Page 91 of Cruel Pleasures

The Hostess waits for us, flanked by none other than Ryu and Jerome.

“Well, isn’t this a lovely surprise?” she asks from behind her mask. Her voice is so sweet, it’s as poisonous as ever. “I would love it if you two joined me for dinner.”

21. Archer

In the Afternoon - MGMT

“How wonderful of you all to join me,” the Hostess says from behind the pale, painted face of her venetian mask. She sits at the head of table, peering around either side as if she’s some queen on a throne and we’re her loyal subjects. Jerome, her back up to Timothee, waits on her every whim, setting a glass of her favorite wine in front of her and unfurling her dinner napkin to gently lay it on her lap.

I’m sitting only two chairs away making no attempt to be civil. My hands are clenched into fists on the table and a vein pulses at my temple.

The Hostess has never shied away from a charade, but tonight sets a new precedent.

Yet another alternate reality she expects everyone to play into. It’s become a superpower of its own. If she can create a new reality, then she has control. She can determine the parameters and the outcome.

After a lifetime of playing these games, I’ve more than reached my limit. I’m considering in what way I want to rebel when the servers enter the formal dining room clutching platters of food.

“Delightful,” the Hostess simpers. Her laugh tinkles out of her, gentle and rehearsed.

Though it puts no one at ease.

Ryu is as stony as ever. Imani remains quiet, her frown deep.

And then there’s me—snatching up the steak knife the second it’s within reach. I make no effort to hide the fact that I’m glaring at the head of the table.

“Very delightful,” I say slowly. “I always love entertaining guests.”

The Hostess might be hiding behind her mask, but I’m far from fooled. Her non-reaction serves as enough of a reaction in its own way.

She’s always hated it when I refuse to buy into the charade.

“It looks like the chefs have prepared a wonderful duck confit. Have you ever had this dish before, Sasha?” she asks in conversation.

Imani blinks twice like she’s forgotten who she’s supposed to be. With a slight jolt in her chair, she stammers out a response. “Hmm? Oh. Yes, um, I have had duck confit before. It’s one of my grandfather’s favorites.”

“Interesting you bring him up, Sasha. Mr. Cromwell mentioned he had spoken to him earlier today. As it turns out, he had no idea you were attending this year’s games.”

An awkward beat of silence spreads.

Imani’s thrown off, though she recovers a second later. Her frown flips upside down into a forced smile and she holds the knife and fork between her fingers with enough poise you’d think she’s been in these social circles her entire life.

…guess that’s the actress in you, minx. Good work. Keep the delusional cow on her toes.

“It was last minute,” Imani answers. “Last semester was very difficult, and I decided I needed a getaway before returning.”

“Interesting,” the Hostess repeats. She picks up her glass of chianti and funnels the blood-red liquid through the tiny opening of the mask. “Clive also mentioned you had dropped out of med school.”

The awkward silence returns, longer and more pronounced.

Imani’s smile slips and her throat works as she pauses to collect herself. “For your information, I hadn’t officially announced my decision regarding medical school. I would appreciate it in the future if you refrained from spreading gossip.”

“Darling, you can hardly blame anyone for being curious, can you?”

“You’re not curious,” I snap. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

The spotlight shifts from Imani and swings over to me. Exactly what I have in mind.

The Hostess doesn’t take the bait. She merely glances over in my direction and lets the clang of silverware ring out around the table. Sipping yet again from her glass of chianti, she lets the conversation die out.