Chapter 3 #2
Dark purple flooded Glyma’s cheeks as she set the slice of cake down on the table for guests to take.
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. You look amazing.
I just mean that you look uncomfortable in the dress—not that it’s ill-fitting.
It fits perfectly. Like, for real, it’s hitting you in all the right places.
” She winced, tail whipping erratically behind her.
“Nope, that’s not helping. Um, you look like you would rather not be wearing the dress?
Or you’d rather be wearing something else instead of the dress?
You don’t strike me as a nudist. Oh, sweet deities. ”
Flustered, the Succubus pressed the back of her hand to her cheek and shook her head.
“Okay, let’s rewind.” She picked the piece of cake back up and struck the pose Quin had first seen her in, spatula and plate aloft.
“Wow, Quin, what a surprise to see you here. You look beautiful. Now, I stop talking, and you go.”
Quin struggled for a response for several long seconds until, instead of words, a laugh bubbled up her throat, preceded by an embarrassing snort.
Glyma bit her bottom lip to smother a sheepish smile, and it made Quin laugh harder.
Not wanting to draw attention to herself, she covered her mouth with her hand and swallowed down the next bout of humor.
Clearing her throat, she smoothed a self-conscious hand down her front. “Well, you’re not exactly wrong. I don’t really like wearing these types of things. My mother insists, though.”
Okay, that sounded way more pathetic than Quin thought it would, and Glyma must have thought so, too. The skin between her eyebrows wrinkled, and her lips parted, as if to speak.
Before she could, Quin said, “You look nice as well.”
And she did. Granted, Glyma could have worn a cardboard box and still looked beautiful, but Quin had the wherewithal not to say that part out loud.
“It’s a catering uniform,” the Succubus said dismissively, returning the plate of cake to the table.
“Right.” Quin fidgeted with the delicate emerald necklace hanging between her breasts.
“Still. You look”—she gave Glyma a more scrutinizing onceover, noticing how her purple tail hugged her leg, the stiffness in her movements, the way her fingers tugged at her collar every now and then—“uncomfortable, too.”
Instead of being offended, Glyma snickered and gestured to Quin’s dress. “To be honest, I’d rather be wearing that.”
“Think anyone will notice if we swap?” Quin teased, and the last remnants of tension between them shattered.
“I imagine it would be quite the scandal,” Glyma said through a boisterous laugh, and Quin’s shoulders loosened for the first time since she’d arrived.
Dropping her voice to not be overheard, Quin said, “Not exactly the type of press my mother approves of.”
Glyma copied her volume conspiratorially and winked. “Then we better stick to our own outfits.”
It was playful, possibly flirtatious, but before Quin could decide how much to entertain it, Glyma was leaning away and returning her attention to serving the cake.
Unsure what else to say, Quin’s gaze drifted behind the Succubus to the banner draped over the wall, advertising the charity they were here to support.
“Illiterate Orphans and Animals Against Hunger,” was scrawled across is it in gaudy type.
“Wow, that’s a mouthful,” she mused.
Following Quin’s stare, Glyma read the banner before snorting. “I know, right? It’s, like, just pick a cause, already. It’s doing too much, in my opinion.”
“Rich people are nothing if not thorough when their reputations, and therefore their money, are on the line,” she said before she thought better of it.
As Glyma coughed out a shocked snicker, Quin hurriedly checked her surroundings to ensure she hadn’t been overheard by the other guests. Thankfully, no one was giving her the stink-eye, and she exhaled in relief.
“I guess, but it’s rather confusing,” Glyma said as she served two more slices of cake. “Like, are the orphans and the animals illiterate? Or did illiterate orphans form a coalition with the animals that were already standing against hunger?”
“I doubt even the organizers know,” Quin quipped for no other reason than to hear Glyma laugh again.
“At least they’re trying.”
“It’s a small concession, I suppose.”
Tail dancing behind her, Glyma beamed at Quin, and her heart somersaulted inside her chest. Oh gods, that wasn’t a good sign, was it?
Glyma inclined her chin at one of the plates on the table. “Want some cake? I didn’t bake it, but it’s still good.”
With a shake of her head, Quin turned the emerald pendant between her index finger and thumb, back and forth. “Pity,” she said, hurrying to add, “that you didn’t bake it,” when Glyma cocked her head in confusion.
“Oh?” she prompted, and Quin stepped to the side to allow several guests access to the table.
“I tried your kriltcake. The sample you left. It was probably the best kriltcake I’ve ever tasted.”
A more natural flush colored Glyma’s cheeks. “Thanks. I’m glad you liked it. Kriltcake’s one of my specialties.”
“It’s never been a favorite of mine, but I probably could have eaten the whole pan. Waryn found it before I could—” She cut herself off at the mention of her almost-fiancé, the strangest shame creeping up her neck. “Anyway, it was delicious. You have a real talent.”
Glyma had to have noticed Quin’s verbal stumble, but she, thankfully, didn’t address it. “Thank you. I think so, too.”
A body warmed Quin’s side a moment before Waryn said, “Brace yourself, your mother is looking for you. Some liquid courage may be in order.”
Releasing the emerald pendant she’d been fidgeting with; Quin straightened her posture and reflexively accepted the champagne flute. “Oh, thank you. Where is she?”
“I managed to entangle her in a conversation with the Chief of Police, so I hopefully bought you some time. Bottom’s up, my dear.
” He clinked their glasses together before taking a sip.
Then he turned to Glyma, who was watching them both intensely, and said, “I couldn’t help but witness you making Quin laugh, which—between you and me—she’s never done at one of these shindigs. ”
“Don’t exaggerate,” Quin reprimanded, but Waryn was neck-deep in his charming, social persona, so he ignored her.
“So either you have managed to charm her within minutes of your meeting, and trust me, Quin is difficult to charm.” His hand landed on her waist, and Glyma’s gaze zeroed in on the innocent, but obvious touch.
“Waryn,” Quin hissed, cheeks heating in embarrassment as understanding dawned on the Succubus’s face.
“Or,” Waryn continued, giving Quin’s waist a reassuring squeeze, “you two already know each other.”
There wasn’t a question in any part of his little speech, but Quin answered anyway before he could say anything else embarrassing. “This is Glyma. She made the kriltcake you loved so much.”
“This is Miss Purgatory Cafe?” he said with genuine excitement in his voice.
Glyma appeared caught somewhere between confusion, worry, and something akin to disappointment as she stammered out, “Well, I don’t—I mean, nothing’s set in stone or anything. I just—”
“Oh, it’s a brilliant idea. I told Quin that. Absolutely genius.”
“Th-thank you,” Glyma said in bewilderment at his enthusiasm.
“It’s an untapped market,” Waryn said, “and everyone knows it’s best to be the first. Get in before anyone else thinks of it. Honestly, I’m surprised it hasn’t happened yet.”
“Let’s not talk shop,” Quin said stiffly.
Finally catching on to her discomfort, Waryn conceded. “Of course. Do forgive me. Glyma, was it? I was simply enraptured by the whole idea, and I do hope you pursue it.”
“Thank you. I mean, yes, I, uh… I guess we’ll see what happens,” Glyma finally said as she offered Quin a reserved smile. “Sorry, I need to get back to—”
She gestured to the cake she was serving, and Quin nodded. “Of course.”
“Incoming,” Waryn said in a hushed whisper disguised as a peck to her head.
Oh gods, no. Not here, where Glyma would play witness. But it was already too late. Quin’s mother was gliding toward them, smiling grandly at everyone she passed.
To anyone who hadn’t grown up with Claryn Duboi as their mother, she was a friendly and caring person, always remembering to send flowers when someone was ill or a bottle of wine on an anniversary. She knew everyone’s names, and she never forgot a face.
But Quin knew better. Claryn Duboi was always on. Always watching, always listening. While everyone else played checkers, Claryn was playing chess. Always.
As she approached, Quin lifted her chin and straightened her spine, locking every muscle into perfect posture. She was a statue. She was marble and stone, metal and steel.
“Quinastasia, darling, there you are,” her mother sang from several feet away, arms outstretched in mock invitation to an embrace, and numerous heads turned in their direction to watch the spectacle unfold.
“Everyone’s been asking for you, and I had to tell them, ‘Oh, you know our Quin, loves to make an entrance.’”
Sharp-nailed fingers grasped Quin’s shoulders tightly, and she forced her grimace into a smile as her mother noisily air-kissed near her cheeks. “We arrived on time, Mother.”
“Of course, you did. It was all in good fun, dear. Don’t be so sensitive.
” Leaning back, still gripping Quin by the shoulders, her mother inspected her, thin brows drawing down ever so slightly, and Quin’s gut clenched.
“Your hair is down. It’s nice but maybe a bit pedestrian?
And it’s making your face look a little…
” She puffed out her cheeks before offering Quin a condescending smile.
“I just think it looks so much better up. Don’t you think her hair looks better up, Waryn? ”
Picking and prodding at Quin’s hair, her mother turned expectantly to Waryn. His smile was thin but cordial as he said, “I think she is ravishing in every hair style.”
“Oh, you charmer,” Claryn cooed, giving his cheek a pat. “I don’t know how Quin ever landed you. If I was ten years younger…” She tutted, empty and grating, and it set Quin’s teeth on edge. “Oh, Quin, don’t give me that look. I’m joking! Where’s your sense of humor?”
Quin kept her expression neutral and unbothered as her mother patted Waryn’s cheek again, then his chest. Then she cocked her head and frowned at Quin’s dress next.
“Why didn’t you wear the dress I sent? This one is lovely, of course, but the color’s a bit dark for your complexion, don’t you think, sweetheart? ”
“This is the dress—” Quin tried to say, but her mother interrupted before she could finish.
“I do prefer you in lighter colors. Don’t you think lighter colors would suit her better, Waryn?”
“I am actually quite fond of this color,” Waryn said diplomatically, but Claryn continued as if he hadn’t spoken.
“Well, let’s go find your father. He wanted to introduce Waryn to the Dooleys. They own half the chalets at The Point, you know?” She brushed a hand over Quin’s exposed shoulder. “Did you bring a shawl?”
Metal and steel. She was metal and steel.
“No, Mother, I didn’t want a shawl. It’s summer,” she explained, and her mother’s smile glitched.
“Of course. I mean, if I had your… strong shoulders, I would have worn a shawl, but your comfort is more important. And you look just beautiful. So radiant, even with those little baggies under your eyes.” She swiped a thumb under Quin’s eyes before petting her shoulders again.
Taking a measured breath, Quin subtly glanced Glyma’s way, flinching when she found the Succubus watching the mortifying display with wide eyes.
Glyma, at least, had the decency to jerk her gaze away and focus on the cake instead.
Quin brought her glass to her lips and chugged the champagne in one go.
With a scandalized noise, Claryn snatched the flute from Quin’s grasp, nearly spilling the remaining champagne down the front of her dress. “Don’t drink it so fast! Where are your manners?” She handed the glass across the table to Glyma without looking at her. “Dispose of this, won’t you?”
Quin tried to take the glass back as Glyma glanced between them anxiously. “Mother, that’s not her job.”
“I can’t imagine it’s any trouble,” her mother dismissed, holding the glass out to Glyma expectantly. “You do know where it goes, don’t you?”
With an easy smile, Glyma took the glass. “Of course. Let me take care of that for you.”
“You see? It’s no trouble. Just let the help do their jobs.” Claryn tugged and smoothed at Quin’s dress until she was satisfied, and Quin stood tall and immovable.
“Metal and steel,” she whispered.
“What? Do speak up, Quin.” Her mother sent Waryn an exasperated look. “I don’t know how you put up with her mumbling. Always with the mumbling.”
“I have always found Quin to be exceptionally articulate,” Waryn said, and there was a bite to his tone now.
In moments like these, Quin wished she could have loved him.
Claryn simpered. “Waryn, you are too sweet. Still, I told Quin as a child, ‘speak clearly, or people will assume you’re slow or something.’”
“Mother!”
Flapping a hand in Quin’s face, Claryn tittered. “I’m just teasing. Really, Quin, you take everything so seriously.”
Collecting herself, Quin reset her defenses, pointedly ignoring the heavy weight of Glyma’s gaze from the other side of the table. “Father is expecting us?”
“Yes, yes, and you’ve kept him waiting long enough.” Her mother gestured for them to follow her as she strode into the milling bodies without a backward glance.
Waryn placed a hand at the small of Quin’s back. “That was a rough one.”
“I’m fine,” Quin snapped, brushing a loc over her shoulder.
Against her better judgement, she glanced Glyma’s way again.
The Succubus was spacing out the plates, pushing them this way and that as if in some attempt to appear busy.
Then her eyes darted up to Quin’s and locked there.
They stared at each other for one never-ending moment, and the pity behind Glyma’s irises threatened to dismantle Quin’s carefully constructed armor.
Before she could split apart, Quin dipped her chin in a jerky farewell and choked out, “Please excuse me.” Then she followed her mother dutifully through the crowd, feeling the weight of Glyma’s gaze on her back the whole way.