Emil had slowly taken his pistol from his side holster and held the barrel to my forehead. The gunmetal was cold against my skin. I didn’t move as I gazed into his hooded blue eyes. My aunt beside me was aflutter, sputtering and gasping in her consternation. I barely heard her shrieks, my only thought in that moment was that I’d never see Nicolas’ beautiful brown eyes again or his boyish grin.
With Emil’s eyes still on me, his arm pivoted, removing the gun from my head to point it at my aunt beside me. The sound of the shot had made me flinch. My eyes strayed from his to my aunt’s body in the gutter. Blood had exploded onto the faces of the women who had been behind my aunt. They were all wailing now, screaming in terror, but I could hardly hear them as the shot had deafened me. I didn’t make a sound. I just stood there in shock, wondering numbly how that could happen. Emil took off his officer jacket and wrapped it gently around my shoulders as I trembled. He then pulled my wedding ring from my finger and tossed it upon the body of my aunt. “You are mine now,” he had said before he led me away to his waiting car.
“Is a ghost whispering in your ear?” Emil asks me now. He touches my cheek gently. “You’ve gone quite pale.”
“I was just on my way to Olympia to see if they have any more of the jam you like. We’ve run completely out, and I thought you might want it for the journey,” I lie.
He has a faraway look. “You’re just as you were on the morning I found you—so pale—so beautiful. Has it really been more than two years ago?”
“Almost two and a half,” I murmur.
“The needle in the hay, that’s what you were, Simone, and I found you.”
“I hardly remember that day,” I lie. It’s etched in my brain. I have nightmares of it often.
Emil smiles at me now in admiration as he had then. “Nothing breaks your heart. You’re bulletproof. You’re like me—we both keep so many secrets.”
“If I don’t go now, it will be closed.”
My excuse to meet Xavier slips away from me the moment I see his scowl. “I don’t want your French jam. It will taste like the bitterest defeat now. I’ll never eat it again.” He watches me for a moment. His thumb comes up to trace my lips. I drop my chin. He lifts the silver wolf head of his cane beneath my chin, raising it so that he can see my eyes. “Do you know what I want?” he asks.
“No.”
“I’d like a kiss.”
I show no emotion as I lift my lips to his cheek and press them lightly against his skin. As I pull away, my eyes meet his.”
“You belong to me, Simone. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
He touches the lace of my collar, admiring the fine detail of the day dress he chose for me. “Good. Come, I want to hear you play while the staff packs.” He takes my hand and leads me back toward the grandeur of the main house. I don’t resist. Entering through the kitchen, I nearly stumble to a halt as I see the blood-spattered wall and lifeless body of Tomas, the head chef, near the cast iron stove. Emil’s hand gestures toward the blood pooling on the floor. “Tomas cannot come with us to our next location. I will miss him; I enjoyed his soufflé.”
I avert my eyes at once. Death is a regular occurrence here. I had thought Tomas had a better chance than most of surviving the German occupation. I was wrong.
Emil leads me to the music room. He opens the enormous doors, spreads them wide, and allows me to enter before him. The room is arranged with opulent furniture: centuries old carved mahogany chairs, gold silk-covered sofas, and a light-blue, silk tufted settee among others. Most of the artwork that had adorned this space has been removed, shipped to the Fatherland to be hoarded by relatives of the officers who reside here. Large, discolored patches of plaster remain as a testament to where they had been.
We cross the immaculate blue and gold carpet to the black-stained bench placed in front of the piano of the same hue. All of the silver frames near the piano have images of the family who had once lived here. I don’t know what happened to them, but they’re richer by far for not having to remain.
As I settle on the bench, I lift my eyes to Emil’s blue ones. The strawberry-blond highlights in his hair shine in the waning sun from the window as he doffs his officer’s cap. “What would you like to hear?” I ask.
“Play Johann Pachelbel’s ‘Canon in D,’” Emil smiles. He drops his cap on the chair near us.
I remove my white gloves and take my hat from my hair, placing the gloves inside of it. Emil takes them from me and puts them on the chair beside his. As I rest my fingertips on the smooth ivory keys, gunshots explode from the floors above. My eyes rise to look at the ceiling, hearing the violent, high-pitched screams of women’s voices and the heavy pounding of running feet. “It’s just a bit of housekeeping, Simone. The staff cannot come with us; we have to be sure they won’t see something that they shouldn’t. I’ve given orders that they be...retired.” His hand rests heavily on my shoulder.
“You’ll kill them all?” I choke on the words.