sorry, girl.”
“Oh, um… thanks,” I reply, not sure how to respond.
It makes sense that she and Jaime didn’t stick up for me in front of everyone. They didn’t have all the facts. I don’t blame her, especially since she figured out it was Sol and Sol’s her brother-in-law, but it still hurts. I don’t know if anything but time will heal that.
And what was Jaime’s excuse?
The question whispers across my mind and I push it away. A sneaking suspicion is creeping across my thoughts that I don’t want to analyze just yet. Not here. Now that I’ve cracked the Bordeaux loyalty code, I can’t help but wonder… does Jaime work for him? Is he a shadow? If he is… how long has he been working for Sol?
Any of those answers terrify me because it means my best friend, the rock I’ve leaned on since my father died, could potentially just be a shadow, maybe even a spy, and not my friend at all—
Jaime’s accused me of sticking my head in the sand before, and I’m trying to be eyes wide open, but this is a lot to handle. In a cemetery, no less.
I try to change the subject, not ready to deal with real life just yet. “You mentioned Monty. How’s he doing?”
She rolls her eyes but a spark of excitement lights her face. “He’s fine. He didn’t have a scratch on him. But for the first time ever, he was true to his word. He actually quit. Miss Scarlett Day, you’re looking at your new director.”
My jaw drops, but I shake my head with a smile. “Oh my god, Maggie. That’s amazing!”
Ben shushes us from the bench and I cover my mouth, but Maggie just laughs. “It’s been a lot at once, but I’m happy. At first I was afraid people might think I only got the job because of Ben… but then I sat on the stage and imagined a full auditorium, standing with applause for my cast and my crew, and I thought fuck them—” She slams her hand over her mouth and looks at Marie who’s not paying us any attention before she whispers back to me. “Fuck them. I earned it so they can just get used to it.”
“Absolutely,” I agree.
“Oh, but speaking of favoritism.” She juts her chin to the Bordeaux family on the bench. “I’ll be doing another audition for the role as Marguerite in Faust. Just to make sure no one can say Jilliana only got it because of Monty, or that you only got it because of the Phantom. We’ll be doing this one the right way, from the jump. Auditions are tomorrow, so bring your A game.”
“You got it.” I smile, wondering if Sol will actually let me even go.
Do I care? I didn’t really want that part anyway…
The plan my father made for me has been tossed into the wind ever since I sang Juliet the other night. If I could play venues like Masque, just like my dad did right here in New Orleans, I’d be happy.
“And what about you? How are you doing lately?” She glances around and hushes her tone so that only I can hear her again. “I heard about what… happened.”
I startle for a second, trying to figure out what she’s talking about. She narrows her dark-brown eyes slightly before filling in the blank.
“Your… medication?”
“Sol told you about that?” My heart cracks at the betrayal, but she shakes her head.
“No honey, Ben did. Sol called him when he needed Dr. Portia to leave Valérie and come to you. She’s basically a live-in doctor. Runs her business in a shotgun house right down the road and comes to the family wing of the opera house anytime we need her. The good doctor has been getting called a lot lately, what with it being the anniversary and all. Valérie always has a hard go of it this time of year.”
My head is spinning, trying to keep up, and I blink as I try to piece all this info together. “Anniversary?”
Maggie nods and tries to tease Marie with the teething ring. “Yeah, of their father’s murder,” she says it so casually but when my eyes pop wide she stills.
“You didn’t know?” Her tight corkscrew curls bounce and Marie grabs several in her little fist. “I thought… since you were here…. Damn it, don’t mind me. Mom brain.” She chuckles nervously and tickles Marie’s belly until the little girl shrieks with happiness and sets her mom’s hair free from her tiny grasp.
“May I?” I ask, hoping to both coax more “mom brain” confessions and play with a sweet toddler. Being the only child of a traveling musician, I grew up always wanting a huge family and planning to have one of my own. Any chance I can get to hold a baby, I’m there.
“Oh, yeah, sure.” She passes Marie off to me and slouches as if it’s the first break she’s gotten in hours. Maybe it is. “She’s teething so if she’s a little drooly, just pretend it’s ’cause she likes you.”
I chuckle as Marie snatches my own hair. She tugs it hard and I try to keep a straight face like her mom did, but my scalp is way too tender. Maggie helps me by tickling her belly again and Marie erupts into giggles. Maggie and I still and glance around guiltily at the Bordeauxs while Marie goes back to her teething ring.
Ben is smiling at Maggie, like they’re in on a secret the rest of us aren’t. Mrs. Bordeaux is grinning wistfully and Sol, hell, the possessive heat in Sol’s midnight gaze makes my core clench.
“Oh please, don’t stop on our account,” Mrs. Bordeaux encourages. “Abraham loved to hear children’s laughter. Hearing his beautiful granddaughter would have been his greatest joy.”
“We’ll still try to keep the giggles to a minimum,” Maggie promises.
When the Bordeauxs go back to their conversation, my eyes catch Sol’s lingering on me and I have to fix my eyes on the ground, Marie, anything to avoid the absolutely sinful thoughts I’m having about him in this cemetery.
I glance back to Maggie, who’s doing her best to fan all three of us. Even though Maggie cut herself off earlier, I can’t get what she said out of my head.
“So… Mr. Bordeaux. He was… murdered?” I mouth the last word.
Maggie winces and nods. “It was when Ben was fifteen and stayed in Europe for spring break, well before he and I started dating. I was around though, because our families have been close since Prohibition.”
She darts her gaze to the Bordeauxs on the bench and lowers her voice to barely above a whisper. “In true Bordeaux fashion, they paid the coroner to report that his injuries were… self-inflicted. They never released that he’d been shot twice. In the heart and head.”
“What?” My brain short-circuits as my own nightmares cloud my vision, but Sol’s dad died nine years before mine did. There’s no way they’re linked, right?
I shake my wild conspiracy theories away and focus on the conversation. “That’s insane. Why would the coroner agree—”
“Because the Bordeauxs wanted to deliver their own punishment,” Maggie explains. “And Bordeaux justice—now the Phantom’s justice—is much scarier than anything the government can do. And everyone who knew Abraham, knew he wouldn’t leave his family to fend for themselves. The empire has been up to Ben and Sol ever since.”
I nod slowly, taking it all in. “And Mrs. Bordeaux… Valérie. What about her?”
Maggie sucks her teeth. “She has good days and bad days. Sundays are hit or miss, but if we don’t come, she gets very upset, so we take the risk. If I were her, all my days would be bad. Considering the fact that Ben was in Europe, she was the only one around when everything happened to Abraham and Sol—”
“Sol?” I interrupt, unable to stop myself. “What happened with Sol?”
Maggie’s eyes flare and she shakes her finger at me. “Nope. Not falling for it. Telling you about his dad is one thing, but telling you everything else that went down will only lead to trouble. Or at least, a very stern talking-to by my husband.”
Shit, so close.
A crash makes me jolt and Marie shrieks in my ear.
“Shit,” Maggie curses and gently scoops her daughter from my arms before we both turn to see Mrs. Bordeaux cursing and yelling at Mr. Bordeaux’s grave. Ben stands off to the side, his eyes wide and glassy, his hand covering his mouth while Sol tries to calm her with his deep, soothing voice.
“Ben has a hard time,” Maggie explains under her breath. “It’s why we bought Dr. Portia a French Quarter house. Sometimes we still have to call Sol to settle her down. He’s just better with her. It’s not always like this, though,” she reassures me. “Just bad days, like today.”
She leaves me and goes to Ben’s side to console him, leaving Sol by himself to soothe his mother. I take a ginger step forward… and another… and another, slowly gathering courage even though the wild madness in her eyes makes my stomach twist in knots.
“Scarlett, mon amour, can you please tell my mother about your role as Juliet? She loves opera.” Sol’s authoritative voice is still gentle to me, although he snaps at Ben right after. “Call for your car, brother.”
Ben nods and struggles to get out his phone.
I turn to Mrs. Bordeaux’s glazed eyes. “Mrs. Bordeaux, do you like Roméo et Juliette?” She blinks and shakes her head like she’s trying to stay present, so I continue. “My favorite aria is in Act 1. Do you, um… do you want to hear it?”
It’s clear by just looking in her eyes that the poor woman is fighting hard for her sanity, but she seems calmer at the line of questioning at least. Going with my gut, I sit next to her on the bench and begin to sing Je veux vivre under my breath.
Mrs. Bordeaux’s white-knuckled grip on Sol’s hand gains color again as her fingers loosen. Those unseeing eyes sharpen in focus. Once I get through the first verse, the madness has already seemed to clear and recognition filters through. Soon enough, she begins to hum with me, already knowing the melody.
I glance to Sol and my chest squeezes. Sweat prickles on his brow, from the sun or stress, I’m not sure. But his midnight gaze is fixed on me, and full of gratitude and sorrow. His jaw is set hard, as if he’s trying to stave off the emotions boiling just underneath the surface. One hand holds his mother’s while his free one stretches across the back of the bench and squeezes mine.
Together, Mrs. Bordeaux and I get through the entire song, and by the end she seems to be mostly back in good spirits. We talk at length about all things opera and her favorite shows she’s seen from her chair in box five. After several minutes, I start to relax but Sol’s grasp on my hand is still strong.
“The New French Opera House is my Abraham’s, you know. We met in Paris and he convinced me to come to the States with him by bragging about his own personal opera house. He hated the shows, but he’d still see every one of them with me. Now it’s my Solomon. He’ll sit with his maman.” She beams at Sol, and my heart skips at the love in her gaze.
He tries to catch her before she pats the mask side of his face, but she makes contact anyway. Her hand suddenly spasms and she begins to whisper under her breath to him.
His grip on my hand disappears.
“Scarlett, go with Maggie.”
“What?” My eyes dart to Maggie and Ben. They look just as bewildered as I feel, but when I return my gaze to Sol’s, he’s focused on his mother. His hands wrap around hers, as if he’s preparing to stop her from fleeing. Then I hear it…
That sweet encouragement I thought she was sharing with Sol, is now harsh, unintelligible muttering.
“Maman, you’re okay—”
“It’s their fault,” she hisses. Spittle collects on her trembling bottom lip as she stares off into space. “He would be alive if it weren’t for them, I know it.”
“Who are you talking about, Mrs. Bor—Valérie?”
“Mon amour, please go—”
“And what they did to you, mon pauvre fils. Solomon… you would be different. Your face—”
“Maman, c’est assez. That’s enough,” Sol scolds quietly but she twists to face me again while her voice rises in pitch.
“H-He was here for holiday. Homesick. He should’ve stayed with his brother. It all changed—”
“Maman!” Letting go of her hands, he immediately cups her face to get her to look at him. He speaks French in his low, comforting bass as he tries to catch her frantic gaze.
Her wide eyes narrow, and for a split second I think she’s going to calm down again, but she rears back and slaps his face. The mask side.
I glimpse red skin before he twists away from us both. Valérie screeches, looking as if she’s fighting with herself over being horrified, or maybe even sorry, but it’s all in French, so I have no idea what she’s saying.
Maggie curses and pastes a saccharine smile on her face to comfort her teary child. “Marie, let’s go see your great-great-great-great grandma, ’kay?”
Maggie scurries farther into the depths of the cemetery, and I stand awkwardly, at a loss of what to do. Ben seems to finally snap out of it as his brother rights his mask. My gaze darts anywhere but on Sol, trying to give him privacy.
When he’s finished, the Bordeaux sons lead their mother in a practiced, solemn march as they carefully escort her out of the cemetery. Ben holds one of her arms, while Sol holds the other and presses his mask against his face with his free hand. Despite everything, Sol faintly sings “La Vie en rose” in French, the same song Mrs. Bordeaux was singing when we walked up, and she visibly relaxes against him.
My feet are lead as I follow slowly behind them, my heart breaking for the pain Sol bears every time his mother is around, never knowing what the day—or even the next moment—will be like. The knots in my stomach writhe like snakes and I feel as if I’m going to be sick. Unable to take it anymore, I lean against one of the tall wrought iron gates surrounding the raised tombs, not caring that the sun has heated it like a fire poker. I welcome the distraction, even though it burns.
A rustling behind me catches my attention.
“Holy shit. Lettie? Is that you?”
