Page 43 of Ruined By Protection
A server approaches with a tray of steaming mugs topped with delicate foam art. As I wrap my hands around the warm ceramic, I realize this is the first time in a while I've been with girls at a cafe without Elliott being around.
I take a sip of the lavender latte, the sweet floral notes melting on my tongue. It's delicious but I barely register the taste as my mind races with everything that's happened since I fled Austin.
"So," I say, setting down the mug and turning to Evelyn, "I've been so caught up in my own drama that I haven't even asked about you. It appears you’ve been having some adventures thesepast few years." Did I really say that with an edge of snark? I didn’t mean to and I see Evelyn is disconcerted.
Evelyn's fingers tense around her cup. "Well, things have changed quite a bit for me too."
"Are you still touring? Last I heard, you were heading to Europe for some prestigious concert series." I remember how proud our family had been when Evelyn was invited to perform with the Vienna Philharmonic. She'd been playing violin since forever, destined for greatness from the moment she first picked up the instrument.
Evelyn exchanges a quick glance with Lucrezia before answering. "Actually, I've taken a break from performing. A rather extended one."
"What? But you love playing. You've always loved it."
"I opened a bookshop instead," she says, a small smile forming on her lips. "In the Village."
I nearly choke on my coffee. "A bookshop? You? The girl who practiced violin eight hours a day and dreamed of Carnegie Hall since kindergarten?"
"Life takes unexpected turns," Evelyn says with a shrug that seems too casual. "I needed something different. Something quieter."
I study her face, noting the shadows that cross her eyes when she mentions her former career. There's a story there—something painful she's not sharing.
"But you do still play?" I ask gently.
Her fingers twitch slightly, as if remembering the feel of strings beneath them. "Not really. No. Not anymore."
Lucrezia reaches over and squeezes Evelyn's hand, a gesture so natural it speaks of a deep friendship I hadn't realized existed between them.
"The bookshop is wonderful," Lucrezia says. "You should visit it while you're here. It has this perfect reading nook by the window."
I nod, accepting the clear change of subject. I understand boundaries better than most. Since living with Elliott I've become an expert at reading when topics are off-limits.
"I'd love to see it," I say. "I haven't had much time to read lately."
"I bet," Evelyn says, her expression softening. "How's Uncle Jim doing? I heard his back surgery went well."
"Dad's better. The surgery helped a lot." I hesitate, not wanting to mention that Elliott paid for everything. That my father's medical care is one of the golden handcuffs keeping me tied to my marriage. But that's why I managed to leave eventually. Since the surgery went well anything else will be solved as soon as I can work again to provide financial help to them. "He's even talking about fishing again."
The conversation drifts to safer topics—my brother Jake's college plans, Evelyn's favorite books to recommend to customers, Lucrezia's painting. But I can't stop wondering what happened to make Evelyn abandon her lifelong passion. She was always the dedicated one, the focused one. The violin wasn't just something she did—it was who she was.
And then there's the other question burning in my mind: how did my classical musician cousin end up involved with a mafia family?
I wait until Lucrezia excuses herself to the restroom before leaning closer to Evelyn.
"Can I ask you something?" I keep my voice muted, even though Daniel is positioned too far away to overhear.
"Of course," Evelyn says, stirring her coffee.
"How did you..." I struggle to find the right words. "How did you get connected with the Ferettis? I mean, they seem nice and all, but they're?—"
"Dangerous?" Evelyn supplies with a wry smile. "Criminals?"
I nod, relieved she's not offended.
Evelyn glances toward the restroom door, then back at me. "It's complicated, Hazel. When I stopped performing, I was in a bad situation. Really bad." Her voice drops to a distracted whisper. "I made some mistakes, trusted the wrong person. Noah helped me when no one else would or could."
I want to ask more—what kind of trouble was she in? What happened that was so terrible she gave up the violin? But I recognize the haunted look in her eyes. It's the same one I see in the mirror.
"I get it," I say instead. "Sometimes we end up in places we never expected."
