He pulls a latch behind one of the paintings. The bed folds up and fits securely into an indention in the wall, revealing a trapdoor in the floor. He lifts it open. A scent of greenery and feathers drifts up.
“Please, come.” Even with his back turned, his deep gravelly request is a sweet enticement. “I want to give you at least one beautiful memory, before we face Erik.” With the violin case clamped under an arm, he climbs down the rungs of a ladder, his head disappearing.
The sound of fluttering wings and trilling birdsongs makes me curious enough to place his cloak and my tote on the empty chair, taking time to put his unopened toe socks in my sweater pocket before I follow. Etalon’s waiting at the bottom of the ladder. He catches my waist and lifts me down when I almost lose my footing trying to take it all in.
The aviary is an underwater greenhouse, at least three times the size of Jippetto’s cottage. Overhead, a tall glass roof reveals the river’s currents sweeping over us. The walls flash with fluid reflections. Assorted pots of fragrant flowers and greenery, even small trees, hedge a grassy path. Silhouettes of birds flutter through the leaves and branches, responding to Jippetto’s voice somewhere in the distance.
Crickets chirp in the shadows, and tiny glowing balls—smaller than a candle’s flame—slide through the moonlight on a gentle breeze stirred by fans in the walls. The sparkles take me back to my childhood, evenings spent in the dark with Mom and Dad catching—
“Fireflies,” I whisper, entranced.
“You see, I do eventually set them free to grow and fly.” Etalon’s voice borders on flirty, and his hand finds my lower back. A thrill races through me at his touch.
I glance upward at the currents swirling across the roof again. A small school of fish swims across—graceful, sleek silhouettes. I turn to him. “It’s the first time I’ve ever been surrounded by water without feeling suffocated.”
He tilts his head in response. “This was built back when the opera house was first constructed centuries ago, before the river flooded to cause the island effect. But they used such thick panels of glass for the roof, even once it became submerged, it withstood. And the depths are only three feet overhead. So it still allows for sunlight during the day and moonbeams at night. I come here a lot to compose. During many of our dream-visions, I was in this place. So, I wanted the first time I played for you—face-to-face—to be under the water-drenched moon.”
Before I can even react to the beautiful sentiment, Jippetto appears from behind a bush. I say “hi,” and he nods to me, stroking his beard. He points to the violin case and shrugs.
“Oui, I’m going to play,” Etalon answers.
Jippetto shakes his head, scolding, then tugs at his flannel shirt and kicks up his dirty boots before shaking a finger in Etalon’s direction.
Etalon smiles. “Of course. I’ll leave my shirt and shoes on this time. I’m in the presence of a lady, after all.”
I smile. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ll show you one day,” Etalon teases—although there’s a faint aura of desire around him that when paired with the huskiness of his voice offers a promise of something scandalous and somber.
I have to drag my eyes from his or be swept away by my racing heartbeat.
Jippetto winks, then mimes drinking from a cup. He climbs the ladder, vanishes into his cottage, and lowers the trapdoor. There’s a handle in the middle, for when we’re ready to leave.
I’ve never seen the caretaker so settled. So . . . normal. And happy.
It’s this place. It has to be, because it’s making me feel the same. The life-force brims to overflowing here. If I try hard enough, I can almost see the pink and white auras around the flowers, insects, and birds. Pure, positive energy.
That’s why Etalon brought me down. To give me a chance to breathe before the nightmare of facing his father begins.
Etalon leads me to a bench beneath a fragrant cove of lilac—flowers that should be out of season, yet are alive and thriving here in this glass sanctuary where the outside elements hold no sway. My escort takes a seat first, laying the violin at his feet to leave room for me beside him.
Instead, I kneel between his legs. My sweater rides up on my thighs and the grass tickles my knees through the rips in my jeans. I look up into his face—the one he’s always hidden behind a mask; the one that I knew even before I saw it. “You asked me to forgive you. And I do. Erik has manipulated you since you were a child. And I know how much that hurts because he’s family. But you have me now. I promise not to take you for granted, or use you.”