Chapter 4
Four
ZOE / VICTORIA
The migration to the tables was like watching an elaborate dance where everyone knew the steps except me.
Thankfully, Victoria’s muscle memory kicked in as Sam subtly guided me to what was clearly the power seat—at the center of the main table, with a perfect view of both the room and the door. Very mob boss chic.
Charlotte, as the hostess, took her place to my right—a position that apparently caused three other women to need emergency breath mints to cope with their disappointment. Margaret snagged my left side, no doubt hoping for prime access to whatever mental breakdown she thought I was having.
The rest of the forty-something women arranged themselves with the precision of a military operation, if the military ran on designer perfume and being passive-aggressive.
The inner circle claimed their positions at the main table—Rebecca and Diana completing our carefully curated quartet of power.
The secondary tables filled according to some intricate social algorithm I couldn’t begin to understand, though I noticed the younger socialites clustered together like expensive birds seeking safety in numbers.
Alice hovered uncertainly until I waved her into the empty seat across from me—a power play that caused at least three sets of pearls to be clutched. The seat had apparently been reserved for some duchess or countess or whatever titled person Victoria usually held court with.
That’s when I saw the first course, which looked like a garden fairy had sneezed on fine china. Two microgreens huddled together in artistic despair, garnished with what appeared to be edible flowers and the chef’s existential crisis.
“Is this…” I caught myself before saying a joke, but barely. Sam, still standing behind me like a very efficient guardian angel, subtly cleared her throat. Right. Victoria probably loved tiny food that was more aesthetic than actual sustenance.
Charlotte delicately lifted her microscopic portion with a fork. “The chef’s interpretation of spring renewal is simply inspired.”
“Inspired to make us all hallucinate from hunger,” I muttered, not quite under my breath.
Alice quickly turned her laugh into an unconvincing cough, while several other women suddenly became very interested in their napkins, hiding what suspiciously looked like smiles.
Charlotte’s perfect posture somehow became even more rigid.
The second course arrived—three precisely placed dots of sauce surrounding what might have been fish if you squinted. I was starting to understand why Victoria had been so mean all the time. She was probably just hangry.
“Sarah?” I caught our waitress’ eye again. Several women at the table twitched—apparently calling staff by name was still causing collective aneurysms. “Could I see the regular menu?”
The silence that followed suggested I’d just asked for a food truck to park outside.
“The… regular menu?” Charlotte echoed faintly, like I’d suggested we all grab tacos from a street vendor in our thousand-dollar heels.
“Well, unless anyone wants to join me for pizza later…” I grinned as Rebecca nearly fainted into her three drops of sauce. “Oh, come on. Don’t tell me none of you are hungry? This is lovely and all, but I’ve seen more food in fashion magazine perfume ads.”
A few of the younger socialites giggled before their training kicked in. Alice was openly grinning now.
“The Wagyu rib eye,” I told Sarah after scanning the menu. “Medium rare. With all the sides. And”—I glanced at Sam, who was trying very hard to become invisible—“make that two.”
Sam’s professional mask cracked. “Mrs. Everett, I couldn’t possibly?—”
“When was the last time you ate, Sam? And I don’t mean those sad little energy bars you’ve been nibbling on all morning.”
Diana’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Charlotte looked like she was mentally composing an emergency text to my next of kin.
“Sam, go eat. In fact”—I turned to Sarah again—“is there a nice table in the other room? With actual chairs, not just a sad little corner desk?”
“We have the assistant’s dining area—” Sarah began.
“Perfect. Sam, go. Eat something that actually requires chewing. The social apocalypse can wait until after you’ve had protein.”
Sam hesitated, then something that might have been a real smile flickered across her face. “Thank you, Mrs. Everett.” She turned to go, then paused. “Try not to completely revolutionize the social hierarchy while I’m gone?”
“No promises,” I called after her, earning more shocked gasps and a few poorly concealed smiles from the younger set.
“Victoria.” Margaret leaned in, pearl necklace clutched like a lifeline. “Is everything… alright? I heard stress can sometimes cause… episodes.”
“I’m fine.” I smiled, spearing one of my three fish molecules.
“Just hungry. And thinking maybe we could all use a little less… this.” I waved my fork at the artistic arrangement that was pretending to be lunch.
“And a little more actual food. And conversation that doesn’t require reading between the lines so much we forget what the actual lines were. ”
A ripple of whispers circled the secondary tables. At the far end, a cluster of younger socialites were watching me like they’d discovered their favorite reality show had suddenly gone off-script.
“Speaking of lines,” piped up one of the younger women. Catherine? Cynthia? Her suit screamed trying to fit in while her barely suppressed grin suggested ready for rebellion. “Did anyone hear about that new charity gala where they’re actually asking benefactors to volunteer at the shelters?”
“How… novel,” Charlotte managed, looking like she’d rather French-kiss a cactus.
“Actually,” Alice joined in, her voice stronger now, “that’s part of our new initiative. We find that hands-on involvement really helps people understand?—”
The Wagyu rib eye appeared silently in front of me, Sarah’s practiced movements as discreet as any high-end service.
The room fell silent again, this time with what might have been poorly concealed envy.
At the secondary tables, several women were now openly staring at my plate with the kind of longing usually reserved for limited edition handbags.
I cut into the perfectly cooked meat with unrestrained joy.
“Anyone want a bite? No? Your loss. Alice, tell me more about this initiative. And does your shelter need a commercial kitchen? Because I’m pretty sure we could fundraise for that faster than Charlotte here goes through tennis instructors. ”
Charlotte choked on her wine. Two of the younger women at the main table didn’t quite manage to suppress their snorts of laughter. From the secondary tables came the unmistakable sound of hastily muffled giggles.
“Victoria!” Diana hissed, but I noticed she was eyeing my plate with barely disguised interest.
“What? We’re all thinking it.” I shrugged, taking another blissful bite. “Just like we’re all hungry. Sarah? I think Lady Catherine over there would love to see a menu.”
The young woman startled at being called out but then straightened her shoulders. “Actually… yes, I would.”
“As would I,” chimed in another voice from the secondary table, followed by several more murmurs of agreement.
“This is highly irregular,” Charlotte protested weakly, but I noticed her gaze lingering on my rib eye.
“So is pretending these portions could feed a hummingbird,” I replied cheerfully. “Alice, you were saying about the shelter? Between actual bites of food, preferably?”
Alice launched into a passionate explanation of her projects while around the room, menus began appearing like contraband at a finishing school. Victoria’s social reputation might be going up in flames, but at least we’d all be well fed while watching it burn.
The younger socialites were now openly exchanging looks of delighted scandal, while the old guard seemed torn between horror and hunger. Even Margaret had stopped clutching her pearls long enough to discreetly signal Sarah for a menu.
“You know,” I mused, loud enough for the room to hear, “I bet we could combine Alice’s hands-on initiative with some actual hands-on cooking classes at the shelter.
Teaching life skills, building community…
plus, nobody plots social sabotage on a full stomach.
Well, almost nobody.” I winked at Charlotte, who looked like she was seriously reconsidering her guest list for next month.
I was halfway through my rib eye when commotion near the entrance caught my attention. A young busboy—couldn’t have been more than sixteen—had stumbled, sending a tray of dishes crashing. The silence that followed was deafening.
A Victoria-memory hit me like a slap: just last week, she’d gotten this same kid in trouble for a minor spill, demanding to speak to management while he stood there fighting tears, mumbling about missing work because of his sister’s hospital visits?—
Pure waitress instinct kicked in. I was out of my chair before I could remember I was supposed to be Victoria Everett, society queen.
“Marcus, right?” I was already kneeling beside him, helping gather broken pieces. The poor kid looked like he was expecting execution by designer handbag. “Hey, it’s okay. Accidents happen.”
“Mrs. Everett, I’m so sorry—” he stammered, clearly remembering last week’s incident.
“Victoria!” Charlotte’s scandalized voice cut through the silence. “What are you doing? The staff should handle this. And wasn’t this the same incompetent boy from?—”
“The same boy I owe an apology to,” I cut her off, earning gasps from around the room. Victoria Everett apologizing to staff? That was like catching a unicorn doing taxes.
I helped him steady the remaining dishes on his tray. “Don’t worry about the broken ones. And…” I lowered my voice, “I was completely out of line last week. Having a bad day isn’t an excuse for treating people poorly.”
His eyes widened in shock that I’d remembered, let alone apologized. Around us, the room was so quiet you could hear pearls being clutched.