Page 114 of House of Marionne

“All right.” He settles against me and pulls a bag of candies out of his bag. He pops a few into his mouth and hands me a green one. I do a double take.

“Doth mine eyes deceive me?”

“You should take it before I change my mind.” He smirks, and I pop it into my mouth before resting my head, which fits like a puzzle piece, in the nook of his neck. His shoulders sink a bit as he tries to relax against me.

“I guess I’ll start. Once, when I was five . . .” He might not be ready to admit he has feelings for me out loud. But for now, this is everything I need. For now, this is enough.

THIRTY-FOUR

It started raining around curfew, so Jordan and I stayed in the conservatory swapping stories. He told me of a time when he’d gotten lost in the forest near his parents’ property. And after a long while of searching for the way back, he just decided he’d brave it and live with the wolves. By the time the search party found him, he was so determined to prove he could actually do it, he only spoke in wolf howls for a week. I laughed until my ribs ached and shared morsel-sized snippets of life with Mom with him. Crumbled pieces of who I am. Who I was.

By the time we made our way back to our rooms, we were shoeless, breathless, with feet caked in mud. I fell into bed right before dawn fully aware I would miss morning sessions. But my alarm has coaxed me out of bed with just enough time to get ready for a check-in with Grandmom.

I dash up the stairs, picturing little Jordan growling at his parents as I slip into the dining room.

“You’re certainly radiant this evening.”

I curtsy. “Headmistress.”

Her maid sets a tray with tea on the coffee table between us and adds a log to the fire.

“I was worried you weren’t coming. Busy day?”

“Quite busy. I’m on top of things though, I promise.”

“Mrs. Cuthers seems to think so, too. Do you have your internship list?”

I pull out the list on the Marionne stationery Grandmom had made for me, still not sold completely on this heir business. I can’t pretend it’s not enticing. I can’t pretend making that list wasn’t thrilling. But all I could think about was Where does that leave Mom? My thoughts drift back to Nore, wondering what she will think of my letter. If I’m right, I wonder how she makes it all work. Her family isn’t in pieces. Hopefully, today I can broach the topic with Jordan.

Grandmom eyes over my paper, then snaps at the air, and her maid puts a pen in her hand.

She writes on my wish list, crossing something out several times, and I groan under my breath. I’d picked each place carefully, all near the beach.

“There, now that’s a good start. I’ll go over it with the Council. It should be no trouble, but we all vote on heir assignments. So I like to be methodical.” She hands the paper back to me, and she’s written in “In-House internship” in the number one spot and shuffled the places at the bottom to put those in closest proximity to Chateau Soleil higher up.

“I don’t understand. I thought . . .” It was up to me.

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” I take a sip from my cup. It won’t matter. Once I finish, Mom and I are leaving.

“Invitations, where are we with those? I sent over a recommended guest list, did you get it?”

Yes, three hundred fifty people I’ve never heard of in my life. “I did, thank you. I noticed that my mom wasn’t on there. I added her. I hope that’s all right?”

Her teacup stops just before her lips. “Yes, yes, of course. That must have been an oversight. She should absolutely have been on the list. Forgive me.”

Good. I set my cup on the saucer so that it doesn’t make a sound, nodding with a smile. I don’t entirely know that she’s being honest about her excitement. But at least she knows what I expect. That I’m paying attention. I can’t wait to see Mom again once it’s safe to.

The check-in wraps without much more interrogation.

“Same time tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I say, trying to infuse some excitement in my voice. I did enjoy these meetups at first. But as they’ve morphed into her browbeating me into planning her vision of my future, I look forward to them less and less.

“Before you go.” She hands me an envelope. “This came for you today.” Silver letters shine against a bright blue paper, closed by three leaves intertwined pressed into its wax seal. “It’s from Nore Ambrose, I presume.”

My stomach twists.