Page 51 of Guarded from Treachery

Then my parents decided I was too old for such frivolous things. Singing in church, my voice just one in a crowd? That was okay. But actually performing? Making a spectacle of myself, as they said? No way.

They pulled me out of chorus. Told the school that I couldn’t perform in the concerts anymore for religious reasons. Which was a lie, their church was restrictive but didn’t ban things like that. But in my parents’ minds, it was inappropriate. I should have been focusing on housekeeping and sewing and cooking, not things that made me the center of attention.

For a while, I still sang at home, until they started punishing me whenever they heard me. I was sent to my room without dinner, or one of my few belongings was taken away. And when they got really frustrated with me, my father would get out his belt.

So I stopped singing. And I forced myself to stop thinking about it. I didn’t even listen to music until I was halfway through college.

At thirty-three, more than two decades past my parents’ mandate, I’ve gotten accustomed to the silence instead of the songs that used to be in my head.

But as I sat on the couch sorting through all the gifts the women gave me—the special lotion for stretch marks and organic soaps and cozy socks and more tea than I could drink in a year—I found myself humming.

After all the fear and stress and uncertainty, I have things to be happy about.

Blade and Arrow. The team. A healthy baby. Matt.

So it’s not all awful. Just some of it.

Then I started thinking about little Dove. That’s what I’ve been calling the baby, after my favorite bird. If she—he—turns out to be a boy, I’ll have to come up with something different. But for now, Dove feels right. Once she’s born, how can Inotsing to her?

And that’s how the humming shifted to singing.

Now I’m sipping my new honey ginger tea as I flip through one of the baby books Jade gave me, quietly singingLullabye, by Billy Joel—one of my all-time favorite songs. I know it’s too early to feel the baby move, but I can just tell she likes hearing my voice.

I’m so wrapped up in my book, when the doorbell rings, I jump, sloshing the tea all over my hand as I let out a startled yelp.

“Isla?” Matt’s voice rumbles through the door. “Are you okay in there?”

Worry strains his voice, and I just know he’s already imagining the worst—that I’m hurt, sick, or there’s a complication with the pregnancy. He’s always so concerned about me, and maybe with someone else it would feel overwhelming, but with Matt? I like it. It’s not that I want him to worry about me, exactly, but it’s really nice to know he cares that much.

“I’m fine,” I call back. Wiping my damp hand on my shorts—thank goodness for denim that won’t show it—I hop up from the couch and head to the front door. As I wrestle with the three complicated locks, I add brightly, “Just trying to get the door unlocked. One second!”

Once I get the door unlocked, I yank it open with a smile on my face. “Sorry. These locks still take me forever.”

Matt’s gaze sweeps over me, carefully assessing. A beat later, assured that I’m clearly okay and not in terrible danger, his shoulders relax and his lips curve up. “Everyone says that. It took Sarah ages to get them figured out when she was staying here. I know it seems like overkill, given how much security we have, but we figured better safe than sorry, you know?”

“No, it makes sense. I’d rather have the extra locks than not.” Darting forward, I give him a quick hug, letting myself linger for only a second before pulling away. Although I’d much rather stay there, wrapped in his arms, breathing in his citrusy scent and feeling the firm breadth of his chest against me. I would much rather stay in his embrace, my head tucked under his chin, his breath feathering across my hair and his big hand gently rubbing my back.

But it would be weird if I just stood in the doorway clinging to Matt like a limpet, so I force myself to step back instead.

Something that looks almost like disappointment moves across Matt’s face, but it’s gone before I can examine it. Then his smile brightens as he looks at me. “You look happy.”

“Do I?” I grin at him. “I feel pretty happy.”

“You definitely do.” Pulling the door shut behind him, Matt takes my hand as he moves into the apartment. “You have a glow. I guess that’s the best way to describe it. And your eyes are all crinkly.”

“What?”

“You know, like laugh lines?”

Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing, I ask, “Are you saying I have wrinkles?”

Matt’s ears turn fire-engine red. He grimaces. “Shi—shoot. No. That’s not… I didn’t mean that. You don’t have wrinkles. I mean, everyone has little lines when they smile or laugh. That’s all I meant. You’re not wrinkly. You’re beautiful.”

He stops. The red moves to his cheeks. “Not that you wouldn’t be beautiful with wrinkles, too. It wouldn’t matter. You’re just… I’m messing this up.”

I can’t help the flutter of warmth from hearing him call me beautiful.

“You’re not.” Squeezing his hand, I tug him towards the couch. “I know what you meant. Although—” I give him a teasing smile. “I’m not sure I’ve ever been complimented on my wrinkles before.”

---