Page 12 of Protecting His Finch

She closes my sketchbook and puts it down on the desk. She removes her feet from my chair and motions me into it.

I sit. She twists my chair so my back is toward her, and I feel the tug at my scalp as she removes bobby pins from my hair, one right after the other, setting them down on my desk.

“I’m so sorry I missed your party,” she says. “I had business to attend to.”

“I understand.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

The bobby pins are stacking up. I can’t help it. My OCD twitches, and my fingers begin to rearrange the bobby pins, carefully moving them side by side like matchsticks in a neat little row.

Once the pins are gone, Catherine picks up the comb and drags it through my hair. With every pass of the brush, I want to die a little more.

She watches me in the mirror. “Raphael told me about his little announcement. Well?”

I force a smile.

“It’s amazing. I’m very grateful.”

She moves her hand through my hair, and her thumbnail grazes my hairline fondly, right above my ear. “My son and my finch,” she says. “I can’t imagine a better pairing.”

“Thank you, Mama.”

Her eyes light up at that. She’s always thrilled when I call her Mama. It’s the best way to get on her good side.

Satisfied, she sets the comb down. Her hand rests on my shoulder, and she presses a small kiss to the top of my head.

“Happy birthday, darling,” she says. “Tomorrow, we’ll plan. Tonight, get some rest.”

“Good night.”

Catherine turns, and her long nails trail across my shoulders like spider legs before she leaves, quietly closing the door behind her.

For a while, I don’t move. I’m stuck in my spot, still holding my breath.

I don’t recognize the eyes of the woman in the mirror. They’re empty, like the glass eyes of a taxidermied animal.

I pick up a bobby pin and push it against my palm. The little pinch of pain is enough to make me gasp, and finally, I can breathe again.

9

ARCHER

Jacobi and I catch up in the foyer. We stand side by side, hands clasped in front of us, staring out the decorative glass windows as the limo’s headlights swipe through and then vanish into the dark again.

“How was the party?” Jacobi asks.

I fill him in. “Fine. Until Raphael proposed to Finley.”

“I heard.”

I glance at him. “So you knew.” He shrugs. “You could have warned me.”

“Would it have made a difference?”

I say nothing. I frown.

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