Aunt V followed her stare. “A friend of yours?”
Startled by the question, Daisy frowned and shook her head.
“Perhaps a future ally, then.”
Was that what this was? A chance to form alliances? Why hadn’t she considered that? This whole time, she’d only thought of herself, her own strategy. Never once had she pictured this many women like her.
But they weren’t all women. A man sat with the blonde. Not a servant. A tribute. “How many are there?”
“Tributes? Twelve in my bevy.”
Daisy blinked at the strange word.
Then Aunt V explained, “Eleven does and one stag.” She pointed to the only man not dressed as a servant.
Does. Stags. It was all hunting language.
“You better eat, deer.” Aunt V winked and drifted away as gracefully as she appeared.
Daisy wasn’t used to having breakfast, so she chose small portions of light options that wouldn’t upset her stomach. She carried her plate to the table where the woman from the plane sat.
“Mind if I sit?”
The woman startled, nearly knocking over her water glass. Then politely waved toward the several unoccupied chairs. “Please.”
Her Irish accent felt closer to home, and Daisy smiled and took the seat to her left.
“I’m Maggie,” she whispered, before Daisy could ask. “I know we’re not supposed to share names, but... Feels strange to think of ourselves as numbers.” Her hands trembled as she quietly rambled. “But I’m 1938, in case you were wonderin’.”
“I’m Daisy. 1922.”
They ate in silence, small hums of pleasure escaping from both of them here and there.
“Food’s really good,” Maggie said, and Daisy nodded, afraid that if she tried to put it into words, she might cry.
“These eggs,” Maggie managed between bites. “What are they?”
“I don’t know.” They had a sharp tang about them, addicting and different than anything she’d ever tasted.
“Something with truffles, I think,” Maggie said, examining her next fluffy bite before popping it in her mouth. “I had an uncle who was a truffle farmer when I was young.”
It angered Daisy that she couldn’t appreciate the food with as much zeal as everyone else. But her stomach was already starting to knot.
A waiter appeared. “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”
“Juice, please.” Maggie eased her glass forward.
Daisy watched him pour. Every cautionary tale warned her against accepting food from strangers. But the temptation was too grand. “Thank you. I’ll have the same.”
Maggie set down her fork and glanced at Daisy’s half-eaten plate. “Are you nervous?”
“I think anyone who says they aren’t is lying.”
“I’m terrified,” she whispered, her wide eyes glistened. “I keep thinking about tonight. About what might happen. I don’t want it to hurt.”
The admission hung between them, raw and honest. “Have you ever...?”
“A few times.” Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “You?”
