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I squint at her suspiciously. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Mrs. Winthrop snorts. “I’m doing what needs to be done. I’m protecting the only son I’ve got left. Stay the hell away from him. I hear you’ve been working hard for spring auditions. It’d be a real shame if nobody even wanted to see you.”
“On what grounds?” I ask, trying to hide the desperation and fear in my voice. I fail completely. In fact, I sound like I’m about to burst into tears.
Mrs. Winthrop shrugs. “I can come up with a number of reasons. Sleeping with the campus doctor, for one. That’ll go over nicely with the more elite ballet companies. Trust me, I’ll come up with something. People will trust what I have to say.”
I’m going to be sick.
“So?” she presses on. “Do we have a deal? Stay away from my boy, and you’ll likely have a very long, successful career.”
I hold my breath until my lungs burn like fire.
The answer sits on the tip of my tongue.
I’m really going to be sick.
Chapter Seventeen
Nate
No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get ahold of her.
I know for a fact that she’s receiving my text messages because she’s leaving me on read.
She doesn’t answer my calls. I don’t even get a dial tone—it just goes straight through to voicemail.
Fuck.
I immediately go to work. I know Eve well enough to know she’ll be at the academy. Dance is her life. Even after this morning’s run-in with Mother, I’m confident she’ll be there.
Except she’s not.
I slip into Studio A and look around for her familiarly sweet face. I’m disappointed when I don’t find her. I do find Tom, however. As much as I hate the idea of talking to the guy, I need to find her no matter what.
I tap him on the shoulder. “Have you seen Eve?”
Tom’s brow crinkles with annoyance. “Oh. It’s you again.”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“No, I haven’t seen her. She called in sick.”
That’s got to be a lie.
“Sick?”
He nods his head curtly. “You heard it here first.”
“No, that’s—Do you know how I can get in touch with her?”
Tom shoots me a quizzical look. “It’s a little thing called a cellphone. Ever heard of it?”
I sigh in frustration. “Never mind. Go back to your prancing.”
I storm out into the hall and try calling her again.
One hundredth time’s the charm, right?
To my surprise, someone picks up on the third ring. “Eve!” I shout into the receiver. “Eve, listen–”
“She not here right now,” a thickly accented voice cuts me off.
“Mrs. Lee? Where’s Eve?”
“Sick. In bed. She don’t come out of room.”
“Mrs. Lee, I don’t mean to bother you, but could you please get her on the line? I have something important to say to her.”
“She sleep right now.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, the pressure throbbing behind my eyes growing unbearable. I get that Eve doesn’t want to see me right now, but it’s important that we at least have a chance to talk. What Mother did to her—yelling and hitting without abandon—wasn’t right. If I can just get her on the phone, then maybe I can make things a little better.
“Can you…” I sigh. “When she wakes up, will you please tell her to call me?”
“Okay, I will.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Lee.”
She hangs up quickly. I listen to the dead air.
The urge to put my fist through a wall is a strong one.
Pops is the one to answer the door. I’m glad to see he’s walking about, but I’m not here for him today.
“Hey, bud,” he greets, bushy brows raised in surprise. “Did we make plans?”
I brush past him and pat him on the shoulder. “Where’s Mother?”
“She’s drinking tea in the sunroom. Why?”
“We’re about to have words. I’d get your earplugs if I were you.”
“Uh oh,” Pops grumbles under his breath.
The sunroom is located at the back of the house. It used to be a regular old porch that led into the backyard, but Mother had some glass windows installed to enclose the space. Jacob was really into astronomy, so he’d set up his telescope inside the sunroom to watch the stars and the planets all night. Mother’s since turned the space into a bit of a greenhouse, with potted plants growing neatly in rows and dangling from baskets screwed into the ceiling.
Mother’s lounging on one of the wicker chairs, gazing out onto the backyard. The lawn’s perfectly manicured, not a weed in sight. She sees me approach out of the corner of her eye, but does little else except continue to sip at her tea.
“You have some nerve,” I say, my words low and dripping with anger.
Mother looks unfazed. “I was about to say the exact same thing to you.”
“Eve didn’t deserve that. She’s a good person.”
“What do you want from me, Nathanial?”
“I want you to apologize to her. Make this right.”
