Page 93 of The Broken Note

“Your makeup?”

“Vi, don’t bother. I’m not like you. Putting on makeup isn’t fun for me.”

“You put on makeup to play piano.”

“It’s just a way to deal with my stage fright. We’re going to hang out today. There’s no need to dress up.”

“You should get dressed up now and again. Just for yourself,” she says with a resolute nod.

“I don’t—”

“Blah, blah, blah. You’re boring. I get it. Now, sit.”

I want to resist, but I tell myself that this is her day. If putting makeup on my face just to go bowling delights her, I’m not going to complain.

After Vi’s through with me, I pick up a mirror and check my reflection. “Wow. It looks like me but… glossy.”

“Of course. It’s your face.” She raises her chin. “I kept it light and natural today. I call this the ‘dewy’ classic. It makes you look like an angel.”

“I really like it. Vi, I’m so impressed. You’ve really improved.”

“Thank you.” She curtsies.

There’s a knock on the door.

Vi squeals and grins. “He’s early.”

“Who’s early?” My stomach clenches. Even though I haven’t seen him, I already have an idea of who’s standing outside that door. “Viola.” Her name escapes like a warning.

My sister winks at me, dances out of the room and throws the front door wide open.

Dutch appears, lined in light. Despite all the sunshine, shadows still surround him. I slide my eyes over his messy blond hair, the leather jacket hiding the tattoos just beneath, the designer jeans and sneakers.

“Let’s go.” Vi grabs my arm and tries to tug me.

My legs remain rooted to the floor. I tossed and turned all night, reliving our moments together over and over. Wondering if the scraps of humanity I saw beneath Dutch’s monstrosity was all made up in my head. Wondering if I’d opened myself up to the type of person I despise with all my breath.

Money. Power. Now drugs? A tangled web I don’t want to get caught up in.

“What are you doing here?” My voice is sharp. Cold.

Dutch’s expression remains the same except for a near imperceptible flick of his eyebrows. He didn’t expect this level of animosity. What the helldidhe expect? That I’d accept him with open arms if he manipulated my sister into doing his bidding?

“Cadey,” Vi pulls at my arm, “I already promised Dutch we’d hang out with him today.”

“Why would you promise him that?”

“I asked for a favor.” Dutch glances over me, some of his blonde hair falling into his eyes. He pushes it back with strong fingers.

He’s a drug dealer.

“Please?” Vi pouts.

A drug dealer.

My heart pounds. Would a father lie about his own son? Isn’t theresometruth to the accusation?

“Don’t you have something better to do with your Saturday than hang out with us?” I ask, and Dutch gives me this look with those amber eyes of his.

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