"Marta will be glad to see you, anyway," he said, confused. "And I'm sure Otto will as well."
Brynn raised her head, and in her eyes Eliot saw tears brimming.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I'm trying. But I don't know if I can forgive them for what they did to you."
"Brynn," Eliot said, sweeping her up into his arms. "I did this to myself. It was my choice."
"But it was his fault," Brynn said. "I don't understand why you would let yourself get caught up in your brother's mess."
"Marta—"
The door opened in front of them. It was Marta. She beamed at them with a smile that was more forced than usual.
"Eliot, Brynn. How wonderful to see you both!" She kissed them on the cheeks and ushered them in with a tittering laugh. "Such a beautiful dress, Brynn. Come, come! Otto is out smoking on the balcony. You've never been here before, have you, Brynn?"
Brynn shook her head.
"Well, then, let me give you the grand tour!"
Eliot followed behind as Marta showed Brynn up the steps to the music room and led her through the kitchen, where their private chef was preparing the dinner. Brynn nodded and murmured compliments in all the right places, and Marta showed off the new furniture they had just bought for their dining room.
"The sofa is a replica of one of Louis IV's," Marta boasted. "From Versailles. And the grandfather clock here is actually an antique that Otto's father just gave to him."
Brynn stopped in front of the clock and watched the regular motion of the silver and gold cogs. The golden pendulum swung slowly back and forth, and the gilded numbering was set into a marble clock face that gleamed. Eliot put his hand on the small of her back. Her eyes were reflected in the glass and he met them just as the hour hand ticked over to nine o'clock. Eliot felt Brynn tense under his hand as the chimes rang out loudly, the sonorous tones vibrating through his chest. She closed her eyes as the last chime sounded, listening to the echo through the large rooms of the apartment.
"It's lovely," Brynn said, turning back to Marta and avoiding Eliot's gaze. Marta smiled widely. Eliot could tell that she was determined to act as though nothing was wrong at all. The world could be falling apart outside, and Marta would still hold dinner parties and smile and show off. She had been pretending for so long now that Eliot thought it might have frozen her permanently in a state of false happiness. He did not know what lay underneath her surface; he had only a glimpse of her pain every now and then, but it would quickly close over.
They opened the door onto Otto stubbing out a cigar on the balcony railing. Brynn stepped forward to kiss him on both cheeks in the traditional greeting, and he swept her into his arms in a familial hug.
"Brynn, this is Otto," Eliot said. "Otto, Brynn."
"I've heard so much about you, my dear," Otto said, pressing her hand with his.
Brynn swallowed, and Eliot knew that she was restraining herself from responding negatively in kind. She smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes.
"Good to see you again, Otto," Eliot said.
"Is that the Danube?" Brynn asked, stepping to the stone railing and looking out over the edge.
"Sure is," Otto said. "Eliot, they've been asking for you at the club. When are you planning on coming back?"
Eliot glanced over at Marta, who was pointing out to Brynn all of the historic buildings that were visible from the balcony. The pinpoints of light in the darkness twinkled like stars.
"Not anytime soon," Eliot said, moving back inside with Otto. The warm light of the apartment bathed the dining room table so that the silverware glowed, and Eliot considered that the entire dinner was a fantasy, the beautiful setting a facade that did its job well but would be taken down at the end of the night.
"Why not?"
"You know what they say about me," Eliot said, his voice snapping more than he had intended.
"If you're talking about the newspaper article, I told them not to run that piece," Otto said, waving one hand in the air.
"It's not just the paper. Everywhere I go, people stare. They whisper."
"Ignore them," Otto said. "You have success. You have a beautiful girl at your side. You have your work."
"Easy for you to say. You're not the one people are staring at."
"They'll forget," Otto said, his voice falling into apology. "They'll get bored with this scandal once the next young celebrity overdoses on her**n. Give it time."
"Perhaps," Eliot said. He scratched his cheek, feeling the length of the scar that ran down his face. It had been ten years since he had been in Hungary. That had been plenty of time, he thought, but still the gazes of people on the street followed him around accusingly.
"Never mind the club," Otto said, putting a cheery face back on. "Tell me what you've been up to!"
Marta and Brynn came back inside, and they all sat down to dinner. The chef brought out the dishes one by one, starting with a spiced kohlrabi soup and moving on to a dish of sausage and browned pears. Otto poured everybody overfull glasses of wine, and they began their dinner. Brynn ate quietly at first, but as Marta and Otto plied her with questions and food, began to open up and talk about her work on the academy paper, her notions of Budapest, and how her Hungarian was improving.
Marta and Otto were charming as always, and soon everyone was laughing at Marta's impression of the overblown actress they had seen recently in a stage production of Romeo and Juliet.
"You should have seen her!" Marta gasped in mirth. "Lisping through all of her lines with such melodrama. 'My bounty ith ath boundlethh ath the thhea'! Oh, it was excruciating to watch."
"Poor girl," Eliot murmured, but Marta's theatrics brought a smile to his face. He took another bite of the sausage and sighed in satisfaction.
"Leave space for dessert," Marta said. "I've asked the chef to make apple pie for the American here." She winked at Brynn. "It'll be ready soon from the smell of it."
"I've never eaten so well, my dear," Otto said, leaning over to kiss Marta on the cheek. She wrinkled her nose as Otto's mustache tickled her.
"Thank you so much," Brynn said. "This is all so wonderful."
"I thought we all might need a nice dinner to wind down from yesterday," Marta said.
"What happened yesterday?" Brynn asked innocently, forking another bite of sausage between her lips.
"You didn't tell her?" Marta looked over at Eliot. He froze, unsure of what to say. Brynn gulped down a swallow of wine and set her glass back down on the table. Her face was a mask of worry.
"Tell me what?" Brynn asked.
"It's nothing," Eliot said, trying to make light of it all. "We got caught in the middle of a riot—"
"Nothing?" Marta cried out. "Why, we nearly died—"
"Marta, don't scare the girl," Otto said, seeing Brynn go pale.
"They destroyed the Ferrari," Marta continued. "If we hadn't gotten out of the salon before the fire started—"
Brynn stood up, her chair scraping on the floor.
"I...I need a bit of fresh air," she said, her eyes averted from the table. She fled to the balcony and Eliot stood up.
"Eliot, I'm sorry," Marta said. "I thought you would have told her already."
"I hadn't had the chance," Eliot said, keeping his voice calm. "She's already worried sick about everything else."
"You're both fine now, and that's what matters," Otto said, patting Marta on the hand.
"Just let me talk to her," Eliot said. "I'm sure she's shocked."
"It'll be a few more minutes to dessert anyway," Marta said, her eyes bright with worry.
Eliot stepped out onto the balcony. Night had fallen fast and the air was cool. Brynn stood watching the Danube flow between the stone riverbanks, and did not move when he came to stand next to her. He could feel the heat radiating off of her skin. He picked up her hand and turned it over to kiss her palm before speaking softly.
"My bounty is as boundless as the sea, my love as deep; the more I give to thee, the more I have, for both are infinite."
"Eliot—"
"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have told you."
"You don't need to protect me from everything," Brynn said, her brows knitting together. "You can't."
"I can try."
Brynn shook her head and looked back out at the river.
"Even now, somebody could be out there watching. Taking pictures of us to put up in a tabloid."
"I'm sorry. If I could stop them, I would."
"I don't want a savior. I don't want a...a protector!" Brynn said. "I just want you to love me."
"Brynn, I love you more than I ever thought possible."
"Then tell me the truth. Don't try to shield me from the world."
Eliot's heart twisted inside of his chest.
"I don't want you to be scared. I don't want these things to get between us. I don't want you to be hurt."
Brynn lifted her eyes to his face, and in her expression he saw a maturity that belied her age. She reached up to his face and stroked his cheek with the back of her hand, letting her thumb glide over his scar.
"We all get hurt sometimes," she said. "It's okay."
"I promise I won't hide anything from you again," Eliot said. He saw a look of worry pass across Brynn's face, and then it disappeared.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes darting back out to the river. A dinner cruise full of tourists floated by. The wind carried fragments of laughter over to the balcony.
"About yesterday..."
"You can tell me when we get home," Brynn said firmly, pushing herself back from the railing. "Right now I think it's time to eat some apple pie."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Brynn
I had to tell Eliot about the money I'd been sending to my grandmother. When he promised never to hide anything from me again, I felt so horribly guilty that I couldn't even taste the apple pie for dessert. And the thought of him being in the middle of one of those riots...
As we rode back through the dark hills of the mountains just outside the city, I looked out of the window at the stars. The lights of Budapest shone dimly below us, but I could still make out the major constellations. My eyes moved to the horizon, where the firs stood like a black fence against the sky. A shooting star fell, the burning line of its path suspended in the night sky for just a moment behind the trees, and I held my breath.
"Tell me about the riot," I said. I needed some time to collect my thoughts.
"They broke the glass of the salon. They burned it down. We were inside when the fire started, but we made our way out."
"And the cut on your hand?"
"I cut it on the glass there. It's not a deep cut."
He was so nonchalant. I couldn't tell if he was trying to make it seem like not a big deal just to ease my mind. The car wound through the curves of the hills, the trees growing bigger, denser in this part of the woods. We were getting closer to home, and I had to tell him.