Page 111 of House of Marionne

“Fine, I’ll go with this one.” She indicates a lemon one.

We scoot out of the meeting with the caterer, and I find myself scanning the halls for a familiar brooding face.

“It’ll be your turn soon,” Abby says, looping her arm through mine. “Which did you like for your cake?”

“I don’t know. Does every table need a mini cake? Isn’t that a bit much?”

“I think it’s kind of glamourous.” Abby flips her hair. “Mynick said Ambrose doesn’t do that.”

Mynick!

“I need to drop off my dagger for polishing and rehearse the dance with my debut-mates.” She stops. “Are you all right? You seem a bit off today.”

“The heir event was a lot, and Nore was being . . . weird. I don’t know.” That’s as close to the truth as I can get with her for now. “Also, I have an idea. Mynick can be my plus-one for your Cotillion. I know you want him there, and I don’t have plans to bring anyone.” He is in Nore’s House, so maybe he knows more.

“That’s brilliant!” She hugs me. “He’ll totally go with you.”

“Should I notify Cuthers of the additional RSVP?”

“Could you? I’m meeting with Cultivator Tucker. Then the rest of my finishing class is rehearsing the group dance.”

“Shelby is one of them, right?”

“Don’t remind me.”

“She was really nice on my first day.”

“To you. But everyone’s nice to you.”

“Uh, sure, whatever. I’ll take care of it and catch you later.” Back in my room, I grab my stationery.

Nore, I sincerely apologize if I offended you with my insistence. I did not mean to. If there’s any chance I am right and . . . you’re not okay, please know that I won’t tell anyone. Thank you again for coming to my Summer Bloom Tea. I hope to see you again soon.

I add You’re not alone, then trash that one and rewrite it without it. I write thank-you notes to the other heirs, adding a fleur beneath my signature as Grandmom does, and stuff those into envelopes as well. I quickly drop everything at Cuthers’s office and RSVP for Mynick and me. When I return to my room, I find a note slipped under the door in a familiar handwriting.

Meet me at nine.

I try but fail to push away my smile. I should stand him up. He’s been back for days! A mound of dress swatches covers my bed from pillow to footboard. I’d have good reason to. I read the card again and get that weird fluttery feeling inside.

I . . . missed him.

I wonder if he might know something about Nore Ambrose . . . I scoop up a few armfuls of swatches to take with me, determined to not overthink this dress thing, and rush out the door.

* * *

Jordan’s waiting for me inside the conservatory and seeing him puts a spring in my step.

Whatever frustration I’d brought abandons me entirely when our eyes meet. I’ve more than missed him. He starts toward me, then stops, shifting his weight as if he isn’t sure what to do now that I’m here.

I sit on the stone bench, but he remains standing.

“How have your first few days as Secundus gone?”

“Good.”

“Did you get the early plans started for Cotillion? You’ll want to make sure to get a head start on invitations. Your House is slow with those.”

“Yes, we’re working on a few new leads now. But—”