I tried to keep my expression neutral as I recalled the male judge she’d told me to avoid.
Mr. Finch studied me longer this time, and I had the sudden urge to hide in the curtains or blend into the wallpaper, even though his expression was neither judgmental nor predatory. Just curious—delighted, even. I made myself arch my shoulders and stand up straight like the queen I needed to become. I met his gaze until my eyes caught the jewelry on his right hand.
He wore a pinky ring with the Rose Palace insignia: a crown with a rose springing up from the center.
“Do you like it?” he asked, holding his hand up for me to admire. “It’s my personal design.”
I fidgeted with my polished nails. “Lovely,” I said, in a voice that hardly sounded like my own.
Mr. Finch changed the subject. “I hope you’ll take this opportunity to network with other young women across the East Coast. Now that we’ve met, I believe that your aunt mentioned you’re in need of a full-time job? You know, we’ve been discussing putting an actual museum on the back side of the property in the original house that my great-grandfather built. Perhaps your aunt could take you back there sometime this week, talk to you about joining us here?”
“Sure,” I answered. “The pageant has always fascinated me.” I smiled, wondering at my new ability to lie, to turn on the charmso easily. Perhaps Aunt DeeDee was right. Maybe this show was in my blood.
“Or… perhaps Savilla could take you instead. She’s helping out this year.” He signaled proudly to his daughter. “She had the brilliant idea to offer a little teamwork exercise during our opening ceremony this evening, a bit of a twist on our first-day hat tradition. I know she’ll do great things when she takes over all of this someday.”
At the mention of the tradition, I felt all three pairs of the Finches’ eyes on my bare head, and I silently—and unfairly—cursed Aunt DeeDee for not making me adhere to this one thing.
Savilla wagged a playful finger at him. “But not too soon, Daddy.” She took her stepmother’s arm. “The two of us wouldn’t know what to do without you.”
Mrs. Finch’s eyes continued to wander. She didn’t seem interested in agreeing with Savilla’s sentiment.
“I’m certain that you’ll find this week to be an enlightening and beneficial experience, and afterward, I’d love to hear what you think of our efforts here,” Mr. Finch added. “Good luck this week.”
“Daddy, I wonder if we could think of some things Dakota might enjoy when she isn’t busy with pageant duties…” Savilla thought aloud as she glanced at the long registration desk. “Aren’t you, like, really into animals? Didn’t you do that Future Farmers program?”
“Yes,” I said, ready to end this conversation and get to my room for a few minutes of silence. I was no longer accustomed to small talk. Bella and Bucket—and even Lacy and Aunt DeeDee—didn’t require much of me these days.
“Wonderful! We have a lovely apiary where we produce our own honey, and”—Mr. Finch proudly turned to his wife and chuckled—“we have a beautiful equestrian center with a dozen horses. You know, Gigi was once quite the cowgirl. She cantame the wildest beast.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a playful innuendo.
Funny stuff since word around town was that Mrs. Finch was a farm girl from the backwoods of Appalachia, a gold-digger with one hand on the plow and the other reaching for diamonds. They’d been married more than two decades, but small towns don’t forget.
He touched his wife’s lower back, and she jerked away from him as if he’d scalded her. Interesting. Maybe his charms no longer worked on Mrs. Finch.
“We have some of the finest stables behind the guest cottages as well as a fabulous collection of personalized saddles,” he continued. “In fact, I’m sure that Savilla or my wife could show you if you’re?—”
“Yes, yes, they’re lovely,” Mrs. Finch cut in. “But perhaps later, Fred. I have no idea the state of the stables with us so rarely on site. Besides, we mustn’t waste this young lady’s time any longer, and we need to get you back upstairs for your evening pills.” Mrs. Finch pinched an invisible thread on his suit collar and dropped it to the floor. “You know how your heart palpitates if you don’t take them on time.”
Was it my imagination, or did this final sentiment send a little thrill into Mrs. Finch’s tone?
“Don’t let me keep you,” I said all too willingly, but before I could make a clean getaway, Savilla reached out a hand, touching the base of my jaw with her knuckles and tilting my face toward the track lighting.
“StepMommy, look at her,” Savilla breathed. “I would kill for those cheekbones.”
For the first time, Mrs. Finch leaned in, assessing and pleased. “Sharp, like cut glass. Stunning.”
“Do you mind if I take a quick pic?” Savilla asked me. “To show Dr. Bellingham? He does the best work. Gave me a whole new nose last year.”
That name set off an alarm in my brain. That was the man Aunt DeeDee had warned me about.
“Oh, um… maybe tonight after I’ve had a bit of time to properly prepare them?”
Oh my God. I’d rather my cheekbones not hang in some plastic surgeon’s office, the envy of Manhattan socialites. There had to be some circle of hell reserved for individuals who offered up their body parts as exemplars for the rich and famous.
“I guess you’re right. A bit more blush will bring them out spectacularly.” Savilla sighed enviously and then seemed to remember something. “You need to get settled in, and here we are talking your ear off. Registration is right over there. I’m sure DeeDee set up everything for you, but if you have any questions… well, don’t ask me because I probably won’t know the answer.” She giggled. “But there are plenty of people in black shirts to help direct you.”
Black shirts? I was in my Western wear, which meant Jemma Jenkins definitely hadn’t mistaken me for the staff and simply wanted to put me in my place. But… that would mean she felt threatened by me, which could not actually be a thing, could it?
“Our staff is phenomenal,” Mr. Finch said with an appreciative nod. “They’ll get you all sorted.”
