Page 33 of Savage Daddies

The carpet cushions me as I roll in. Scrambling up, I observe the surroundings. What we broke intoisn’tZoe’s room, but a library. The ceilings rise high above us, and rows of books line the widest wall. Mr. Reeves getting the best of me, my legs drive me forward toward the books, and I scan the spines for notable titles that might reveal more of Fernando’s personality. Shakespeare collections? Those have to be Zoe’s. I pull out a limited edition copy ofMacbethwith gilded page edges.

I open the play onto the folded page, and my stomach swallows my heart.

“Unsex me here, / And fill me me from the crown to the toe top-full.”

Lady Macbeth’s passage is the only underlined section on the page. I flick through. Correction—the only underlined sentence in the entire play.

“What’s got him?” I hear Bullwhip ask Wrangler.

“Something bookish.” The whisper transitions into his normal, talking voice. “We’re not here to look at books.”

I slot the play back into the gap. “You said this was Zoe’s room.”

“I white-lied but hey, didn’t you both get excited?” He flashes each of us a quick smile, and then exits the library through a grand door made of mahogany.

This brings us out into a corridor.

Silence rings loud, and we take that to mean nobody’s home.

So, curiosity taking over, I peek into the next room. It must be her daughter’s. Sammy. The walls have been painted pink blossom, and a bed stands in the center of the room holding a few tousled blankets and a—I squint my eyes—toy platypus that appears to have received a lot of love.

“We’re searching for an office,” reminds Wrangler.

I next open a door that appears to be a bathroom. Damn. Like the library, it has marble furnishing. Gold chrome taps glint in the sunlight as it streams in through the floor-to-ceiling window, and a bathtub big enough to fit an elephant sits over in the corner.

I imagine Zoe in it, bubbles caressing her soft, naked body, outlining the swell of her breasts. God, guilty as charged. I gave them a glimpse during class sometimes. She’d wear these white tank top combos with a black lace bra underneath.

Thatwas forbidden, but what feels even more forbidden is picturing her nakednow,as a celebrity and a wife, in modest clothing meant to hide every inch of her skin from male eyes.

My chest clenches when I peek into the next room.

“I found Zoe’s room.”

Both of their ears turn like sunflowers in the sun as soon as I speak the words.

“We shouldn’t look.” Bullwhip falters in his step.

“Yeah,” agrees Wrangler. “That’s a bit weird, don’t you think?”

They can protest all they want, but their legs still draw nearer until they’re in the doorway with me.

Felix prefers a polished, upscale look. This is nothing like that.

It has the Zoe I know written all over it. Pictures decorate the walls. Lots of them. Too many to count. A king-size bed sits central to the room and the bedsheets have tiny Eiffel Tower prints on them.

Breaking into Zoe’s room feels wrong. It’s an invasion of privacy, and she was my student. Dirty underwear could be strung around the place, and I’m glad it’s not—I fear I wouldn’t be able to control myself to leave them alone on the floor. Point is, she didn’t prepare for our visit. Our breaking and entering.

But we stride in anyway.

The room smells floral. Like tuberose.

Like Zoe.

The Eiffel Tower bedsheets hang off the bed. It’s unmade. She must’ve been in a rush to leave in the morning. Or maybe not. Zoe always had something unkempt about her. Not in a revolting way. It was refreshing at school seeing someone not care about their appearance every two seconds. She never owned a pocket mirror—or, maybe she did, but she never got it out in class.

Many mirrors line the walls now. A wide, rectangular one reflects our three, curious faces over in the corner, and a second full-body one stands at the other side of the room.

The dressing table mirror grabs my attention.

---