Chapter 27
Arianette
“Jesus Christ! Put the fucking ball down! This isn’t playtime!” The voice echoing off the community center gym rafters belongs to Sy. The guys tossing a basketball back and forth take one last shot, then get back to the task at hand.
The final collection day for the toy drive has turned the gym into controlled chaos.
Fraternities haul in the last of the donation boxes from their territories, stacking them in neat rows on tables lined up along the walls, while volunteers sort and separate.
Carts rattle across the glossy hardwood floor, wheels squeaking under the weight of stuffed animals, action figures, board games, dolls and building sets.
Girls from every house are here under the leadership of Story and Lavinia, and in theory, me, plus the general orbit of women who hang around the frats, all moving with purpose.
It’s not hard to identify the cutsluts in their ripped jeans or the preppy outfits of the East End girls.
The crypt chasers are here, but none of them pay me much attention.
I don’t think I won any friends telling Bronwyn off.
They’re working with a few girls in LDZ gear because everyone is cooperating; the territory lines dropped for the moment.
Story’s directing traffic near the age-group tables, dark hair falling in her face as she calls out, “Zero-to-three over here–soft toys only, nothing with small parts!”
Lavinia’s pushing a cart full of Legos and puzzles toward the four-to-eight section, blue hair catching the fluorescent light.
I’m at the five-to-ten table, sorting action figures and craft kits.
The energy is surprisingly light considering the fact we’d all just been to Kelsey’s vigil a few days ago.
Laughter bounces off the cinderblock walls.
Someone’s playing holiday music low on a portable speaker, old-school holiday songs, the kind of music that makes even the most jaded people hum along.
Remy Maddox weaves through the crowd, passing out red and green Santa hats, plopping them on heads with a grin.
He skips me entirely, doesn’t even glance my way, and keeps moving.
“Ouch,” I mutter, watching him go. Curiosity gets the best of me, and I lean toward Lavinia, who’s sorting glitter pens next to me. “Did I do something to him?”
She freezes for half a second–long enough that I notice–then shrugs, eyes on the pens. “He’s just… Remy. Don’t take it personally.”
Her voice is too careful. Too neutral. I’m not the best with social cues, but even I can tell that she knows something and she’s not saying it. Most likely, he thinks I’m a freak.
Before I can press, the double doors at the front swing open with a cold gust. Verity steps in, baby carrier strapped to her chest. The baby, JJ, seven weeks old now, is bundled in soft gray, tiny fists curled near her chin.
Lex and Pace flank her like sentinels. Lex on her left, his auburn hair pulled back in a knot.
Pace on her right. Both scanning the room out of habit.
It’s the first time I’ve seen her since the wedding.
“Oh my God,” Story shrieks, dropping the stuffed bear she was holding and rushing over with a bright smile. Lavinia follows right behind, a curve on her red painted lips.
“Look at him,” Lavinia says, reaching out to touch a tiny foot. Verity laughs–soft, tired, but real–and turns slightly so they can see the baby’s bright blue eyes and pale blond tuft of hair.
Despite the territory lines, despite everything, there’s genuine fondness. No edge. No posturing. Just women crowding around a newborn, voices overlapping with quiet excitement. Women, and well, Remy, who makes a beeline across the room.
“How’s my nephew?” he asks, moving to drop a Santa hat on the baby’s head. Pace’s hand snaps out and blocks him. Remy’s jaw drops. “What the hell, dude?”
“Get that filthy germ-infested hat away from my baby, Maddox.”
Remy’s jaw drops. “Germ-infested?”
“Listen up! Everyone give Verity and JJ a little room!” Pace shouts while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small package. He opens it up and pulls out a cloth mask. “I’m going to need everyone to take two steps back and put on a mask if you’re going to be near my son.”
“Pace!” Verity shouts, expression horrified. “He didn’t mean that.”
“The fuck I didn’t,” He starts to hand out masks, pushing one into Story and Verity’s hands. “Mask up, ladies.”
Lex yanks him away. “What he means is that flu season started, and JJ’s still immunocompromised. If you’ve been sick lately or have any symptoms, please consider wearing a mask.”
“We’re fine. And we both need a little socializing.” She nudges them away. “Go use those muscles and help out.”
The Princes reluctantly ease away, but neither goes out of eyesight. It’s sweet seeing them being protective like this. A little intense, but sweet. I also feel a prickle of something in my chest: jealousy.
I stay where I am, hands full of plastic action figures, feeling suddenly out of place.
Like I’m caught in a scene I don’t belong in.
It’s not like I’m here alone. Hunter volunteered his truck for picking up the toys at some of the drop-off locations, so he’s been in and out, but Damon walks around with a clipboard, tallying the items in each area.
He hasn’t checked on me once.
A cart rolls up and I glance over, seeing Sy.
“Hey,” I say, grabbing items from the cart. I can’t help but look over at the women, at the men, at everyone in the room, and feel out of place.
“That’s new,” he says quietly, nodding toward the cluster. “Being friends. Being allowed to be friends.”
“What do you mean?”
“All this cooperation.” He gestures to the toys. “Usually we stick to our own territories and try to help out there. Crossing lines and socializing a little is something that’s only just started happening.”
“Why now?”
“Could be the changes in leadership, but I’m pretty sure they have something to do with it.” Again, he looks over at the royal women. “But it’s taken time to build that trust. Doesn’t mean you won’t be part of it.”
I glance up at him. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be part of any of this.”
Sy hands me two more items out of the cart. “Look, I don’t know what’s required to be a Baroness, but with everything you’ve been through, and the efforts you're taking to help recover your memories to find out who is hurting the women in Forsyth, I’m pretty sure you’re up for the job.”
Maybe it’s because of the hypnosis and the trust I had to put in him but I add, “I feel like people know things that I don’t.
” My eyes flick to where Remy is working across the room.
“And I guess I'm used to that with the missing gaps in my memory or the fact that I’m new, but considering all that, I don’t know if I will ever get my footing as Baroness.
” I swallow. “Or even be a good wife to someone who doesn’t trust me enough to let me see his face. ”
Sy doesn’t answer right away, just studies me with intense eyes. When he does, I’m surprised at the tone.
“That’s the King’s burden,” he says, a touch of anger there.
“Not yours. You’re doing your part. He’s…
well,” a flicker runs across his expression and I sense he’s weighing his next words.
“Being a King in Forsyth comes with baggage, Arianette, and that includes the Baron King. Maybe one day he’ll have the guts to show you who he really is. ”
I don’t know if I believe him.
He leaves to get another cartload, and Verity approaches the table. She’s no longer carrying the baby and I get a good look at the Princess, taking in her gorgeous red hair and bright green eyes.
Story arrives at the same time, arms full of stuffed animals she’s been sorting. “Where’s the little man?”
“Pace took him out to the car,” Verity says, smiling. “He claims it was because he was starting to fuss but I’m pretty sure he was just being paranoid.”
Lavinia slides in beside her, blue hair catching the overhead lights. “How are things really going with the baby?”
“Good.” Verity laughs–soft, a little self-conscious. “I mean, he saves the nuclear meltdowns for two AM sharp, and I’ve forgotten what a full night’s sleep feels like, but it’s good.”
Story sets her pile down and leans against the table. “I can’t even imagine. You look amazing, though. Like… glowy. Is that a real thing or just propaganda?”
“Propaganda,” Verity says instantly. “I’m running on decaf coffee and adrenaline. But when he smiles? Yeah. Worth it.”
They fall into easy chatter–Verity talking about cluster feeding, how Wicker is terrified of changing explosive diapers, how Pace has turned into a human burp cloth.
Story absorbs every word while Lavinia seems completely uninterested in babies.
I mostly listen, stacking board games into neat piles, feeling the conversation move around me like water around a stone.
When Verity glances my way, I manage a small smile.
“He’s very cute,” I say quietly. “His eyes are so blue.”
“Thanks. He definitely takes after his father.” Verity’s eyes roll. “Never let him know I said that.”
I try to remember Whitaker from the wedding, but it’s all a blur. The whole day and night is lost to the aftermath: the cottage and, later, the fire. Verity straightens suddenly, brushing glitter off her hands. “Oh, before I forget. You’ll all be getting an invitation soon.”
Story looks up. “A party?”
“Sort of.” Verity gives a small, private grin. “My royal ascension.”
“What’s that?” I blurt, then regret it when all of their eyes shift to me.
“A ceremony to bind me as the mother of the next leader of East End.”
“So another ceremony?” Lavinia asks, an edge to her voice. “East End loves their goddamn ceremonies.”
The word catches me off guard. The Barons have ceremonies and rites. All of them are painful. I tilt my head and look at Verity through a new lens. Are the Princes’ traditions like ours? Forged in blood and hurt?