“My name is Dove, and, no, I’m not okay.”
He stares at me before nodding. “Then I will stay and keep you company. I just need to grab something.”
He leaves and I hope he doesn’t return. Sadly, he does. This time he carries a toolbox and an old gun. He goes to the table by the window, spreading out his items. The sunlight reflects off his bald head. I wonder if he ever gets sunburned there. His skin tone is fair, as if he doesn’t get out much. My gaze goes past him, to the window. I’d give anything to go outside and sit in the sun. Even if it’s the middle of winter.
Maurice hums to himself as it works, and it’s oddly comforting. I’ll never admit it, though. He takes apart the gun, cleaning it until it shines. Then he puts it back together. I’m about to comment that he’s done this before when he takes the gun apart again. He repeats the process over and over, never looking my way. Is he like this because of his grandfather? Luca even?
“Why do you keep rebuilding it?”
“I like it when things feel right,” he answers, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“How does it feel right?”
“Taking it apart is easy. Anyone can do that. Putting it together takes skill. Part of that skill is knowing when the parts are in the right place. Everything clicks, like you and I are clicking right now.”
That makes me smile.
“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were flirting with me.”
I’m teasing, but he stills.
“No, that’s not what this is. You need a friend and I need a friend. That’s it.” He drops the pieces in his hand and tosses them into his toolbox. “The Beast would hurt me if he thought I liked you likethat.”
“Maurice, it’s okay. I was only teasing. I know you don’t like me likethat.”
I echo his words to ease his mind, but it doesn’t seem to work. He appears more agitated than before. Wait. Does he have a crush on me? His cheeks are a light shade of pink and he won’t look me in the eyes. Oh my goodness.
“Maurice…”
“It doesn’t matter how I feel, birdie. You’re not mine and soon Luca will tire of you.” He stands. “I’ll be back.”
I feel terrible and call after him, but he ignores me. I truly had no idea that he had a crush on me. I mean, he’s easy on the eyes. I wonder why he doesn’t think that I could like him back? And would Luca really be angry if he knew that Maurice had a crush on me? Probably so. Freaking jerk!
I’m deep in thought when Maurice returns. He’s silent as he goes to the window, staring out.
“You don’t have to stay if you don’t want to.” I pause. “And, for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?”
“For upsetting you.”
He doesn’t answer, but turns to look at me. He’s done this before, and I just assumed it was to report back to Luca. Maybe there’s more to it than that. I stare back, unblinking. He’s as tall as Henri and Luca and still favors Henri. His eyes are blue, and one has a swirl of green around the pupil. His head is bald, and it looks to be a natural thing versus shaving. He’s leaner than both Henri and Luca, but I bet he could give them a run for their money in a fight since he’s so smart. There’s a scar above his upper lip that’s barely noticeable. I wonder what happened to him. I don’t want to ask, though, because we’ve settled into a peaceful silence.
Needing to move, I climb onto the swing. There’s not much to do in the cage, but being on the swing gives me the opportunity to look outside to the yard. The grass is covered in a light dusting of snow, meaning we’re in November. Possibly even December. My breath hitches. Chip always loves this time of the year.
“Don’t cry, birdie. Swing. It will make your heart lighter.”
I don’t answer, but do as he suggests. He watches me. It’s still unnerving the way he stares without blinking, as if he’s getting lost in his head. The metal bar cuts into my bottom, so I shift, trying to get comfortable.
Maurice says, “Moving only makes it hurt more.”
“Thanks, captain obvious. If you’re such an expert on being held in a cage, then please enlighten me on how to make this more enjoyable.”
He snorts and moves closer.
“You’re not supposed to enjoy it. This is all for Luca’s pleasure. He’s a lot like our grandfather. At least you can move in yours. The one I was in was so small that I could only lie curled in a ball. Grandfather thought it would help with the claustrophobia.” He touches the bar of the cage. “He was wrong.”
“How old were you?”