The Butterfly Garden (The Collector #1)(66)

The only reason I knew how was because of the apartment, because Sophia mothered us all in her slightly warped way. And Lyonette. Sophia took care of her girls, but Lyonette taught me how to tend Butterflies.

“It must be hard to adjust to a place like this, if you’ve been on the street,” he said. “To be safe, but not allowed to leave.”

We weren’t from the street, and we weren’t safe; I just didn’t know how to make him understand that, with the girls in glass hidden away.

We eventually went to the kitchen, once the panic receded enough that my appetite could make itself known, and as we ate bananas and Nilla Wafers, Adara popped her head in and promised to stay with Tereza through the nights. Adara’s depression gave her a different perspective than the rest of us, and she’d had to carefully piece herself back together several times before.

I kissed her cheek because I didn’t have the words to thank her properly.

Danelle volunteered her time to the cause as well, inviting the Gardener back to her room like she used to do in the days when she’d earned the wings on her face. I don’t think he was blind to the reasons for it, but I think he was touched by it nonetheless, because even if it wasn’t for his sake, it was at least for Tereza’s. Doing a good thing for another Butterfly was the same as doing it for him.

Desmond poured a glass of milk and perched next to me on the counter, passing the glass between us. “If I were to do something really pathetic, do you think you could pretend to like it to humor my ego?”

I looked at him warily. “I’d love to be supportive and say yes, but I can’t promise that without knowing what it is.”

He drained half the glass in one gulp. “Come on. I’ll show you.”

“Is it still being supportive if I say I’m scared but will come along anyway?”

“It’ll do.” He lifted me off the counter and took my hand as we walked out of the kitchen and into the Garden. It was still a little bit light out, twilight painting across the sky, and I watched the colors change. He ducked us behind the waterfall into the cave, then let go of my hand. “Wait here.”

He came back less than a minute later. “Close your eyes.”

When Desmond told me to do something—more to the point, when I actually did it—I didn’t feel like I was merely obeying. I obeyed the Gardener, I obeyed Avery.

Desmond was more careful about what he asked me to do.

The waterfall drowned out the sound of his movements, but after a moment I heard music. Music I actually recognized. “Sway” was Sophia’s favorite song, the one she danced to with her girls at the end of every visit, and she couldn’t hear the last notes without crying. Desmond took my hands, placed one of them on his hip, and stepped in close. “Open your eyes.”

An iPod and speaker sat on a safely dry portion of the floor near the hallway. He smiled at me, a little bit nervously, and gave a lopsided shrug. “Dance with me?”

“I’ve never . . . I don’t . . .” I took a deep breath, and somehow his nervous smile was on my lips. “I don’t know how to dance.”

“That’s okay. All I can do is waltz.”

“You can waltz?”

“Mother’s charity functions.”

“Ah.” He pulled me even closer, until my cheek rested against his shoulder, and he swayed us back and forth. He held our joined hands against his chest, his other hand sliding to the small of my back. Softly, almost inaudibly at first, he started singing along. I let him lead, burying my face in his shoulder to hide whatever my face was showing.

There’s this moment when you know that suddenly, everything’s changed. Most people have that moment many times in their lives.

I had it when I was three, and I realized my dad wasn’t like the rest of his family.

I had it when I was six, and I sat on the fucking carousel as everyone walked away.

I had it when I had to take a taxi to my Gran’s, when my Gran died, when Noémie poured me that first drink at the apartment.

I had it when I woke up in the Garden, when I got a new name that was supposed to eradicate everything I had been before.

And now, in the arms of this strange, unaccountable boy, I knew that even if nothing else changed, everything was different.

Maybe I could change him. Convince or trick or manipulate him into contributing to the freedom I wanted for all of us—but it wouldn’t be without a price.

“Des . . .”

I could feel his grin against my temple. “Yes?”

“Right now I could hate you a little.”

He didn’t stop dancing, but the smile faded. “Why?”

“Because this is royally fucked up.” I took a slow, deep breath, thought about what to say next. “And because this is going to break my heart.”

“Does that mean you love me too?”

“My mother taught me to make sure the man always says it first.”

He leaned back a little, just enough to see my face. “Did she really?”

“Yes.”

I don’t think he could tell if I was serious or not.

The song ended, rolling over to something I should probably have recognized, and he put some space between us. “Who am I saying it to? Because you may answer to Maya, but it’s not who you are.”