Glass Read Online Free PDF Page B

to throw things, smash them.”
    “But I thought …”
    “Yes,” Cerise continued. “Except for what’s in the glass room.”
    The glass room. The mythical emporium of ancient art rumored to exist somewhere in this house. The space he’d been called to contribute to.
    “Dare I ask why?”
    She stepped across the space and posed herself before one of the windows. “You can ask, but no one knows the answer. The glass there was sacred to him and therefore is sacred to my grandmother.”
    “Sealed away from the world,” he added.
    She said nothing.
    “Who gets it when she’s gone?” Not that it was any of his busines s. He was here to do one thing and would be granted but a brief glimpse. He’d then be allowed to return – once. He and the people he’d need to assemble his project.
    Cerise didn’t move, not a muscle twitched, and her hands hung rigid at her sides.
    “Cerise?” he came up behind her, close enough that he could smell the light fragrance she wore.
    “Me,” she said. “It’s all mine. The house, the land, the glass.” She whirled. “Does that make you want me more? You’ll change your mind about a kiss because the man I marry will obtain it all? You’re a glassmaker. What’s in that space will be more valuable to you than anyone else.”
    She spoke harsh ly, a hint of anger in her voice.
    He raised a hand to her cheek. “You are more precious than anything in there. Has no one told you that?”
    She swallowed, a nervous gesture. “I’ve had no one to tell me anything for most of my years. I raised myself, bearing the weight of everything that happened here.”
    He drew his fingers over her lips then dropped them to his side. He walked away from her, his footsteps echoing in the large room. Crossing to the two covered objects, he lifted the corner of one sheet, sneezing in the scattering dust. A long whistle escaped. “Why this?”
    She approached from behind. “It wasn’t his. But still she doesn’t want to see it.”
    He uncovered it further. It was a vase standing five feet high, decorated with Chinese figures dancing in red-gold gowns. He cupped the side, much like he had her cheek. “Whose was it?”
    “Fredrick Delacroix.”
    He glanced up at her. “The black sheep brother?”
    She smiled and nodded. “He made a trip to China when he was twenty-four and thought to impress the family by bringing back what he was confident was a priceless treasure.”
    “And it wasn’t?” He knew very little about Chinese art, what was valuable and what was not.
    She shook her head. “Worthless. Of course, that was then. Now, it is old, and though not what Fredrick thought it was, it has its own price.”
    “She doesn’t want to remember Fredrick,” he said.
    “No. She’s removed him from the house as well.”
    He lowered the sheet and moved to the next object. This proved to be a small, round pedestal table. It didn’t seem remarkable at all. “Also Fredrick’s?” he asked.
    “No, that was hers.”
    He raised his gaze. “Should I ask why she hates it?”
    “I’m not sure I know. She sent it up here about two years ago.”
    “Two years? You’ve lived here all that time?”
    Cerise inclined her head. “On and off. I leave to see my mother sometimes.”
    He re -covered the table and faced her, folding his arms over his chest. “Objects of great beauty shouldn’t be left on a shelf and ignored, but placed in the open where their worth can be seen by all.”
    Her face became a study, emotion flitting across like a cloud on a sunny afternoon. She hid her feelings always, but not particularly well. To his eye, they were there in little ways, clear evidence of a young life left to fend for a grandmother with what looked like little affection for her and a mother with a broken heart.
    A bell tinkled through the walls from somewhere distant, and her face cleared, her mask returning. She moved toward the stairs. “I must go. My grandmother calls.”
    The door opened and shut, and