Chapter 3 #3
Charlotte’s perfectly arranged face crumpled like someone had told her Botox was going out of style. “Victoria, darling, you never eat at these functions.”
“Well, clearly past-me was missing out.” The words tumbled out with pure Zoe snark before I could engage Victoria’s social filter.
I scanned the menu, which seemed to be written in pretentious with a side of fancy.
“Though I might need a translator for half these dishes. Does anyone actually know what deconstructed essence of spring means, or do we just nod and pretend?”
The horrified silence that followed reminded me that Victoria spoke three languages fluently and probably had a PhD in menu translation. Behind me, Sam’s tablet tapping increased to emergency levels, likely documenting my social suicide in real time.
Diana let out a strangled sound that might have been a suppressed laugh. Rebecca clutched her pearls so hard I worried she’d need a new string by dessert.
“Speaking of essence,” Margaret swooped in for what she clearly thought would be a killing blow, “I heard the most fascinating rumor about your husband’s latest business venture?—”
Sam smoothly intervened, “Mrs. Everett has a strict policy about discussing business at social functions.” Her tone carried a clear warning: abort, abort!
But my mouth was already moving. “Oh, let’s not talk business. I’m much more interested in why Alice is hiding in the corner when she’s the only one here who’s actually opened a new women’s shelter this month.”
The words escaped before my brain could catch them.
Another memory flash: Victoria had spent years systematically excluding Alice Ward for the crime of actually caring about charity rather than just using it as a social weapon.
Well, I’d already torpedoed Victoria’s ice queen reputation—might as well go down championing the right cause.
“Alice, honey, come join us,” I called out before my inner Victoria could scream social suicide. “I promise we won’t bite. Well, Margaret might, but I hear she’s had her shots.”
Margaret choked on her wine while Alice cautiously made her way over, looking like she was approaching a tiger that had suddenly started tap dancing. The rest of the women repositioned themselves like a flock of designer-clad pigeons, clearly unsure whether to scatter or draw closer.
“Victoria,” Rebecca stage-whispered, leaning in close enough that I could probably carbon-date her last facial peel. “Are you feeling… alright? Did that new meditation guru of yours perhaps recommend some interesting herbs?”
Before I could tell her exactly where to stick her herbs—stop it, Zoe, Victoria would NEVER—Sam materialized at my side. “Mrs. Everett has been exploring new perspectives on community engagement,” she supplied smoothly, like she was explaining why the sky had suddenly turned purple.
“How… progressive,” Charlotte managed, her smile so frozen it could have given the champagne a run for its money.
That’s when I noticed the fine print about the special.
“Sarah?” The words were out before my brain could remind me that Victoria Everett didn’t concern herself with staff safety or allergies or basically anything that didn’t directly affect her social climbing.
“The special has pine nuts, but it’s not marked on the menu.
Could you make sure the kitchen knows to warn people? ”
Sarah’s professional mask cracked into a genuine smile, while around me, the socialites looked like they were witnessing their queen start juggling while riding a unicycle.
“Of course, Mrs. Everett,” Sarah said with what might have been a hint of a conspiratorial wink.
Diana leaned toward Charlotte, whispering something that probably questioned my sanity. But Alice was looking at me with growing interest, like she’d just discovered her ice sculpture had a heart of fire.
“Victoria,” Alice ventured, her voice gaining confidence. “I’d love to tell you about the shelter project. Actually, we’re having trouble with the zoning board?—”
“Darling,” Charlotte cut in with the precision of a social surgeon, “surely we don’t want to discuss such… municipal matters over drinks?”
“Actually,” I heard myself say, while my inner Victoria howled in horror, “I’d love to hear about it. Zoning boards are basically just mean girls who grew up and got government jobs, right? We should be able to handle that.”
Sam’s tablet pen trembled in her hand, and I swore I heard a small, strangled sound escape her usually composed demeanor.
Alice burst out laughing—probably the first genuine laugh these walls had heard since they were gilded. A few of the younger socialites looked like they wanted to laugh too but weren’t sure if it was allowed in the bylaws of their social contracts.
“Mrs. Everett,” Sam interjected, her tone carrying a hint of please stop burning down your entire social infrastructure, “perhaps we should all move to the table? The first course will be served soon.”
Right. Because if I was going to continue destroying Victoria’s carefully curated reputation, I should at least do it sitting down.