blackly, the same way he always did when toying with me. “You have a flair for the bizarre, Charli.”
“It wouldn’t kill you to be honest with me,” I retorted. “I’m just asking about the picture – not looking for chinks in your armour.”
He surprised me by getting up and making his way over to the art in question. “I think it’s a nice piece,” he replied thoughtfully. “I like it very much.”
“But why?”
Jean-Luc folded his arms, glancing at me only momentarily. “It calls to me. Is that what I’m supposed to say?”
I shook my head, warding off a bitter retort. “If you don’t believe in magic, you’ll never find it.”
“Explain the magic in this.” He pointed at the picture but looked only at me. “It is impossible to take you seriously when all you spout is nonsense. How Adam puts up with you is beyond me.”
As harsh as his words were, I didn’t get the impression that he was trying to hurt me. I frustrated him and confounded him. And that wasn’t his fault.
“He likes me,” I muttered.
I didn’t need to look at him. His glare was burning a hole in the side of my head. I focused on the cloudy windows and waited for him to speak instead, which took forever.
Jean-Luc returned to his chair. “Bridget told me that there is a certain breed of dog that lives in the ocean,” he began.
“Yes, I know,” I replied. “Sea dogs.”
“It’s criminal to teach her such rubbish,” he scoffed.
“I never taught her that,” I snapped. “I have no idea what a sea dog is but I do know that my kid’s imagination is perfectly in focus.”
The king leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. “How far through this life do you think a good imagination is going to get her?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “How much further do you think you’d be in life if your imagination was in good working order?” I walked to the picture on the wall. “You’d see everything so much clearer,” I said wistfully.
“Nonsense.”
Infuriating him was easy. Holding my ground until I was ready to end the conversation was trickier. I refused to lose this round. I was losing too often where he was concerned.
“Two fairies from Egypt,” I announced, holding two fingers at him. “Habibah and Eshe.”
“Stop it, Charlotte,” he warned. “I’m not interested in the punch line.”
I wandered back and sat down, making sure I had his full attention. “There is no punch line. It’s not a joke. I’m telling you something very important.” The king slouched and sighed. As far as I was concerned, it was permission to continue. “They were very talented seamstresses. The finer the threads, the more nimble their fingers.”
“Move it along, please.” He waved his hand in a circle.
“They sourced the finest cotton and crafted it into the most fabulous –”
“Sheets?” he asked, smugly cutting me off. “Or towels. Egyptian cotton is supposed to be the best.”
“No.” It was impossible not to smile. “Dresses. They made dresses.”
“Fascinating,” he drawled insincerely.
I shrugged. “It paid their bills.”
His level of interest was low to begin with, but it was almost non-existent by that point. I got out the rest of the story as quickly as I could. Eshe fell in love with a boy with a wandering eye, so she hatched a plan to make keeping an eye on him a little easier.
“One night while he was sleeping, Eshe snuck into his room and sewed a thread of cotton to the cuff of his shirt,” I explained. “Then she went all the way home, unrolling the spool as she went. The plan was to keep him tied to her so she’d know what he was up to at all times.”
“Keeping a man on a leash is hardly a good plan,” the king pointed out.
My heart skipped a little, secretly thrilled by his input. “It was a terrible plan,” I agreed. “The boy, Ufa, woke up the next morning and saw the thread. He was furious.”
Jean-Luc let out a chuckle. “Trust issues, I suspect.”
I
“It wouldn’t kill you to be honest with me,” I retorted. “I’m just asking about the picture – not looking for chinks in your armour.”
He surprised me by getting up and making his way over to the art in question. “I think it’s a nice piece,” he replied thoughtfully. “I like it very much.”
“But why?”
Jean-Luc folded his arms, glancing at me only momentarily. “It calls to me. Is that what I’m supposed to say?”
I shook my head, warding off a bitter retort. “If you don’t believe in magic, you’ll never find it.”
“Explain the magic in this.” He pointed at the picture but looked only at me. “It is impossible to take you seriously when all you spout is nonsense. How Adam puts up with you is beyond me.”
As harsh as his words were, I didn’t get the impression that he was trying to hurt me. I frustrated him and confounded him. And that wasn’t his fault.
“He likes me,” I muttered.
I didn’t need to look at him. His glare was burning a hole in the side of my head. I focused on the cloudy windows and waited for him to speak instead, which took forever.
Jean-Luc returned to his chair. “Bridget told me that there is a certain breed of dog that lives in the ocean,” he began.
“Yes, I know,” I replied. “Sea dogs.”
“It’s criminal to teach her such rubbish,” he scoffed.
“I never taught her that,” I snapped. “I have no idea what a sea dog is but I do know that my kid’s imagination is perfectly in focus.”
The king leaned back in his chair and let out a breath. “How far through this life do you think a good imagination is going to get her?”
“I have no idea,” I admitted. “How much further do you think you’d be in life if your imagination was in good working order?” I walked to the picture on the wall. “You’d see everything so much clearer,” I said wistfully.
“Nonsense.”
Infuriating him was easy. Holding my ground until I was ready to end the conversation was trickier. I refused to lose this round. I was losing too often where he was concerned.
“Two fairies from Egypt,” I announced, holding two fingers at him. “Habibah and Eshe.”
“Stop it, Charlotte,” he warned. “I’m not interested in the punch line.”
I wandered back and sat down, making sure I had his full attention. “There is no punch line. It’s not a joke. I’m telling you something very important.” The king slouched and sighed. As far as I was concerned, it was permission to continue. “They were very talented seamstresses. The finer the threads, the more nimble their fingers.”
“Move it along, please.” He waved his hand in a circle.
“They sourced the finest cotton and crafted it into the most fabulous –”
“Sheets?” he asked, smugly cutting me off. “Or towels. Egyptian cotton is supposed to be the best.”
“No.” It was impossible not to smile. “Dresses. They made dresses.”
“Fascinating,” he drawled insincerely.
I shrugged. “It paid their bills.”
His level of interest was low to begin with, but it was almost non-existent by that point. I got out the rest of the story as quickly as I could. Eshe fell in love with a boy with a wandering eye, so she hatched a plan to make keeping an eye on him a little easier.
“One night while he was sleeping, Eshe snuck into his room and sewed a thread of cotton to the cuff of his shirt,” I explained. “Then she went all the way home, unrolling the spool as she went. The plan was to keep him tied to her so she’d know what he was up to at all times.”
“Keeping a man on a leash is hardly a good plan,” the king pointed out.
My heart skipped a little, secretly thrilled by his input. “It was a terrible plan,” I agreed. “The boy, Ufa, woke up the next morning and saw the thread. He was furious.”
Jean-Luc let out a chuckle. “Trust issues, I suspect.”
I
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