The Blood Ruby (The Arcane Artifacts #2)

Chapter 25 - Talk of Retreating

I was eating breakfast when a knock sounded at my door. "Come in," I called. It opened and I paused mid-bite as Laurent strolled in. "Oh. It's you."

Never mind that my stomach did a little swoopy thing at the sight of him. His hair was back, his sharp features on full display. He wore a black T-shirt and jeans. My eyes lingered.

A small smirk pulled at the corner of his lips.

"I thought Zola might drop by," I blurted, returning to my food.

"Zola is tending to her children in the city," he said, casually striding across the room, taking a seat beside me. "Is this really what Vittorio cooks for you in the morning?" His gaze darted over a full spread of pancakes, scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage, fresh diced fruit, toast, and the most delicious coffee. Vittorio had been excessive. I wondered if it was because he felt guilty about the demon thing. He'd even taken Cinnamon off my hands, babysitting her while I enjoyed some quiet time.

Laurent snatched my cup of coffee and took a sip. "Hmm. That's good." I gaped at him, watching as he then emptied my mug. He grabbed the pot and refilled it. By the time he returned it, he'd added more cream and sugar. He proceeded to help himself to a slice of toast, taking a few bites before setting it aside on the tray.

"Uhm..."

"Are those any good?" he asked leaning in to eye my plate of pancakes. I shoved a forkful in my mouth to keep from answering."What's the matter? Not going to share?"

I sighed, handing him my fork.

He cut into the fluffy stack and began eating off my plate, off my fork. All I could do was stare at him. "Hmm. I have been missing out. Maybe I should request breakfast. Or," he added, handing back my fork, "I could simply share yours. Yes, I like that idea better. Oh, don't look so surprised. Carry on."

He leaned back to watch me as I returned to eating. "So, tell me, how does a foster child who had limited resources and opportunity learn to play the piano? There was nothing of that in your memories."

The food in my mouth suddenly lost its flavor. I ignored my squirming stomach and managed to say, "You went through my memories?"

"Little flower, let me appease you. I did not see anything to be ashamed of. Come, tell me."

I set my fork down—which he took as his cue to snatch it up—and said, "Most of my homes were a disaster. One was better than the others. When I was seven, I think? A married couple fostered me for a short period. They fought a lot. I hated the yelling. But the woman was kind to me. She always dressed up really nice in pretty dresses and shoes, and did her makeup perfectly. I thought she was so beautiful. She was a pianist. I remember hiding in the hallway just so that I could listen to her practice. She'd play for hours at a time. It made me so happy. Something about the music transported me."

"Music can do that."

"I only stayed with them for a little over a year. Turns out, fostering wasn't for them. Or, something like that."

"Or perhaps," he added, swallowing a mouthful of pancake, "their marriage was falling apart and having a child wasn't the best timing."

I shrugged. It was always some excuse or another. At the end of the day, it boiled down to one thing: no one had ever wanted to keep me.

"I always wanted to be like her, for some reason," I continued. "When I was in high school, I lucked out. I got placed in a stabler home for a little while. The high school in that district was nicer. I talked to the band teacher, but the school didn't offer lessons for piano. You could join band class, but you had to have an instrument, or you could rent one, and those kids all had years of experience. But he let me come in during lunch and after school to use the piano in the theater. He got me a few beginners books. I struggled through, and sometimes he even helped me. I really wanted to learn."