Ch 92
Elizabeth met me at the door and we both paused, staring at one another in disbelief. She doubled over in laughter while I shook my head.
"Dear God," I muttered.
She jumped up and down, clapping her hands while she continued to laugh herself into near hysterics. "Uncle Phelan! We are twins."
"No, absolutely not. Run upstairs and change. We are not walking out of this house dressed in the same pattern and color. We look like the store mannequins come to life."
"But I don't have anything else," she protested. "My other outfit is disgusting and smells. I cannot wear that in front of Anthony."
"In front of Anthony? What about me? I'll be downwind from you."
"Uncle!" Elizabeth groaned.
Joshua walked down the stairs and into the foyer, most likely drawn to his daughter's fit of laughter, and paused abruptly, looking the two of us over. He chuckled to himself.
"Did the two of you plan this?" he asked.
"My God, of course not," I groused.
"You must go upstairs and show Carmen," he said. "She will be tickled beyond words."
At my cousin's insistence, Elizabeth and I walked upstairs. Carmen was weak and barely able to lift her head, but she had the strength to take pleasure in our matching clothing.
"Like the son I never had," she rasped. "How nice of you to match your little sister."
"Very humorous, dear sister," I said, kissing her cheek.
Despite her teasing, I was glad to see her lucid and even more grateful that she was able to communicate as I'd dreaded walking into the bedroom and finding her barely clinging to life.
"We will tell you all about lessons when we return," Elizabeth assured her mother.
"Have a wonderful time, my dear," Carmen said.
Elizabeth started to walk out of the room but paused, turned on her heel, and gave her mother a tight hug. "I love you, Mother."
"I love you too, Elizabeth. Now go and have fun. And tell Anthony I said hello."
We left the house, me walking briskly and Elizabeth practically floating on air toward the tennis club.
"We may have a guest accompanying us today," I mentioned.
"Your friend Hugo?"
"No. My friend Hugo has one leg and doesn't play tennis."
Elizabeth sheepishly smiled at me before she gasped. "Is it a lady friend?"
The last thing I should have felt was embarrassed, but the way Elizabeth inquired made me clear my throat to prevent grinning back at her.
"It is a lady," I carefully said. "But do not–"
"Oh! A lady friend! May I be her partner or shall you and I play against her and Anthony? If it's you and I together, are we playing to win or playing to play? If it's you and her against me and Anthony, do I need to make sure I don't hit the ball hard? So that I don't make her a eunuch?"
"You cannot make a woman into a eun- never mind. How on earth do you speak for such a long period of time without taking a breath?" I questioned.
"Skill and excellent lungs. Now, do you fancy this lady friend? Are you trying to impress her, Uncle Phelan? Or is she just a friend. She cannot be just a friend if you invited her to tennis, which means she must be a lady friend that you fancy."
I gave her a significant look. "No more questions. You're giving me a headache."
Elizabeth remained undeterred and naturally asked another question. "What is her name?"
"Mademoiselle Lucille La Behr," I answered.
"I like her," Elizabeth said. "She sounds wonderful."
"Based on her name?"
"Yes. Lucille La Behr sounds like a very nice person. I cannot wait to meet her."
I took Elizabeth by the elbow and drew her closer to me. "You must behave yourself, do you understand? It's bad enough we are wearing the same outfit. Conduct yourself like a lady. Do not hit the ball as hard as you can at anyone."
"Understood." Elizabeth's grin could not be contained. "This is going to be wonderful."
Her excitement spilled out and threatened to drown me as well. Try as I might, I was unable to stop the quickening of my pulse as I was simultaneously filled with delight of Lucille joining us and dread in her deciding to stay home.
We reached the tennis club twenty minutes early, selected rackets from the wall where they were displayed, and hit the ball back and forth until Anthony arrived a few minutes later, thankfully dressed in green athletic trousers and a white shirt that was not part of the Sezane summer collection.
"You both look better than me on the court," Anthony said as he rummaged through a wire bin of tennis balls. "How is the flannel on that ball, Eliza?"
Elizabeth examined the ball. "Good still. I think."
Anthony joined her on the opposite side of the net and took a look for himself, deciding to explain the process of vulcanizing the rubber and the stitching involved in the flannel covering. Elizabeth politely nodded, appearing fascinated by every word coming out of Anthony's mouth.
"And that is how tennis balls are made," he concluded.
"You are so intelligent, Anthony," Elizabeth gushed.
He grinned back at her. "I am honored to share my knowledge with you. Now, would you care to be my partner?"
Elizabeth looked ready to swoon. "I do," she said quite dramatically, as if agreeing to a partnership in tennis bound them forever.
It took every bit of my self-control to prevent rolling my eyes at her.
"Two against one?" I asked, seeing as how Lucille had not arrived. It wasn't quite four, but I had no idea if she would show up late or not at all.
"We can switch partners," Anthony offered. "I have a feeling if you and I face Elizabeth together, she will run circles around us."
Elizabeth displayed a devilish grin. Given that she had not previously engaged in any type of sport, I had no idea that she was so competitive. I found her response slightly terrifying.
We lobbed the ball back and forth, which became increasingly difficult as Elizabeth put the ball out of my reach every time she hit it over the net. I would have thought it was entirely on purpose if not for her wincing several times.
"Monsieur Kimmer, would you mind if I played a game against Eliza?"
I gladly agreed, thankful to see Anthony take my spot. There were several wicker chairs off to the side, shaded by an enormous striped umbrella that matched the seat cushions. In between the set of chairs was a square wooden table with a large glass jar with a silver lid that contained lemonade.
Glass of lemonade in hand, I took a seat, scarcely able to believe how swiftly I'd become winded sprinting back and forth for ten minutes in the grass.
I couldn't help but think it was probably a good thing that Lucille had decided to skip the tennis lesson as I was soaked in perspiration and desperately gasping for each ragged breath. As much as I wanted to see her, I didn't exactly want her to see me in such an exerted state.
Naturally, Lucille walked through the tennis club gate a moment later, giant bag slung over her shoulder. I wasn't surprised to see the bag, but I was quite taken aback to see she was dressed in the same skirt and blouse as Elizabeth, which also happened to match what I was wearing.
She stopped dead in her tracks, eyeing me first before she looked at her skirt then back at me.
"You must have been at Sezane this morning," she said, clearly amused that we were dressed in the same blue and white striped pattern.
"I was."
"I stopped in an hour ago," she replied. "Otherwise I would not have had anything to wear."
The images in my mind were most likely not what Lucille intended with her statement. I momentarily looked away from her, attempting to clear my thoughts.
Lucille shielded her eyes from the sun and looked toward the tennis lawn at Elizabeth and Anthony and giggled.
"That was not intentional," I said, anticipating what Lucille would think of our matching athletic clothing.
"If Anthony had the same outfit, we would like the mannequins escaped from the window."
I snorted. "I said the same thing."
She turned her attention back to me and sat on the opposite side of the table with the lemonade. "Are you sitting this round out?"
"Catching my breath," I replied. "Facing the two of them together has been a challenge."
Lucille turned her head to the side. "My apologies. I believe I'm two minutes late for my rescue mission."
"We started twenty minutes early," I explained. "I would not be this winded after two minutes," I assured her.
"I'm not questioning your stamina," Lucille said. "I'm sure you're quite able to sustain yourself through a lengthy session that requires your strength and energy."
Our eyes met, Lucille blushing profusely while I lifted a brow, unsure of how to reply in the appropriate fashion.
Thankfully Elizabeth gasped loudly enough for Lucille and I both to turn to face her.
"Are you Mademoiselle La Behr? You must be, correct? I'm Elizabeth, Uncle Phelan is my, well, uncle, as you may have guessed by me referring to him as such. Oh! I cannot tell you how delighted I am to see you. Uncle Phelan has told me so much about you," Elizabeth rambled on.
Lucille appeared unsure of what to make of Elizabeth, but smiled politely while I silently issued a reprimanding look.
"Elizabeth, how wonderful to meet you. Please, call me Luci."
"Luci? You are so pretty," Elizabeth said.
Lucille blinked at her, clearly taken aback. "That is so kind of you. You are as stunning as a statue that has come to life. Your skin is flawless."
Elizabeth appeared thrilled. "I knew you would be wonderful. Didn't I say that, Uncle Phelan?"
"You did."
"Would you like to be on my team or would you rather be with my uncle?"
"I suppose since your uncle invited me, I should ask him," Lucille said, turning to consult me. "Do you want to be with me?"
A moment of silence lingered between us, her face flushed while I could not begin to imagine how I gaped back at her.
"As your partner?" Lucille added. "In tennis?"
Somehow, every word she added made the situation far more awkward.
"I understood what you were asking," I managed to say.
"Oh, this is fantastic," Elizabeth said under her breath while she looked on in absolute delight.
"So then…?" Lucille asked.
"If that is what you want," I replied.
Lucille nodded. "I would love to be your partner. In tennis. Of course. I didn't mean...well, anything else besides tennis."
"Of course," I agreed. "Tennis partners. A duo, I think?"
Anthony, who was the only one still on the lawn, shifted his weight. "Doubles! Splendid. Shall we play a real game?"
"Yes!" Elizabeth exclaimed, which apparently settled it as Anthony motioned for Elizabeth to return to their side of the net while Lucille followed me to the other side.
"I thought this was a lesson," Lucille said quietly.
"It will be a very hands-on type of lesson," I replied.
"So we just…hit the ball back and forth?" Lucille questioned.
Thankfully, Anthony gave a truncated version of the rules and allowed Elizabeth to serve first.
"Announce the score," he told her.
"But we haven't started yet," Elizabeth pointed out.
"Correct. The current score is love-love."
I was surprised when Elizabeth didn't melt into the lawn at such a romantic score of zero. With the dreamiest of sighs, she looked from Lucille to me, grinning all the while.
"The score is love," she said.
"Love-love," Anthony whispered.
"Yes, my apologies. Love all around," Elizabeth replied.
Elizabeth served the first ball like it was shot out of a canon, which she thankfully directed at me. I managed to hit it over the net where Anthony received the ball and hit it quite hard toward the furthest corner from Lucille, who had no chance to hit the ball.
While Anthony and Elizabeth celebrated, Lucille retrieved the ball and handed it to me.
"My apologies," she said.
"Beginners unfortunate luck," I replied.
"I thought the saying was 'beginner's luck?'"
"The lucky beginner appears to be my niece and quite frankly, she is far more ruthless than I would have ever imagined. We're doomed."
"Doomed?" Lucille gasped in wide-eyed horror.
"Survivable doom," I assured her.
We fared no better for the rest of the game, losing thirty to love toward the end. By some merciful act of the heavens, Lucille did manage to barely hit the ball over the net, which made it impossible for Elizabeth to return. The move was so unexpected that Lucille shrieked in delight and turned to face me in utter disbelief.
"Well done," I said, jogging over to congratulate Lucille on scoring our only point of the match.
I reached out to pat her on the arm and she lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my torso in an unexpected hug. For someone with such tiny arms, she held on quite tightly, rocking back and forth as she squealed in triumph.
It took a moment for the gesture to register, and by the time I embraced her back, she had started to pull away, which seemed quite unfortunate.
"My apologies," she said, clearing her throat. Her face was already red from dashing back and forth, and I couldn't tell if it was redder with embarrassment. "I have gotten a bit carried away."
"You needn't apologize. You've made us respectable in what I anticipate is our impending loss," I said.
"Survivable doom." Lucille grinned back at me. "I didn't want you to think I was…"
"I assume nothing."
She nodded in agreement. "I suppose we shall finish our doom on this next play."
As expected, we lost on the next serve as Anthony hit the ball toward me and I put forth little effort to continue the game as it was almost five and I wanted Elizabeth home and settled for supper with her father.
"I have not had this much fun in ages," Anthony said as he served everyone lemonade.
"Winning does tend to be enjoyable," I agreed.
"Next time I would be honored to be your partner," Anthony said to me. "The ladies, I'm afraid, will probably run circles around us."
"I don't run anywhere," Lucille sheepishly said. "At least not like Elizabeth here. You are quite impressive."
Elizabeth shrugged. "I have long legs. Like a stork, isn't that right, Uncle Phelan?"
"Like an elegant flamingo," I replied.
My niece smiled back at me. "I do hope that Mademoiselle La Behr will return," she said quite hopefully. "Uncle Phelan, will you please invite her again?"
"If Lucille cares to join us again–"
"Yes!" Lucille exclaimed. "I would love to return. But perhaps a proper lesson first?"
Plans were made over lemonade to utilize the tennis courts on Tuesday and Thursday of the following week.
"Monsieur Kimmer," Anthony said. "Would you mind if I walk Elizabeth home?"
Elizabeth stared wide-eyed at me, the look on her face willing me to agree.
"Straight home?" I questioned the two of them.
The two of them eagerly nodded. "You may."
"Thank you, Monsieur," Anthony said. He finished the rest of his lemonade and nodded to Elizabeth, who grinned with giddy excitement and practically skipped out of the tennis club at Anthony's side.
I watched the two of them leave, feeling Lucille's gaze on me. When I turned my attention back to her, she looked away, plucking the tennis ball from the table.
"I suppose the rescue mission was not quite a success," she said, running her thumb along the seam of the ball.
"I beg your pardon? That was quite the successful rescue mission."
Her dark eyes flitted back to mine, the slightest of smiles at the corners of her mouth. "How? We lost. Spectacularly at that, I might add."
"Quite frankly, I saw little chance of victory," I replied, sitting back.
There was a breeze flowing through the lawn that cooled the back of my neck and rustled the umbrella, which failed at providing shade from the sun as it had started to descend behind us. I noticed Lucille leaned toward me. I wasn't sure if it was to place herself closer to the breeze or for the sake of conversation, but hoped it was the latter.
"You invited me to lose?" Lucille teased.
I took another long sip of lemonade and considered my reply.
There had not been a single woman I'd been with that I would have ever invited out for tennis, least of all with Elizabeth, whom I had made great effort to keep from knowing the more amorous side of my life. I didn't want my niece to think of me as a scoundrel and was fairly certain that I had managed to succeed, partly because I was not seen out with women and partly because Elizabeth was naive.
I turned to face Lucille. "I invited you because you showed an interest in tennis and said your friends and your brother do not share that sentiment."
"Oh. Yes, I did say that." She nodded in agreement.
We sat in silence for a moment, neither one of us looking at the other.
"I also invited you because I enjoy your company." I admitted.
She remained quiet for a painfully long moment, one that made me certain I had misspoken.
"My company?" Lucille questioned at last.
I turned to face her, unsurprised by the coloring in her cheeks. "Yes, your company."
She inhaled. "I enjoy yours as well."
The silence resumed, me clutching my empty glass while Lucille continued to stroke the tennis ball in a way that made it impossible for me to look her in the face.
"Have you tried your new bather?" she asked suddenly.
"Not yet," I replied.
"Do you want to give it a go Monday at six?"
"I was planning on five, but I could arrive at the pool at six."
"Five-thirty?" she questioned.
"How can I possibly say 'no' to such bargaining?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Lucille smile. She turned the tennis ball over in her hands.
"You know, I didn't realize these balls were this big or felt like this," she said suddenly.
I looked straight up and shook my head, briefly closing my eyes as there was not a chance I could successfully look in her direction without bursting into inappropriate laughter. "Luc–Lucille," I said under my breath. "Do you not hear yourself?"
"I beg your absolute pardon? I didn't think they were this big or covered in flannel!" she said.
"My God," I said under my breath.
"There is nothing wrong with what I said," Lucille protested. You are the one making my words into something they are not. You are…shameful. Shame on you."
She attempted the most stern expression, but failed and was forced to attempt to hold back a grin,
I tossed my hands in the air and sighed. "Are you looking for another apology?"
"That will not be necessary."
I stood, placing my empty glass on the service cart. "Come on," I said. "And leave the tennis ball here."
Once Lucille had her bag, which she had stowed beneath one of the chairs, I pulled up my left sleeve and removed the bandage over my arm. It was covered in both salve and perspiration, and the heavy, damp feel of it against my flesh was noticeable.
"It does look better," Lucille said, craning her neck for a better view.
'Better' was somewhat deceptive in terms of a description. In the light of day, the scar tissue was grotesque enough on its own, but the bruising made it exponentially worse. The middle of my forearm was still black, but the outer edges had become green and yellow, which was unfortunately an improvement.
Lucille unexpectedly placed her hand beneath mine, supporting the weight of my extended arm. "It almost looks like fingers here, don't you think?" she asked, tracing just above my arm.
The night outside of the Opera Populaire jolted through my mind. Two weeks later, and I still could not wrap my head around how close I had been to Erik.
I inhaled sharply, thinking of how hard I had gripped my arm, and startled Lucille into drawing her hand back.
Lips parted, she stared up at me in horror. "I didn't–I didn't mean to hurt you."
"You didn't," I assured her, finding I had taken her hand in mine. "It was…I was thinking of how the bruise formed."
She frowned at me. "Do you want more salve? I might have it in my bag," she offered.
I smiled back at her and shook my head. "I think I will allow it to breathe for a bit and apply more tonight."
Lucille's gaze dropped to her hand in mine, which I released.
"Shall I walk you home?" I asked.
"If…if you would like," she replied.
"Of course," I said.
We walked in the opposite direction of my apartment, away from the theater and art district and toward the campus. I had no recollection of where Lucille had lived when I walked her home three years earlier, but I knew that it was not a part of town I frequented.
Despite how long I had resided in Paris, most of the city was foreign to me. I kept to my own neighborhood, rarely straying past the perimeters I had formed as a teenager.
"Did you happen to see Soward Sewing closed?" Lucille asked me.
"I did," I replied.
"I wonder what happened," Lucille said. "The woman who ran the shop was very nice and the prices were reasonable."
"Abigail moved back home," I answered, "to Toronto."
"Abigail?" Lucille's already casual pace slowed. "Oh. Is she the person you were inquiring about when you came to the train station for the log?"
"Yes," I answered. "She was a friend of mine."
Lucille nodded, but didn't say anything for a long moment, and we proceeded quite some distance without a word exchanged between the two of us.
I hadn't expected my heart to ache at the mention of Abigail, and yet I felt the heaviness return. There was a place inside of me still reserved for her, still quite raw despite my desire to bury the pain that had been left behind. Eventually I would have to resolve myself to her departure, but for the time being, I didn't want to address it.
"She's getting married," I said, as if needing to remind myself that there was nothing between us. "I'm happy for her."
My tone indicated the opposite. The rawness to loss was still very fresh.
"Are you attending her wedding?" Lucille asked.
I shook my head. "I am traveling to Italy this summer," I answered. "There won't be time, I'm afraid."
"What's in Italy?" Lucille asked.
"Marble," I answered.
"Are you making a table?" she asked.
"I'm taking a sculpting class," I answered.
"Sculpting? That sounds quite intriguing, actually."
"I'm traveling to a quarry that Michelangelo sourced his marble," I told her.
Lucille gasped. "You're using the same marble as Michelangelo?" she asked. Unexpectedly she grasped my bicep out of excitement. "How extraordinary."
"I doubt I will make anything that comes close to his masterpieces," I replied.
"You might make something better."
To that I chuckled. "You are expecting far more than I am, Luci," I said. "Lucille, I mean to say."
I felt Lucille's dark eyes on me, but didn't glance in her direction. Shortening her name felt unexpectedly intimate, and I wasn't certain if she would find it acceptable.
"Phelan," she said.
Against my better judgement, I turned to face her.
"I don't suppose you go by Phe?" she said.
"Lan," I said, yet another shortened version of a name that felt incredibly intimate.
"Lawn?" she said, drawing three letters out further than necessary.
"Lan. It's what my brother called me when we were children, but…" The aching threatened to turn into numbness. "We haven't seen each other in a very long time. I don't know if he would still call me that."
"Lan," she said fondly. "It's endearing."
"Is it?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Well, as long as you think so."
"You may call me Luci if I may call you Lan."
I wasn't sold on the idea as no one had called me that in thirty years. I lifted a brow. "I will take that into consideration."
"You may call me Luci even if you prefer Phelan," she said.
"I will also take that into consideration."
"Where does Phelan come from?"
I furrowed my brow. "Where do I come from or where does my name come from?"
Lucille thought for a moment. "Both, actually."
"Conforeit, which is in the northern part of the country, not far from Calais," I answered. It was not something I typically told anyone, but it was also a question I was rarely asked. "I have no idea why I was given Phelan as a name."
"Perhaps you were named after someone?"
That seemed doubtful, but I shrugged, having no desire to tell Lucille that I was not wanted by my parents and assumed they had not put much thought into my name.
"Gaelic?" she questioned.
"I beg your pardon?"
"It's a Gaelic name, isn't it?"
"I've never researched it."
"Faolán," Lucille said.
"Fway-lawn?"
She nodded. "The Gaelic pronunciation. I am fairly certain it means 'wolf'."
"How do you know this?" I asked.
"The university library has an entire collection of genealogy and onomatology, where I spent an unfortunate amount of time for a number of years, mostly in the summer."
"Onomatology is…?"
"The study of names," she said.
I nodded. "Interesting."
Lucille frowned at me. "You must think I'm terribly dull researching the origins of surnames and given names."
"I said it was interesting. How on earth did you misconstrue interesting to mean dull?"
"I thought you were being polite."
"Me? Polite? Never," I dryly said.
Lucille snorted. "I should not assume."
"No, we have that fairly well established at this time, Luci," I said, playfully leaning toward her as we walked.
Her face immediately flushed, but she grinned back at me in a way that was purely delightful. "So we have, Lawn."
"Why were you in the library frequently?" I asked.
"Because Cecil refused to allow me to stay home most summers for fear I would be abducted or the house would mysteriously blow up or something equally ridiculous."
"You must have been quite the trouble-maker," I commented.
Lucille gasped and scrunched up her face. "Absolutely not! I have not caused a day of trouble in my life."
"I find that difficult to believe," I teased.
She took greater offense to my jesting than I had anticipated, particularly when she swatted at my arm, dropping her bag in the process.
Several items spilled onto the sidewalk, much to Lucille's horror. I knelt first, grabbing a small mirror, glove, multiple hairpins, and a piece of paper, which I glanced at before handing it to Lucille.
I took a double-take at the paper, brow furrowed as I thought I recognized the drawing as my own. Once I flipped it over and saw it was a hasty drawing on the back of a train station form, I was certain it was mine.
When I stood and looked at Lucille, she had drawn her bag to her chest, her dark eyes averted. I handed her the mirror, glove, and pins first, then looked at the drawing again.
"You kept this?" I asked.
"Should I have thrown it away?" she asked, sounding quite defensive.
"I…" My voice trailed away as I looked at the rough sketch again, thinking back to its creation.
The image was my view from Calais across from the train station. I had missed the train back to Paris by six minutes, which left me with three hours of time to pass.
Stillness had never suited me, and as I tired of walking back and forth from one end of the train station to the other, I finally forced myself to sit.
The image of Bjorn's lifeless form was ingrained in my mind. No matter what I did, all I could see was his yellowed flesh and yellowed eyes slit open just enough to see the color of his irises, the same color as mine.
His corpse was far more unsettling than his failing body writhing beneath the sheet, and the final time I'd looked at Bjorn had haunted me for months.
After days of being at his bedside, I had forced myself to draw something that was not death and had taken solace in the hanging plants outside of the train station as well as the shivering leaves of the well-established beech trees.
And that was what I had roughly sketched and given to Lucille after she filled out the form on my behalf, her gentle kindness lifting the dread I had felt for over a week.
"No, I don't think you should have thrown it away. I'm surprised it survived, actually," I said.
It was in remarkably good condition for being inside of a large bag filled with a multitude of various objects.
"There's a sleeve that I keep it in," Lucille explained as she dug through the bag. "It must have fallen out."
At last she produced a thin leather sleeve and I handed the drawing back to her, watching as she placed it carefully back inside.
"I've never had anyone draw something for me, so I have kept it inside the bag," she said.
"I can draw it again if you want," I offered, "on a proper sheet of paper with something worth keeping."
"No, I like this one." She opened the cover of the sleeve and took another long look at the drawing. "I think it's beautiful. Don't you?"
"I could do better."
"I'm sure you could, but I am fond of this one."
I wished that the sketch hadn't been so hastily done, that I would have taken greater care in the lines and the details if I'd known she intended to keep it.
Of all the sketches I'd done over the years, it was definitely one of the worst ones, but somehow, despite the trees looking like they were made out of lumpy mashed potatoes and some of the people portrayed horribly out of proportion, the sketch had made it into Lucille's magic bag.
I could think of no greater honor for any piece of art I had created to be carried in Lucille's magic bag–not even a place on the wall of the prestigious Louvre.
We reached the front steps of a town home with an ashlar facade and several steps leading to an emerald green door with an arch above it.
"Thank you for tennis," Lucille said.
I lingered a moment longer, and she climbed up the first step, which almost put us eye-to-eye in height.
"Onomatology," I said.
Lucille blinked at me, then gave a single nod. "The study of names."
"What does Lucille mean?"
The faintest of smiles graced her lips, while her dark eyes twinkled with mischief.
"Perfection," she said.
I eyed her suspiciously, and her demur smile cracked into a full grin.
"That is quite fitting," I replied, smiling back at her. "And I'm absolutely certain you are not making that up."
Lucille gave a half-hearted roll of her eyes. "Light," she said. "Lucille means light."
"Good night, Luci Light," I teased. "A pleasure seeing you as always."
Her cheeks turned bright red. "Good night, Phelan Wolf."
The Light and the Wolf.
It had a dangerously intriguing ring to it, one that I wished to hear again and again.