Chapter 12
TWELVE
Joan knocked on Molly’s door, already tired of this day, and it swung open to reveal none other than Astoria Wardwell.
Astoria looked perfectly crisp in a black muscle tank and those really cool pants with lots of pockets and straps, except her straps were filled with little knives.
Her hair was French braided down either side of her head.
She was, somehow, even more gorgeous than she had been last night. Effortlessly beautiful.
Joan looked like the rats of New York were on the brink of naming her their queen.
“You don’t look very well,” Astoria said with an entirely neutral inflection. “Did you have a bad night after stepping viciously on my toes?”
“What are you doing in my sister’s house?” Joan asked, self-consciously running her hand through her curls and nearly getting her fingers stuck in a snarl.
“We were invited over for breakfast,” Astoria said.
Wren popped around Astoria’s shoulder. “Joan!” she said. “What a nice surprise.”
Astoria moved aside unconsciously, making room for Wren in the tight space. “You two know each other?”
“We had a little chat last night,” Wren said. “I think we’ll be fast friends.”
Joan gave a confused smile as her reply, because she wasn’t at all convinced that they were going to be friends and that Wren wasn’t trying to manipulate Joan into giving up all her secrets, which were many and dangerous.
Joan was susceptible to manipulation, especially by a pretty woman.
If Astoria tried it, she’d crack immediately.
“Is Molly in there?” Joan asked, trying to look everywhere but at Astoria. “I need to see her.”
“Oh, of course, look at us, blocking the doorway. Come on, Story,” Wren said, and tugged Astoria’s massive bicep to move her out of the way.
Joan stepped in, brushing past Astoria with a smirk. “Come on, Story,” she mocked, because she couldn’t help it. Astoria looked too good not to be taken down a few pegs, and Joan had never been particularly demure.
Astoria grumbled as she shut the door. Joan couldn’t pick out specific words, but Astoria even grumbled cutely.
Joan toed off her sneakers and found Molly in the kitchen, leaning on the counter as she spoke furiously into the phone. When Joan walked in, Molly looked up and abruptly cut off the conversation with a few words of deflection.
“Thank Circe,” Molly said, grabbing Joan’s arm and pulling her in to whisper in her ear. “Work’s a mess; I need you to watch the Californians for me.”
“What! You can’t pawn them off on me,” Joan hissed back. “I have obligations.”
“You are unemployed and freshly back in town,” Molly said.
“There are people I need to catch up with.”
“You don’t have friends; it’s just CZ, and I’m sure he’s at work right now.”
Joan’s unemployment was actually causing her a fair number of problems. You’re unemployed, CZ had argued, you have time to help me babysit Mik.
You’re unemployed, Molly was arguing, you have time to help me babysit the Californians.
Joan was going to get a job out of spite, because they were all grown, weren’t they, and they shouldn’t all need babysitting.
“Jo,” Molly said, hushing her voice a bit and darting a glance to the dining room, where Wren and Astoria were chatting.
“You should know that Mom and Dad are not pleased you left the party so early last night; I’d avoid them for a while if I were you.
Mom’s gone lawyer mode talking about how you don’t have the right to leave, and Dad’s convinced you’re doing it specifically to spite him. ”
The thought of her parents being angry with her made her feel like she was thirteen.
She was spiting them, but all of them, not just Merlin, and she was doing it quietly, in a not-so-in-your-face way.
Merlin being on to her elicited a weird panic.
Her parents’ voices echoed in her head like ghosts, rattling around hard enough to kick up loose memories.
Do you have to embarrass us all the time? You make me feel like a bad mother.
Stop crying, you’re giving everyone the wrong idea.
Her hands started to get clammy; her breathing thickened. Fuck, she was twenty-five with bigger problems. Why did it still feel like this?
She shook her head bodily, like the physical action would be able to crush her anxiety. It was hopeless, but it gave her enough clarity to refocus on Molly as best she could. Breathe in, then out. She really needed to find a therapist in the city.
Molly leaned in even closer. “Also, you know you kind of smell? Why are you still in your clothes from last night?”
Joan looked down at the yellow jumpsuit. “You’re criticizing me while asking me for a favor?”
“Oh!” Molly gasped, loud enough that Astoria and Wren looked over. “Is this a walk of shame?”
Joan’s face flushed with the power of a million suns. “Shut up!” she snarled at Molly. “No, it isn’t.” She held up defensive hands toward both Molly and the Californians. Wren was looking quite amused, and Astoria was as impassive as ever.
“I had a sleepover with CZ.” Technically true. “And then you called me and I came running.”
“Sure, Joan. CZ’s a convenient excuse. I’m so glad you got some!” Molly said gleefully. She grabbed her keys off the counter. “This is such good news. You’ve completely turned around my day.”
“Molly, please shut the fuck up,” Joan said, following her sister around the kitchen. “Your obsession with this is becoming incredibly concerning. Guys, please don’t listen to her.”
“We’re not hearing a thing,” Wren sang. “Congrats though.”
“Congratulating someone on having sex, that has to be embarrassing,” Astoria remarked.
Joan made a slashing motion across her throat in Astoria’s direction, and Astoria cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t think you can get close enough to shut me up,” Astoria said.
“I’m wily,” Joan said as Molly gathered her purse. “I’m like a cat, I will claw you to shit.”
“I’m a dog person,” Astoria said. “Wouldn’t know, so the threat doesn’t scare me.”
Of course Astoria was a dog person; she seemed like the sort of person who trained hunting dogs and then raced them to the kill. All muscled and ferocious looking. No, Joan only respected cat people. Maybe rat people. Not ferret people.
Molly had taken advantage of this back-and-forth to scurry into the hallway and slip on her shoes.
“Hey! You!” Joan yelled, chasing after her sister and skidding a little on the chevron hardwood floors. She backtracked three steps to turn a plant in the window that was starting to grow lopsided, and its leaves tickled her hand. “I never agreed to this.”
“I called uncle,” Molly yelled back at the end of the hallway, already closing the door behind her. “I owe you!”
The door shut with a horrifying finality, and Joan banged a fist into the wall, but lightly because she didn’t want to actually risk the drywall and she wasn’t really that strong.
“Gods damn it,” she muttered to a framed picture of Molly and Nate on a hike.
“We’re not that bad,” Wren called from the other room.
“In fact, we don’t need an escort at all,” Astoria added. “I promise we can make it around New York City on our own. Your aunt has already tried to pack our schedules with various meetings to keep us occupied and unable to meddle in her affairs.”
Joan peeked hopefully around the corner. “So all I have to do is drop you off at some meetings?”
“Oh no,” Wren said conspiratorially. “We declined all of them. We have other plans.”
“Plans I assume I am supposed to stop you from enacting,” Joan said miserably, walking dejectedly into the room.
“Probably,” Astoria said.
Wren slapped her arm lightly. “We don’t need to be at odds with each other.”
“You can say that all you want, doesn’t mean I believe you,” Astoria said. She canted her body language toward Joan. “Wren says you aren’t a Greenwood lackey and might be convinced to defy your family.”
Joan crossed her arms, then consciously uncrossed them. Defensive body language wouldn’t help here. She glared at Wren, as if she could read the woman’s true intentions on her face alone. Grace felt like the maximum leap of faith Joan could take right now.
“Why? Are you trying to turn me over to the dark side? Make me a spy for the Wardwells? Because I should warn you, I do not like Poppy Wardwell or the way your state is run.”
“Well, neither does Wren,” Astoria said easily. “Join the club. And I’d never make you a spy.”
“I could be a spy,” Joan said. Who was Astoria to say what Joan could or could not be?
“You’d break in seconds.”
“I would not.” Astoria had no idea how many secrets Joan was holding right this very second. “What about you?”
“I could easily be a spy.”
“No, I mean where do you stand on your mother’s policies?”
Astoria took a beat to answer. “I see the logic in both sides.”
Wren rolled her eyes. “I’m not going to have this fight right now. It’s never-ending.”
A rare flash of emotion crossed Astoria’s face. If Joan were more generous, she might have marked it down as hurt. “I’m trying.”
“I know,” Wren said, putting a hand lightly on Astoria’s shoulder. She cleared her throat. “Joan, do you need some time before we begin?”
Joan felt like she was not supposed to have seen that interaction. It was too late to avert her eyes though; she had spent it staring both of them down in complete confusion.
She could press.
Her family would press—the chance to further a clear fission between the two interlopers from California? Priceless. Her family would squirrel away this information and feed it to Valeria to use as she deemed fit.
“Begin what?” Joan asked, following Wren’s deflection. “Time for what?”
“Take a shower first, and you can find out,” Astoria said, and perhaps Joan imagined the relief in her voice. “Against my better judgment.”
“Astoria,” Wren warned.
“Your wish is my command, Wren—just make her shower first.”
Astoria was making Joan regret being nice.