Page 24

O TTO K ARLSON IS NOT HAPPY.

“We never received your RSVP,” he informs my sister. His face looks unaccustomed to his disapproving frown, which only renders the expression more unnerving. Like an upset clown. In fairness to him, he’s dealt with a lot today. Theft, possible attempted murder of one of his guests, and now…

He holds Abigail’s irksome invitation in his office off the foyer of Volenvell Castle, where we’ve gathered. One of Leonie’s SUVs ferried us up the Alpine road from Rothbad. All of us.

“Must have gotten lost in the mail,” Abigail replies dispassionately. “Can’t imagine you get reliable deliveries on top of a mountain.”

Otto’s frown flickers with impatience. Reserving further comment, he faces the next of his new guests.

Kevin grins winningly.

“And you are?” Otto inquires. If he remembers Kevin from the train, he’s hiding it well. Regardless, Kevin accompanying Abigail as her plus-one provides an unsuspicious explanation for Kevin’s presence on the train with me.

“Kevin Webber, future esquire,” Kevin supplies.

Except for his exuberance, Kevin looks the part of Volenvell guest rather perfectly.

He’s in full trust-fund lacrosse-bro getup, coat layered over vest over sweater over long-sleeve polo.

Normal people could probably go laundry-free for weeks on the clothing in Kevin’s luggage.

Otto is unamused. His gaze moves off Kevin as if he finds him distasteful. I don’t know what’s gotten into me—it makes me weirdly defensive. Yes, of course I find Kevin distasteful sometimes. This random Swiss house manager has not earned the right.

“Your boyfriend?” Otto asks Abigail.

My sister recoils physically. “God no,” she declares. The next moment, the visceral shock of association with Kevin wears off, and she remembers she needs to sell Otto on her unannounced plus-one. “He’s my—friend,” she manages.

Kevin flings his arm around Abigail’s shoulders with enthusiasm. “ Best friend,” he amends.

I have to stifle my laughter. Abigail looks as if she is stifling something else.

“The invitation didn’t say there were restrictions on plus-ones,” she prompts Otto. While Kevin may consider himself future esquire , I appreciate the lawyerly precision in my sister’s point.

Otto looks very much as if he wants to send my crew members packing, but knows his position prohibits him. Abigail waits, letting silence work in her favor.

Finally, Otto smiles coldly.

“Very well,” the house manager says. “This is unexpected, but of course Leonie will be delighted you could make it, Abigail. We will have your rooms made up.”

Kevin steps forward. He claps Otto enthusiastically on the back, prompting more displeasure from our host. I marvel—Kevin Webber manages to induce rudeness from even the politest people.

“Hey, man,” Kevin starts, and I wonder whether anyone has ever called Otto Karlson man in his life, “you are not going to believe this, but one of my best friends in the whole world is a pastry chef for this shindig. I ran into him in town. Is it cool if he stays in my room instead of commuting back and forth? We’re good to share,” Kevin promises. “No need to find an extra room.”

Otto’s eyes narrow.

“Exactly how many best friends do you have?” he inquires.

“Five,” Kevin says without hesitation. “Well, six if you count my freshman English teacher.”

“I wouldn’t,” Otto returns. “I’m not expected to put up all five and the English teacher, am I?”

I’m starting to regret letting Kevin even speak to Otto. Inviting Deonte into the castle doesn’t worry me—he remained incognito during my father’s wedding, reducing the risk of the Owens family recognizing him here.

Kevin was the more challenging concession to make. If Mia recognizes him, we’ll need to rely on the cover story that he really is Abigail’s friend.

In the meantime, I’ll have an extra crew member on site for whatever I need. The advantages, I decided, outweighed the costs.

Plus, it’ll be more fun.

“Otto, buddy,” Kevin says, “the real question is, how many people will I meet here who will become my best friend? Maybe even you.”

“I doubt it,” Otto replies.

“That’s what they all say,” Kevin assures him. “You’ll see.”

He smiles. Jackson smothers a laugh.

Either Kevin’s friendliness has warmed Otto’s disposition or, likelier, the house manager just wants out of this negotiation. He straightens, adjusting his lapels as if in reminder of his authority.

“You may have your friend the chef stay in your room with you,” he concedes. “Everyone who is working at this event has already been vetted by security, so it will be fine. Have him speak with me when he arrives.”

Kevin fist pumps with half-exaggerated zeal. “Hey, one more question,” he enthusiastically goes on. “Have you ever projected a movie on the rampart? Like, I don’t know. Like Shrek ? You know, castles, fairy tales?” he ventures.

I’m opening my mouth to apologize for the inquiry when Otto—surprisingly—deigns to nod. “The staff… have situated such projections, yes. Only cinema of quality, of course,” he assures Kevin quickly. “Not… Shrek .”

“ Shrek is quality, dude,” Kevin insists. “It’s an underdog story with an enduring message of self-love.”

Otto ignores him. He rounds on Abigail.

“I will need until this evening to prepare your rooms,” he informs her, recomposing himself with incomplete success. “Please leave your bags with me and enjoy the rest of the castle. I will find you when they’re ready.”

I love how he says enjoy the rest of the castle as if he means find some nice stairs to fall down .

While I’m not happy about Abigail’s inclusion in my crew, I don’t want to linger under Otto’s scrutiny. “Here, I’ll show you around,” I invite my sister.

We proceed into the labyrinth, passing lounges and libraries.

“Warm welcome,” Abigail finally comments.

I smile humorlessly. “We don’t really do welcome here,” I reply, glancing out the corridor’s windows. Evening is descending, painting the snow out the windows in the periwinkle of pale flesh. “Or warm , either.”

“So, you’re saying I shouldn’t expect to be treated like an Owens heir?” Abigail returns.

And it’s funny—in her question, I unexpectedly recognize the gift our grandmother’s revelations have given us. We who get to watch fools like Elwood and Hammond flail for Leonie’s fortune.

Everyone is like us now. Out in the cold. Indulgence in hardship. Equity in misery.

“There are no heirs,” I reply. “Not anymore.”