by Ava Claire
“She had this goldfish that she loved more than anything in the world,” I continued, pretending I was oblivious to the darts that Angelique was hurling right at my head.
“Aw, a pet fish,” Alicia cooed like it was the cutest thing. She perched her chin on her palm and narrowed her gaze at Angelique like she was trying to picture it, but couldn’t quite get there. “You seem like more of a poodle person.”
“Oh, I’m sure her father never would have allowed something so frivolous,” I said with a sigh. I dropped my eyes to my lap, shaking my head like a true travesty had been committed. “He flushed that dead fish right down the toilet. Like it meant nothing at all. Like Angelique meant nothing at all.” I twisted my mouth to the side. “To be honest, I’m surprised that he gave you the authority to run this little operation in the first place.” I snapped my fingers, remembering her exchange with Soren. “According to Soren, you were already off script by letting us see Jacob in the first place-”
“You think that lumbering oaf knows anything?!” Angelique shrilled. “I am in charge here.” To prove her point, she angrily tapped the rim of her glass, despite the fact it was half full. It was her rude way of saying that she needed more booze. “L’idiot! Refill!”
The gray haired woman looked terrified of us all but from the way she hustled over to replenish Angelique’s glass, she was decidedly more afraid of her.
Gun or not, Alicia definitely wasn’t afraid. Well, that, or she was the best actress in the room. “I’m not sure how they do things at the Eichmann household, but my staff are trained to wait for prompting to replenish glasses. Otherwise, we’d all be alcoholics.”
“Well, they do things a little differently in Europe, right Angelique?” Jacob eased back into the conversation, smooth as sin, folding his hands behind his head. “None of this 21 years old to partake nonsense. Tough love in the household, etcetera.”
“Tough love?” I chimed in, shuddering like I was being plagued by images of Eichmann’s likely brutal brand of parenting. “I don’t think there was too much love going on. Or trust, considering he didn’t even trust his adult daughter, who was savvy enough to trick me, to handle all of us.”
All the color drained from Angelique’s face, her voice hoarse with all the things she wanted to say, to scream at us. “Of course my father trusts me!”
“Right,” I said gingerly, folding my hands back in my lap. “That’s why there’s all the muscle. Just in case.”
I planted the seeds and hoped it wasn’t as obvious as it seemed to me. It was clear that Angelique Entoine was no idiot. And all it took was a bullet for her to remind us that she had all the control. All the power. The gun was right beside her, after all. Nestled next to her plate like it was standard operating procedure when it came to setting a table.
I felt the silence swallow up the room and a part of me wanted to look to Jacob, heck, even Alicia, for confirmation that I hadn’t gone too far. But exchanging glances would tip the scales to Leila’s Epic Plan Goes Kaput. So I waited, watching as Angelique’s pearlescent skin turned deathly pale, her eyes glowing with something I couldn’t quite nail down.
A few moments ago, I had a thesaurus worthy list of options: furious, angry, disgusted, infuriated, triumphant, jubilated, content. Clinging to the fact that she thought she had all of us right where she wanted. Now it was like she’d taken a page from the Whitmore Book of Hiding How You Really Feel. Like she pulled the tablecloth over her head and I was left to wonder, what now?
Angelique’s eyelashes fluttered, her mouth slowly opening and closing like she was being roused from some dream. Her eyes centered on me and my stomach dropped, expecting her to tell me that she knew exactly what I was doing. Instead, she sat up a little taller in her seat.
“Marco! Tomás! Soren!” she screeched at the top of her lungs.
My hands flew to my ears just as the sound of shoes and muscle thundered down the hall.
Marco and Soren were the first to appear. I felt Jacob’s fury coming off him in waves at the sight of Soren, reliving those awful moments from the room. I squeezed his knee, trying to tell him that it would be okay. That it was almost over...even if I had no idea what Angelique was about to say.
She broke eye contact with me, counting off the two men and frowning when she realized she was down one. “Where’s Tomás?”
“Right here, boss.” The edge of his tone told me that he respected her the least. And just when I thought he couldn’t get more disgusting, he outdid himself. The sound of him zipping his fly filled in the blank space, making me want to grab the closest steak knife and cut off something he would miss. “Time to eat?”
“Don’t touch anything,” Angelique snapped as he reached for a chair. She raised her chin.“It’s time for you to leave.”
The three men glanced at each other, confusion sweeping across their fierce faces.
“Leave?” Tomás repeated, stretching the word out like he was giving her time to clarify or change her mind.
“I know English is your second language, but I think everyone in the room heard me.” Just to make sure, Angelique whipped her head back to us, starting with Alicia. “Maman, what did I say?”
Alicia couldn’t help herself, beaming with delight as she looked right at Tomás and said, “It’s time for you to leave.”
Angelique shifted to Jacob. “What did you hear, Mr. Whitmore?”
Jacob looked right through the men, his voice a rumbling storm that would kill them all. “It’s time to leave.”
Angelique’s show of power wasn’t done. “Lay?”
Jacob bristled beside me at her word choice. Even I had to dig my nails into my palm to hold back the urge to tell her to never call me that again. I cursed Soren, Marco, and Tomás instead, glaring each one down before I finally answered. “She said it’s time for you to leave.”
Once the words fell from my lips and Angelique turned her attention back to her glass of wine, I fought to not smile and give it all away.
She played right into our hand.
Marco and Soren were the first to depart, not going quietly into that good night as both men grumbled something under their breath before they followed Angelique’s orders.
Bowing out gracefully was not Tomás’ style.
“We were hired to do a job-”
“And I will take it from here,” Angelique replied coldly.
“Look, woman-”
Angelique was up in a blink of an eye, a whirl of dark hair and viciousness, brandishing a switchblade that seemingly came out of nowhere. The only thing that mattered was that the sharp, life ending part of it was pressed against Tomás’ neck. “You fucking pig,” she spat, her voice as cold as the grave. “You think you can talk to me that way? You think I won’t gut you right here?”
Tomás’ bulging eyes and the wild, angry nerve at his temple told me the answer to that was a resounding ‘yes’, but he growled, “My apologies.”
“Get the hell out of my sight before I let Charlotte do the honors.” She turned her back on him, with so much casual authority and power that she ended the conversation, and likely his employment, before she even lowered herself back in her chair.
Tomás fixed his tie, fuming, letting out a string of expletives in his native tongue before he stormed out.
I didn’t start breathing again until I heard the tires peel as the men made their exit.
Part one of my plan was successful, but the ease at which she’d dominated a man three times her size, still holding the blade she threatened him with as she sipped her wine told me we weren’t out of the woods.
She flashed a toothy grin at the three of us. “Are you guys hungry? I’m famished.”
~
The bruschetta was beautifully plated, the contrast of the ivory plate and the vibrant, rustic colors of the tomatoes and sprouts and cheddar fit for a culinary magazine. Or a round of distinguished chefs and tastemakers, ready to give the dish a resounding 10 out of 10. Waiting with bated breath f
or the next delight coming out of the kitchen.
My appetite had made a quick exit along with the three men that worked for Eichmann. Savory, mouthwatering smells or not, I was far too busy wondering if maybe we were better off with the muscle. They were predictable; more brawn than brains. Angelique had chopped Tomás down to size and I had a feeling it was more than the switchblade and her last name.
She was a ticking time bomb, liable to snap and rain destruction on everyone at any moment. And while getting the muscle out of the picture was quite the feat, we were still sharing an involuntary meal with a woman that I couldn’t fully read. She was just as likely to shrug at an offense as she was to gut someone, drain their blood into a wine glass and swallow it down—then look at us like we were the depraved ones. Like we brought it on ourselves.
I’d made a gamble by going after her relationship with her father and it paid off, but pouring salt in that wound and further irritating her didn’t seem like the way to go.
Alicia, however, missed that memo entirely.
She was operating like it was business as usual. Like she could afford to not play Angelique’s game.
The brilliant mind behind our succulent and unfortunately timed meal should have been clue one. Like Joesph at the gate, it was clear someone had given him a stern talking to, warning him that any missteps or infractions would cost him dearly. The words of warning were scrawled all over his face. It was the bleach white and anxiety hued splotches that speckled it. And if that wasn’t a dead giveaway, it was impossible to miss the nervous sheen of sweat that made him gleam like every other spotless, square inch of the room. Alicia wasn’t paying any mind to the man’s terror glazed eyes, but I couldn’t not notice those big brown orbs that begged his employer to play along or he’d pay the price. Eyes that nearly popped from his skull when Alicia unwittingly pounded a nail in his coffin when she looked at the plate he extended, that Jacob and I had uncomfortably accepted, and waved it away like a queen dismissing a subject with a regal flick of her wrist.
The strained, silent message was returned to sender, my mother-in-law oblivious to the fact that Angelique had likely threatened the man. To cook the best meal of his life, or it would be his last.
Alicia’s lips pulled into a familiar frown when the chef lingered, practically dropping the plate because he was shaking so hard.
“I don’t have much of an appetite at the moment,” she explained, speaking slowly like it was the only way he’d understand.
I almost threw a utensil at her, simultaneously happy that Alicia, the Ice Queen, was still in there, alive and well. But I also needed to subtly remind her that despite the name on the deed, this house belonged to Eichmann, until we could round up the two of them and hand them over to the authorities.
I stole a look at my husband, wanting some back up, or hoping maybe some mother and son telepathy would do the trick. Jacob was a different brand of oblivious—oblivious to everything but the switchblade beside Angelique’s plate. From the tense set of his jaw, he was running scenarios, trying to determine the move that would minimize bloodshed on our end. From the animosity that hardened his handsome face when Angelique winked at him, it was clear he could care less if she bled out, right at the table.
The chef didn’t budge, except for his eyes, flying over to me, pleading, before flicking back to Alicia, who was busy sizing up Angelique. I tried to work on Alicia myself, staring intently, willing her to look in my direction like my message would somehow go through. It was pretty obvious that the only message she’d receive was one of the neon variety that screamed, ‘Just push it around your plate, for crissakes!’
Screw it.
I cleared my throat.
The pointed, overly rough and grimace inducing sound reverberated around the room. It wasn’t a complete fail because it drew Alicia’s eyes to me...and Angelique’s.
Angelique whipped her head towards the end of the table, her bruschetta inches from her mouth. “Is something wrong?” She knew the answer to her question, but she liked toying with us. Torturing us. Her blue gaze swept from the chef, to Alicia, then focused on me. “Leila’s not eating either.”
It was too late, but I shoved a piece of food in my mouth, chewing through the nausea. Pregnancy had taught me that a sense of smell can be the enemy, but I’d also learned how to breathe through the waves that used to send me to the nearest toilet bowl or trash can.
My spontaneous stuffing of my face drew Jacob’s attention too and I didn’t need to look up at the sky to see the ‘WTF’ scrawled in the blue. I swallowed and hung my head, not wanting to see something similar in the chef’s eyes.
“It’s too much, isn’t it?” Angelique sniffed the bruschetta she’d been a heartbeat away from devouring and gingerly lowered it back to her plate. Her fingertips glided past the napkins. She didn’t stroke the stem of her wineglass.
She picked up the switchblade.
“I thought I told you simple, but elegant?” Angelique barked at the chef.
“Well, it certainly doesn’t get much more simple than a piece of bread with toppings,” Alicia muttered under her breath.
I saw something other than terror race across the chef’s face. He didn’t say a word, but the scowl in his narrowed eyes told me that if he did spare a couple, they’d be, ‘I quit’.
Alicia raised her eyes to her employee and I prepared for a 180. A frozen, stolen moment when she kicked herself, then took a dainty bite. Instead, she tossed a napkin over her plate and crossed her arms against her chest like a parent that caught their child redhanded. “Why don’t we just skip to the part where your father shows up and kills us all?”
It was Angelique’s turn to gape, her cold eyes bulging. “What?”
“That’s how this story ends, right?” Alicia was stony eyed, the Whitmore angles slicing, wielding her own personal weapon. “Spare me the surprise, child. Everyone here knows what your father is about. Cut first and ask questions later. Maybe he’ll make Leila’s a quick one, because of the baby.” She erased the comment, shaking her head vigorously. “Perhaps not, your little goldfish tale makes me wonder if he has a heart at all.”
Angelique picked her jaw off the floor, rousing from her brief stupor. “If you think-”
“If you think that I will sit here, pretending like this isn’t some Last Supper, entertaining you by oohing and aahhing over bruschetta and whatever else is waiting, then it’s clear you don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
Jacob leaned toward his mother, not even bothering with a silent message, his deep voice edged with worry. “Do you really think it’s wise to provoke this woman?”
“Do you think it’s wise to be trotted off to slaughter, smiling, bellies full, giving her the pleasure of knowing that we spent our last few minutes on this earth sharing a meal with the likes of her?” Alicia fired back.
Angelique slowly rose from the table, still gripping the knife. The chef was making a slow and methodical trip back to the kitchen. And I tilted my head slightly. Curiously. I peeked over in his direction since Angelique had both eyes squarely on Alicia...and I realized that Alicia was far more cunning than I’d originally thought. The man, along with the two other staff in the room, were trying to discreetly exit.
To escape.
I certainly didn’t want to perseverate on some reality where we were all dead, even if it resulted in ultimately freeing us all, but I piled on, too.
“Never thought I’d be saying this, but I agree with you, Alicia,” I said with a grimace.
Jacob was still in the dark, his blue eyes narrowed in confusion as he wondered if everyone had lost their damn mind. “How about everyone take a breath, eat some food-”
“Your mother just made it clear that she wants to be put out of her misery, sooner rather than later,” Angelique seethed, still advancing towards Alicia.
I tried to keep a handle on looking nonplussed despite the imminent threat. I made sure that I saw the staff streak past, taking advantage of the
lack of armed men to hold them hostage. Angelique was busy with a new objective: to force Alicia to be afraid of her...or bleed her dry.
Whichever came first.
I nearly choked on my relief and worry when Charlotte, the maid with the bloody blouse, lingered in the door. She was sporting fresh bruises, likely compliments of Tomás. She mouthed three digits that nearly made me shout hallelujah.
9-1-1.
She disappeared and I turned my attention back to the shitshow before me.
“You’re just a silly child,” Alicia said, going all in. Since Angelique was well within striking distance, she had nothing to lose. “And I know, because I was you once, and not so long ago.” She dropped her gaze to her wine glass, simultaneously showing Angelique she could care less that she could sink that blade somewhere important, and also reaching inside herself. Into her past. “What is it about asshole, absent fathers that make us just try harder? To be the smartest, the most athletic, the prettiest. To win the most awards, prestige, acclaim. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, they’ll notice?”
The silence that followed that statement confirmed that none of us had expected that. Not from a Whitmore. Not from a woman that had spent nearly every moment I’d been in her presence pretending like she lived the most charmed life on the block and life was made up of winners and losers and she didn’t waste time on the latter.
Angelique used her free hand to sweep through her locks, letting out an indignant scoff. “Oh, please. Is this where you save me?” She pointed the blade at Alicia’s neck. The neck lined with pearls. “What do you know about loss? About anything? You, who was born into so much? You, who probably had nannies to tuck you in at night and kiss your boo boos, toys, clothes, boarding school friends, and never wanted for a thing?”
Her blade was close enough to Alicia’s throat that my fingers flew to my own, but Alicia didn’t even blink. She didn’t stammer, and she didn’t beg.
“Love, Angelique. I wanted love.”
The raw emotion that was so hard to find because Alicia worked so tirelessly to seem cold, unaffected, and over such pathetically mortal things as vulnerability, surrounded every word that fell from her lips. Her truth, her story, filled the room like a light beaming through the darkness.