The Beautiful Ones - Silvia Moreno-Garcia Page 0,75

himself lunch. Hector learned how to make his own meals out of necessity, when he had been penniless and young, but he had grown to enjoy the process and though he did not reject the notion of restaurants, he preferred home-cooked meals when he could manage them. He also took pride in his self-sufficiency.

When he was done eating, Hector read the paper, then went out for a stroll. He liked Boniface because of its narrow streets and alleys that led nowhere. It was easy to get lost there, and every block offered a strange new treasure. There was a store that sold only music boxes next to a perfumer’s shop, but take one turn, and you’d come to an oddly quiet alley that ended in a cemetery. There were sedate, hidden gardens and boisterous establishments. Places for contemplation and spaces for noise and life.

In the evenings, Hector stopped at a coffee shop and regularly patronized the Pearl and the Swine, where all manner of musicians performed. On occasion he visited one of the playhouses at the Green District.

That day the sun shone brightly. Hector thought he might depart for his walk earlier than usual, so he could take advantage of the wonderful weather. He sat by the window in his leather chair, about ready to put away his book and prepare himself, when a knock made him raise his head.

He stood up and walked toward the entrance. He was in his old, collarless lounging robe. He had not expected any visitors.

“Yes? Who is it?” he asked.

The silence made him move quickly, telling him he should hurry, and he flung the door open.

Nina looked at him, her eyes cool and her face composed. He was somewhat sad to see she was perfectly coiffed, her hair gathered at her nape. He’d liked her hair loose, a bit unkempt, as if the wind had been toying with it all day.

She looked like a lady now, and he thought perhaps her fashionable dress and prim hair were supposed to serve as a type of shield.

He stepped aside, allowing her in without a word.

When he closed the door, Nina spoke, her voice brusque. “What do you think you are doing, sending me beetles for many days now?” she asked.

“I thought you might like them,” he replied.

“Why would I want anything from you?”

“I forgot your birthday. I purchased twenty beetles, thinking—”

“That you might buy my forgiveness with a few presents? That perhaps you can assuage your guilty conscience?”

“I do not ask you to forgive me,” he said, “but I want to try to make amends.”

Nina turned toward him and stared at him with utter ferocity. “How dare you say that, when you gave Valérie my letter, when you played me for a fool, when you did not even bother sending word for almost a whole year.”

“What letter?” he asked, frowning.

“Don’t pretend you don’t know. The letter I wrote to you.”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“You lie.”

“I would not.”

She looked surprised, her anger perhaps retreating back a tad, yet only a tad. She shook her head in exasperation. “Fine. That does not invalidate my other points.”

“Nina, I am sorry. For everything. I want—”

She brushed past him and he noticed the way she was moving her fingers, frustrated and angry. He could tell she wanted to dash objects about his home, her nervous energy palpable, those fingers of hers almost electric.

“No, you don’t get to want anything,” she replied. “You tricked me. Both of you. You were not pursuing me, you were chasing after her. I thought you liked me. I thought you were my friend. You should have told me the truth.”

“How could I tell you?”

“I don’t know how!” she shouted.

She sat on the chair by the window, where he’d been lounging, looking outside. On his table, papers rustled under the influence of her thoughts, and he feared she might send them scattering about the room.

But no.

She held her hands together tight, as if to keep herself from tearing his house apart.

“I do like you, Nina,” he muttered.

She did not look at him. Her eyes were on the sky.

“I thought, sometimes … I’m not sure exactly what I thought. Valérie, she was like a stubborn splinter under my skin you can’t remove no matter how hard you try. But then, at times … it was pleasant spending time with you. I thought, if I took a chance—”

“You thought you could make her jealous. Maybe you decided you could settle for second best. Never once did