Chapter 11 #2
This answer seemed to please the girl. “I’m Mr. and Mrs…
. well, Chef Gray’s daughter,” she clarified.
But Fola didn’t need the clarification. Evelyn and her brother had sometimes joined the Button siblings for tutoring.
Fola only vaguely recalled those sessions with the Gray siblings, as they were pretty insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but she did remember one significant occasion a few years ago when she’d been left alone with the Gray girl …
“I thought Mr. and Mrs. Gray’s daughter was in Italy doing jazz or something,” Fola said, disturbing her own memory by saying the first thing that came to mind.
Evelyn seemed to find this humorous. “Ballet, actually—though jazz does seem very cool,” she replied with a laugh. It was a very nice laugh, objectively speaking.
“What brings you back here, then?” Fola asked.
Evelyn’s demeanor shifted, an awkwardness settling into the space between them. “Oh, I, uh … got tired of eating Italian pasta,” she said, and then quickly cracked a smile. “Just kidding, I needed a vacation.”
“So you’re here for a few days?” Fola asked.
“Undecided. The only thing I know for certain is that I’m staying for Mr. Button’s … your father’s anniversary ball. Anything after that is up to higher powers—those being the head of my ballet company,” she said.
“Hmm, well, hopefully those higher powers concede,” Fola replied. Now deeming that portion of the social exchange done, she turned to her brother. “Hi, Romeo,” she said, finally acknowledging his greeting from before.
Romeo gestured his head to the exit their father had left through. “Are you … okay?” he asked in a way that made Fola want to hit him.
“Of course I’m okay,” she said, but when his pitiful expression didn’t change, she sighed and rolled her eyes. “He’s just got a lot on his mind right now, with the ball and the conference.”
“I’m sure he’s probably also still distraught over that outburst earlier,” Evelyn added, forcing Fola to look at her once more. “It was pretty intense even from back here. It’s not every day you hear a murder accusation.”
“Yeah, I suppose so,” Fola replied politely, though her observation of her father had told her otherwise.
But she had to admit, there was something off-putting about the whole outburst. It had distorted the mood in the room, and it felt like it might have also colored the rest of the day too, turning their vibrant world from Pantone bright to sepia toned.
Or maybe it wasn’t the annoying activist who had created the shift in the atmosphere. Maybe the shift had preceded her. Perhaps it had come this morning when Fola had picked up Octavius, hungover and temperamental, from Grand Central—especially given how weird he was being and had been ever since.
Or maybe it was neither of these things. Maybe there was just a general sense about the day, a sense that something was going to go terribly wrong.
Statistically speaking, the Prodigy Ball had, over the past ten years, far surpassed all of the calculated odds of unexpected things happening.
There had been the year that someone had accidentally set her father’s hair on fire, nearly causing his early death and the destruction of a prestigious ballroom.
The year when the ball had been held at the botanical garden in the Bronx and was swarmed by rogue bees, leading to multiple guests being stung and hospitalized.
And then, of course, there’d been the year when one of the invited prodigies had died directly after the ball.
Each incident had been swiftly taken care of so that there would be no reports directly tying any of the tragedies to the Buttons in any way shape or form, the cracks papered over, but still left a lingering sting in her overactive hippocampus.
It wouldn’t be irrational of her to suspect that this year might be no different.
“You need to try these éclairs, by the way. Best things I have ever tasted,” Romeo said, holding what appeared to be a lemon éclair right up to her face.
“I’ll try some later,” Fola replied. She couldn’t eat much anyway while this dread festered inside her, even though she could desperately do with one of Mrs. Gray’s strawberry tarts.
Maybe that would help settle her anxieties.
She fanned herself then. Despite the cold day, it was warm in the library, under the bright lights and in her heavy dress; Fola could feel her own sweat practically melting her skin.
“The town car is departing for the ball in less than an hour. I should go and get changed and have my makeup touched up before we leave.”
“I should probably head off as well. I haven’t seen my dad yet.
He’s been pulled into the preparation for the ball.
Apparently, a gardener’s touch is essential for the much-needed shrubbery on the yacht,” Evelyn said.
Fola frowned a little at the thinly veiled sarcasm in the girl’s tone.
“It was really nice seeing you both though, it’s been much too long.
I hope we get to hang out some more while I’m here,” Evelyn finished, her eyes lingering on Fola in a way that made her heartbeat quicken, her skin heat, and the hairs on her arms raise.
Preoccupied with the unsteady rhythm of her pulse, Fola couldn’t tell if she’d responded to Evelyn. All she knew was at some point the ballerina had waved goodbye and walked out of the library.
“It’s so weird, Evie being back, right? After so long …
,” Romeo said, but Fola was barely listening to him, her eyes were trained on the door …
on Evie, or rather on Evie’s shadow, which, to her mild disappointment, had swiftly retreated down the hall in the opposite direction of the drawing room and disappeared completely out of view.
Through the door a little farther down, Fola could see her father by the staircase across the hall, now pocketing his phone, seemingly having finished the call that he’d rejected Fola for.
Fola watched him climb up the stairs that led to the east wing.
She could see the side of his face, and the grimace he had on it.
She frowned. There was a frailty to his movements too, like he’d hit his leg or had a fall or something …
“Very weird,” Fola finally replied to Romeo, still watching her father struggle up the steps with a frown until he was completely out of her view too.
“Where are the others?” Romeo asked.
“What others?” Fola said, returning her focus back to her brother, blinking up at him confused.
“Bilal, Perdita, Octavius … You know, our siblings,” Romeo said.
“Oh, right … Well, Dee’s catching up on sleep before the car arrives.
Billy says he’s gone to the bathroom, but I can tell he was lying about that because his right eye twitches when he lies—kind of like your nose thing.
And only Fibonacci knows where the hell Tavi is at this point,” she finished with an exasperated sigh.
Romeo’s face twisted. “My nose thing?” he asked.
“Yeah, the way it scrunches up when you lie. It’s why you’re terrible at poker,” Fola said with a shrug, then she glanced down at her watch, which revealed that she was seven and a half minutes behind her pre-ball schedule.
“Anyway, I should really get going. See you soon, Rome,” she said, patting Romeo on the arm tenderly before turning around and rushing out of the conference room.
She paused for a moment by the staircase, looking at the spot her father had just been, and then continued on, making her way toward the west wing, swallowing the dread building inside of her.