Blake is quiet for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, and some might infer that it’s out of some misplaced guilt, but I bet it’s just him considering whether I’m actually sincere or just saying what he wants to hear.
“You’ve got more here than a dress and some jewelry.” Something in his expression softens. “Did your father kick you out?"
"Essentially."
"How do you feel about that?"
“We’re sharing feelings now?”
“Peyton.”
"Relieved, okay? I feel relieved.”
He starts the car in silence. I think he may still be angry, but I’m not sure. I haven’t figured out the context of all his ‘silences’ yet.
“Blake, I didn’t tell you about Silas because I thought you’d go all Rambo and try to kill him or something,” I smirk.
“Probably better you didn’t tell me, but since you’re out in one piece, I’ll let it go, and we focus on the plan.”
“Aye Aye, Captain,” I quip. “So, where to now?" I apply some lip gloss in the mirror on the sun visor.
"The Frost Society. Let's see what Helena Evermoore wants."
I give an affirmative nod. “Okay, let's go meet the women who really run Wintervale."
As Blake drives, I turn my head back for a glance at my childhood home one last time. While my father may have been an absentee prick much of my life, I have some good memories of holidays there with my Mom. Despite all of Wintervale’s flaws, she felt strongly connected to it here.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown: Your father made his choice. Now you've made yours. Smart girl. The Frost Society is at The Sugarloft Inn, private dining room, noon. Come alone or bring your guard dog. We don't care. We just want to talk. - H.E.
I show Blake in awe.
“How the fuck does everyone know what conversations I’ve had before I tell them? I mean, seriously. Am I wearing a wire?”
“That’s Helena," he chuckles. “She doesn’t know anything for sure. She’s just making assumptions from whatever intel she’s been given. She's not known for her patience, so if she’s insistent on meeting before the gala, she's making her move fast."
“Fine. I'm tired of waiting."
"Peyton." Blake's voice carries a warning. "The women are dangerous in different ways than the Hollow Club. They don't use violence. They use information. Leverage. Long-game manipulation. Helena's probably been planning her next move for decades. I wish we had dotted our I’s and crossed our T’s before this meet, but things are moving faster than even I anticipated. You need to be careful."
"I'm always careful."
“Don’t believe your own hype, pretty girl.”
I smile. "Maybe I'm learning from you."
"That's what I'm afraid of."
The Sugarloft Inn sits on Wintervale's northern edge, all rustic luxury and old-money charm. The kind of place where the wealthy pretend they're roughing it while staff cater to their every need. Inside, we're directed to the private dining room by a hostess who doesn't ask our names. She knows. Everyone always knows in this town. It’s borderline creepy.
Helena Evermoore waits alone at a table set for three. She's exactly what I expect and nothing like I imagined. She’s a seventy-something woman with a minute build, impeccably dressed, with perfectly coiffed silver hair and eyes that miss nothing. There's steel beneath the elegance. Power beneath the polish.
She stands when we enter and extends a veiny but well-manicured hand. "Ms. Quinn. Mr. Delano. Thank you for coming."
"Mrs. Evermoore," I say, shaking her hand. Her grip is firm, assessing. I notice a beautiful opal and diamond ring on her finger. It’s vintage, like her.
"Please. Call me Helena. We're all adults here. No need for formalities." She gestures to the chairs. "Sit. I ordered a light lunch. You'll eat, we'll talk, and then you'll decide if what I'm offering is worth the cost."
