17
ANTON
“This trifle is delicious,” Jessa says, holding up her spoon so that she can see all the individual layers. She’s gazing at it like it’s a work of art, inspecting each element, tearing it apart to taste everything individually and together.
It’s hilarious how into food this girl is. But passion for something so simple, so mundane, turns it into anything but that. It becomes magical in her eyes.
And what’s magic in her eyes becomes magic in mine.
“Is that jam?” she asks, turning to Margaret.
“A thin layer, yes,” Margaret says. “And just underneath it is my home-made custard. It’s a family recipe, actually.”
“It tastes like manna from heaven. I have to be honest, I’m not usually a fan of trifle. But this one is converting me.”
“I could show you the recipe, if you like.”
Jessa’s eyes widen in unabashed hope. “Really? Do you mean it? I’d love that!”
Margaret winks. “Thomas and I are heading to the farmer’s market in the morning, but when we get back, class is in session.”
“Farmer’s market?” Jessa asks, perking up like a meerkat.
Margaret’s grin widens. “Would you like to join us?”
Jessa turns to me, as though she needs my permission. Once upon a time, that kind of subservience was exactly what I wanted from her. Just follow fucking orders, for once in your goddamn life.
But now? Now, it troubles me in a way I can’t explain.
“That sounds like a good idea,” I say.
“We leave pretty early,” Margaret says, looking doubtful.
“I’ll be up before the sun!” Jessa promises.
Margaret and Thomas both laugh. “Six o’clock will be good enough,” he says with a fond smile.
I’m not surprised to see that she’s won them over already. With that smile and the sparkle in her eyes, it’s hard to see how anyone can resist her.
“This dinner was an unexpected pleasure,” Thomas sighs as the waiters come in to clear away our plates. “I’m going to sleep like a baby tonight.”
“Me, too,” Jessa concurs. “So tell me, does this market have…”
Jessa is still talking a mile a minute about the farmer’s market tomorrow when my phone starts to ring. I excuse myself and leave the dining room. There’s a small annex that leads to the gardens and I head that way to take the call.
“What is it, Yulian?”
“Just checking in,” he says.
“Any news for me?”
“Nothing as of yet. But I’ve got eyes everywhere. We’re bound to stumble across a lead soon.”
“Stumble?” I repeat. “Do better than ‘stumble,’ Yulian.”
“What I mean is—”
“I need you to take this seriously. So far, I’m not impressed.”