Chapter 42
Of course they wouldn’t eat Nina. For fuck’s sake, she was the only one who really loved them. That kind of unselfishness, that kind of devotion … it wouldn’t be wasted.
So it came down to two final candidates. One was Tripp, Alina’s boyfriend. It turned out he wasn’t a Kennedy, but he was a Carnegie. His organs were maybe a little compromised by alcohol consumption, but there was no discounting that kind of privilege. That blinding sweetness of youth.
And then there was Max Villanueva. “Too high profile,” said Summer. “Didn’t you hear he’s on forced sabbatical next semester? If something happens to him, they’ll definitely look into it. We don’t want that kind of exposure.”
“Come on.” Fawn looked to Alina in frustration. “You seriously want to eat your own boyfriend over some deadbeat dad who cheats on his wife?”
“Fawn, what I want is a Nobel Prize,” snapped Alina, her voice stiff. “I don’t give a fuck what some guy does in his spare time. I want this dinner to mean something.”
“How could this not mean something—”
“Do you really care more about your personal vendetta than this sisterhood, Sister Carter?” Leonie asked Fawn.
Fawn looked at Tessa, who said nothing. Then she looked at Nina.
“He would’ve done it,” Fawn hurled at her in a low voice. “Used you.”
“I know,” said Nina.
“They all will.” Fawn’s voice sounded broken. “Everyone does.”
Something in Fawn went out. It flickered, then extinguished.
“You taught me that,” Nina agreed.
Even from across the room, Nina could see Fawn’s nails biting white crescents into her palm.
“Sister Carter,” interjected Leonie. “We need to get on with the vote.”
“It’s Lady Superior,” Fawn spat.
“For now,” muttered Summer, under her breath.
“The point is it’s already been over forty minutes—”
“Nina?” came a quiet voice on Nina’s right.
Tessa was looking at her. The House was looking at her.
Their one true savior. Their one honest martyr.
“What do you think?” asked Tessa.
Nina looked at Fawn. She looked at Dalil. She looked at the dreams of her sisters and inspected each of them closely in the light. The one she wouldn’t let fade.
“I think Tripp would be more filling,” she said.
And yes, maybe Fawn would be disappointed. But it was really about the quality of the meal.