Page 121 of Black Castle

Vivienne sighs but obeys anyway, pulling out the chair and sitting.

Carla proceeds to chew her food with deliberate slowness, savoring each bite before a measured sip of water.

“You know,” she begins, pausing dramatically. “In my country, well, in my home, when food is made, a child stays behind to wash the dishes. That’s respect for elders, a value taught to us.” She shrugs. “But I guess different countries, different values?” She takes another bite of fish. “Thank God you didn’t find yourself in Cape Verde or worse, any other African country like Nigeria. There will be no room for this attitude and disrespect. One little mess and your mother’s slipper is flying across the room.”

Vivienne’s brow furrows. Is that why Isadora always hits her? Not because she hates her but because she was raised in a disciplinarian household?

“I can wash the plates in the morning,” Vivienne offers, shaking off the thought. “You don’t have to wash them yourselves. It’s just, I’m tired and-”

“Tired?” Carla raises a brow. “Enlighten me, child. What have you been up to that you are so tired at barely, 8pm? Do you think you are the first to ever go to school? Your ancestors did it too, you know. Traveled miles on foot.”

“What does that—”

“I know you weren’t studying with your friend whose number I found in the phone book,” she says casually, spearing another piece of fish.

Vivienne stiffens. “Excuse me?”

Carla gives her a knowing look. “I’m not a kid, child. Whatever trick you teenagers think you have, I have mastered it before your parents were born.”

“This is so fucking ridiculous,” Vivienne exhales sharply, barely restraining an eye roll.

“I sure hope he marries you.”

Vivienne chokes. “Sorry?”

Carla levels her with an unblinking stare. “See, most men only want to use naive girls like you and then toss you aside when they are done sucking you dry.” Her voice drops, thick with warning. “So the one you have been with all day, I hope he plans to stay a little longer.”

Vivienne’s breath catches. She pinches her shirt, raising it not her nose, taking a gentle sniff. She’s certain she showered when Zev finally left her alone. Scrubbed herself raw to erase his scent. So, how did she know?

Wait, she is a deaconess. Do deaconesses see things?

Carla smirks. “I don’t see beyond what’s before my very eyes, unfortunately.”

Vivienne gapes at her.

“Like I said, I’m older than all your teenage tricks.”

Chapter Thirty-seven

Vivienne

Vivienne sits across from Ian in Fitz’s Lit and Brew on a Friday evening, the scent of roasted coffee beans curling into the air between them. The atmosphere is far from romantic—muted chatter, the occasional clang of mugs, the low hum of the espresso machine. And yet, it feels like she’s cheating.

On who? Zev, maybe. Lucan, if he were here. But he isn’t.

“You look…great,” Ian says, his voice still as warm as she remembers it.

His gaze holds hers, familiar, steady, untainted by the weight of the past.

“You don’t look too bad yourself.” She tries to keep it light, and he laughs softly, that same low, warm, disarming laugh that she was crazy for once, upon a time.

Leaning over the table, Ian grabs the white mug that has his coffee, sipping gently, his eyes pinned on her.

“So…” he exhales, setting the mug down. “How has life been treating you?”

“Good.” The lie tastes bitter. School is a nightmare. Family is a concept she has never known. Friends? Just Kenji. Love? It’s complicated. But she won’t be boring him with this. The less he knows, the better.

“School?” he presses. “How’s that been?”

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