“You, of course,” Grandmère replies, beaming. “The safety of my grandchildren.”
“Really?” Demetri’s tone betrays his skepticism.
Grandmère’s eyes flicker, but she doesn’t bother to respond.
“I’m sure you planned this event before you knew we were coming,” I say, just as suspicious as Demetri.
“I’ve been to the future, little bird.” Grandmère laughs. “I always know when you’re coming.”
I grin, but I can tell that my grandmother, the keeper of the family’s secrets, is concealing another.
My brother shuffles from foot to foot. “Grandmère, are you sure now is the time for a party?”
She smirks. “I’ve always admired you for being obedient without question, dear boy. Let’s get back to that.”
He frowns, then relaxes, clearly deciding it’s not worth the argument. But I’m still wondering why he questioned having a party now. And why are ravens orbiting this place? And why does my family lie more than they tell the truth?
“Is everything to your liking, my perfect little bird?” Grandmère asks. “Look, everyone who’s anyone in New Orleans is here for you.” She points to faces across the room, listing out a litany of accomplished people. “When home is this fabulous, there’s little reason to leave.”
Her eyes convict me, like she knows that all I’ve wanted lately is to be free, to run away from this entire family, including her, and never look back.
Next to us, a girl with blond hair adorned with gold ribbons dances in a daisy-colored dress. As she twirls, I notice the dress is backless, with crystal beads that cascade across her spine like glittery necklaces. Her gown is seductive, unusual for this time. But before I can give it more thought, she disappears into the crowd.
“I—I—” I stammer. Grandmère usually rules with an iron fist and has little tolerance for errors that disrupt the illusion of perfection that she works so hard to maintain. “I expected to be punished, Grandmère.”
“Why? Children are supposed to make mistakes. It’s how they learn.”
“I’m eighteen,” I say.
She dismisses my comment with a wave of her hand. “You’re not grown until I say you’re grown.”
“Someone died,” I whisper, sudden tears blurring the party guests. The weight of what we’d outrun still haunting me.
“That vile man dying gave you a hard lesson,” Grandmère says. “And now you know not to go off script again. I’m sure your mother already gave you a significant tongue-lashing over the incident. No need for reruns. No, tonight is for celebrating everything that you are and everything you’ve yet to achieve!”
“Emma? Is that you?” a familiar voice says from behind me.
I turn and discover that the blond-haired girl has emerged from the crowd to stand in front of me. Now that I can see her face—her ice-blue eyes, thin upturned nose, and full lips—I can’t believe I didn’t recognize her sooner. I guess it’s because she’s dyed her hair. It used to be auburn. I can’t believe I didn’t recognize my best friend.
“Ariella!” I cry, hugging her tightly as the grandfather clock in the corner chimes, marking the moment. “I’ve missed you!”
“Ditto. The time apart has been murder.”
I wince at her choice of words as she smooths a wave behind her ear before fiddling with a gold ribbon tied to her wrist.
“Emma, I love that dress.” Ariella turns to Grandmère. “Bonsoir, Madame Baldwin.”
“Call me Gran, dear,” she replies.
Ariella beams.
Call me Gran? When did they get so close?
“I adored your letters, Emma. I am so glad that Grandmère was kind enough to pass along notes for us. We’ve been reminiscing together on the fun we always have when you’re in town. But receiving your letters has been just as fun, the postmarks from all over! The travel! It must be so glamorous and romantic being a circus performer. All those shows.”
“At times.” I keep my voice light.
Ariella leans forward. “Speaking of shows, I didn’t have a chance to write to you about it, but I went to see the Davenport Family Revue in Chicago.”
