Page 108 of Total Exposure

For the next ten minutes I just stare at myself in the mirror, amazed at how different I look. How well I have grown up. How beautiful I am, even without the violin.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” I ask the camera above the bed. “I think I’m going to like you, Ix. When I finally meet you properly. I think I’m going to like you a lot.”

The door chime pulls me away from my own reflection. I put the coat on, fasten the wide belt at my waist, pull the gloves over my hands, put on my sunglasses, and walk downstairs, ready for this day to begin.

The driver is at the door wearing a dark suit and dark sunglasses. He says, “Good morning, ma’am,” as he extends his forearm.

I take it. Unafraid. And let him walk me to the car, open my door, and hold my hand as I slip into the backseat that smells like rich leather and honey.

There’s tea set on the console between the two luxurious leather seats. A small pot made of white china. One cup. A tiny dish filled with golden honey and an equally tiny honey dipper sits off to the side.

I decide why not indulge? It’s been so long since I had this kind of luxury in my life. Luxury I could afford to enjoy. Luxury I felt I deserved.

So I pour a cup of tea, drip long viscous strands of honey into the amber liquid, and sip, fully content in the stillness of the smooth ride as we make our way through downtown.

We stop and I look out, surprised. “Where are we?” I ask the driver.

“This was the destination, ma’am.” He gets out, opens my door, and holds out his hand to help me out. He says, “I was told to give you this note.”

For some reason the small, folded piece of white paper in his hand makes my stomach clench up with fear. “What does it say?” I ask.

“I don’t know, ma’am.” I take it, and he says, “The car will be here when you’re ready to leave.”

I look up and realize we’re parked in front of what might be a hotel valet area. There’s a large revolving door, but no sign above. It looks… empty. “Is this—“

“No, ma’am,” the driver says. “There.” He points to the shop next door that does have a sign, which reads The Tea Room. And then he bows his head a little and walks back around to the driver’s side and gets into the car.

I’m alone. Again. And I don’t like it.

Hesitantly, I open the folded note and read.

Evangeline,

Go into the tea room and tell the hostess you’re looking for Jordan Wells. She’ll tell where to go next.

Ix

I don’t think I want to do this. Something inside me is screaming, No! A gut feeling that whatever is waiting for me inside that shop, it’s not what I’m looking for.

But I came all this way. All the way from frightened girl to confident woman, and I don’t want to run away now. I don’t want my future to slip through my fingertips. I don’t want to go back into the past.

So I draw in a deep breath, walk over to the door, open it up, and step into the tea room.

Inside it’s quaint. Lots of tables, mostly full of chatting women sitting in overstuffed chairs. It’s bright—far brighter than any room I’d have been caught alive in one week ago—and smells delicious. Like fresh baked goods and summer afternoons.

“Ms. Rolaine?”

I turn my head to find a tall woman with long, dark hair—about my age—looking at me with an air of familiarity. “Yes,” I say. “I’m Evangeline Rolaine.”

I don’t think I’ve introduced myself to anyone in public since I was fourteen. Managing it excites me, because it’s a huge step forward. But it also scares me. Why does she know my name?

“They’re waiting for you back here.” She smiles and turns, her long hair swishing from the quick movement.

“They?” I ask, but she’s steps ahead of me now, so I feel like the only thing I can do is follow.

I’m very glad Ix left me the sunglasses, and I’m also extremely happy that they’re not the large, dark, round ones I used to wear, because these don’t look like sunglasses you have to take off indoors and those did.

I leave them on as I maneuver my way through tables and people, until we reach a set of double doors at the back.