forty-two

I find the conservatory easily. What I can’t find is the light switch. But there are huge windows, and while night has fallen, the front yard is lit enough that I’m able to see my way around.

The first thing I spot is the piano. A grand piano? A baby grand? The terms are only words in books, and I have no idea which this is, only that it must be a grand of some variety. It’s beautiful, with black wood that gleams like glass, a curved lid propped up, and impossibly white keys. I stand behind the bench and put my fingers over the keys. I don’t touch them—I don’t dare—but I’m remembering Jude’s hands placing mine and the sequence of notes, the first strains of—

“Do you play?” a voice asks.

A man walks into the room. He’s tall, with curling dark hair, broad shoulders, a black suit and tie. He’s in shadow, only his silhouette clear, and there’s a split second where I think it’s Jude. He’s going to tease and ask if I remember the notes, maybe even make me play them. I smile as the figure steps in.

Then I realize it’s not Jude. While I can’t see the man well with the shadows, he’s at least in his late thirties.

“Mr. Bishop told me to wait in here for Jude,” I say. “I couldn’t find the light switch.”

He pats the wall and says, “Looks like they’ve hidden it. Peter sent me to tell you Jude will be a few more minutes. He’s speaking to yet another old family friend.”

“I’m Winter,” I say, extending a hand.

He doesn’t seem to see my hand. His teeth flash. It’s a smile, but in the dim light all I see are those flashing teeth set against a shadowy face.

“Yes, I know,” he says. “And I am yet another old family friend, in what probably, by this point, seems an endless stream of them, and an equally endless stream of names you can’t possibly remember.” He waves at the piano. “Do you play?”

I shake my head. “I was just admiring it.”

I’m glancing at the piano, when I see a grouping of picture frames. Photographs of a boy at a piano.

“Jude,” the man says, following my gaze.

I walk over and bend to look at them. Then I notice the awards on the wall. Covering the wall. Framed honors for Jude’s musical accomplishments.

“Sorry,” I say, turning my attention back to the man.

“No, go ahead. Take a look, if you can manage to read them in this terrible lighting.”

I can, and when I do, I’m stunned. There are many levels of talent. You can be the best in your school, the best in your community, the best in your city, and so on. When I’d seen articles calling him a prodigy, I’d taken that with a grain of salt. But these awards aren’t from school competitions. They’re statewide, countrywide, even worldwide.

As I read, the man moves up behind me, and I say, “I knew he was good, but I had no idea.”

“Jude is special. You won’t see a room like this dedicated to any talent of his brother’s.”

I must stiffen, because the man says, “I shouldn’t say that aloud. It’s just that I know Lennon leaves the better impression on young women, and I want to give Jude his due.”

“I haven’t met Lennon.”

“No? Well, if you do, you’ll find him very charming. But it’s superficial. Shallow waters. A disappointing lack of substance.”

I bristle. I’m fine with people singing Jude’s praises, but insulting his brother to do it is wrong.

“Does that make you uncomfortable, Winter?” the man says. “I only speak the truth. I’ve known the boys for a very long time. They both take after their father, in their way. Do you know him?”

“Congressman Bishop?”

That flash of teeth, now not seeming nearly so innocent, makes me steel myself against inching back. “Yes, of course. Who else?”

I start to say that I only meant I know the boys are adopted, but he continues with, “At first, Lennon seems to more closely resemble his father. It’s an easy mistake to make. I made it myself, unfortunately. But with Lennon, that charm isn’t a mask. It’s really all there is. His father is deeper, far more complex, far more…dangerous. Not a man you want to underestimate.”

“O-okay.”

“And that is Jude as well. A boy with hidden depths. A boy with incredible intensity. You can see that here.” He waves around the room. “Talent and intensity and passion, the likes of which his brother cannot match.”

My gaze shoots to the door.

“Do I make you nervous, Winter? Truth is uncomfortable. Ask Jude. He knows all about truth and lies. I only wanted to warn you that the apple does not fall far from the tree. He is his father’s son. Remarkable in a way few can appreciate.”

“I—”

“I know that may be hard for you to understand. You’re nothing like your family, are you, Winter? Particularly your sister.”

My head jerks up. “My sister?”

“Yes, your sister. You are nothing like her.”

“You know my sister?”

He frowns, the shadows of his face rearranging. “I thought I did. Are you not…?” He glances toward the party. “Someone told me your family was…” A sharp shake of his head and a laugh. “I see now that wires have been crossed. You are not the girl they think you are.” His gaze swings to me. “Are you, Winter?”

I freeze. His gaze cuts into me, and I can’t breathe. I know I’m being foolish. I can smell alcohol fumes as he moves closer. He might wear a fancy suit, but he’s no different from the drunken idiots I met on the road last night, offering insults and invitations.

“I’m sorry,” I say as firmly as I can. “I really should go find Jude.”

“Are you sure that’s wise?” He moves closer. “Are you sure you’re good enough for him? Granted, you are a very pretty girl….”

His fingers caress my cheek. I don’t see it coming and can’t move away fast enough. I stagger back and stumble over the piano bench. I hit it hard and twist, and then crash to the floor, the bench falling with me.

“Winter!”

It’s Jude, his footsteps thumping down the hall. The man strides through the doorway while Jude is swinging in, Jude snarling, “Hey!” as the man brushes past.

I push up. Jude rushes over, saying, “Did he—?”

“I fell.”

His eyes narrow, and I hear, Tell the truth, Winter.

“He touched me.” Jude’s face flushes with fury as he spins on his heel, and I scramble over to grab him. “My cheek. He touched my cheek. It startled me. That’s all.”

“He shouldn’t be touching you anywhere. Who is he? Did he say?”

“Just that he was a family friend. You didn’t recognize him?”

He shakes his head. “It’s too dark, and he barreled past me. But I don’t care who he is. I’ll have him escorted—”

“He’s been drinking. Which is no excuse, but it’s a party and I don’t want to make a fuss.”

“I don’t care. Touching any guest without her permission—”

“If he’d done more, I’d agree, but he didn’t. Creepy drunk friend. Every family has them. Your dad sent him to tell me you were delayed, talking to another old friend.”

Jude frowns. “I was speaking to my father…who didn’t tell anyone to come find you.” He glances toward the door. “I really should have him escorted—”

“I didn’t mean to leave the party,” I cut in to distract him. “Your dad said I could wait for you in here.”

“I’d say I’m glad he did…if it hadn’t led to a run-in with a drunken perv.” He looks at the door again, and I know he still wants to pursue it. I don’t. I really don’t. We need to search Lennon’s room, and that’ll be a lot harder if I raise an alarm about a drunken guest.

“I couldn’t find the light switch either,” I say to divert him again.

“Hmm? Right. There’s no overhead light in here. It’s just the lamps.” He flicks one on and looks around, stiffening as if just realizing which room we’re in.

“Is that a baby grand or a regular grand?” I ask.

“Baby.” He makes a face. “It’s a fancy showpiece. Looks better than it sounds.”

I smile. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to ask you to play it.”

“Yeah, the moment I hit a few notes, my parents would have the entire party in here to listen.”

“I mean I wouldn’t ask at all. I know you don’t like playing anymore.”

He rubs his chin, his gaze sliding to the piano. Then he pulls his gaze away and follows mine to the wall of awards. “Obviously my father wanted to show me off by sending you in here.”

“He’s proud of you. Very proud of you.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, and as Jude looks away, I hurry on with, “Rightfully so. These awards…I had no idea…”

“Can we go?” he says gruffly. “Sorry, I’d rather not…”

“I know,” I say.

He glances toward the door again. “I really think we should do something about that guy. At least look for him. It bugs me.”

It bugs me, too, but I don’t want to let on that it does. I already feel like I’ve overreacted to what was just, as Jude said, a drunken pervert. So I say, “What about Lennon’s room? Shouldn’t we go check that?”

Another hesitation. Then he reluctantly says, “I guess so,” and leads me out.