14
Nightshade hadno choice but to play the part and dutifully march upstairs with Fernando nipping at her heels like a teacup Chihuahua.
“You really hurt my feelings.” Fernando sailed around her, hips swaying as he walked and pulled open her bedroom door with a flourish.
“I'm sorry. I'm not sure how.” Nightshade darted inside, silently praying whatever torture they had planned would be over quickly so she could get back on task.
“Your wedding of course. You brought in that nobody girl to do your hair and makeup for what would have been the biggest wedding of my entire career!” Fernando slapped the back of his hand against his forehead and fell onto her bed.
Harriet, who’d entered the room behind them, huffed and quietly shut the doors. “Probably because she didn't want to look like some kind of puffed up peacock. That wedding was an elegant affair, or at least it would've been.” Harriet yanked a handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed at her eyes.
Nightshade awkwardly patted the older woman on the shoulder. Unsure of what to do.
“Puffed up peacock? I create works of art, and when I have a canvas as beautiful as Caroline, it could be nothing less than a masterpiece.”
Harriet's tears dried up just as quickly as they’d come, and she rounded on Fernando. “So you're telling me you wouldn't have tried to stick feathers and diamonds in her hair and cover her face with heavy makeup? You wouldn't have had her in some huge monstrosity of a gown?”
“Me? Me who has taste envied by Christian Dior?”
Harriet stabbed a finger in his direction. “I knew it. It's exactly what you would've done.”
Fernando was on his feet and leaning into Harriet's red face. “Of course she would've had feathers. If you knew anything about the latest styles, you’d know that feathers are all the rage. She would've been beautiful, perfect, and landed me on the cover ofWedding Magazine.” Fernando's golden skin flushed equally as red as Harriet’s.
Before things got even more heated, Nightshade dove in between the two, pushing a hand out in either direction to keep them separated. “Fernando, everyone here knows your sense of style is nothing short of…dramatic. And Harriet, I'm so sorry about the wedding. I know you must have been worried about me.”
Fernando and Harriet melted back, and Nightshade relaxed her arms but remained between them.
“The wedding will take place, and this time, Fernando, you will be there.” If she could appease Fernando, get him off her back and make the rest of the household think Caroline was falling in line, the rest of her mission could proceed.
In a surprise move, Fernando grabbed her outstretched hand, clasping it flat between his palms. “I had every single one of my followers on Twitter helping to look for you. We all worried about you.”
Twitter? What’s a twitter?
Nightshade kept her mouth shut, unsure of how to respond. Just then, Francis burst into the room, her skinny arms laden down with a heavy tray of food. Nightshade rushed forward to take the tray from her before the frail woman toppled over.
“I made you all your favorites, dear. I'm sure you haven’t eaten properly at all. Look at these arms.” Francis grabbed her wrist and the tray shook on the verge of spilling, but the older woman refused to let go. “You’ve grown so bony.”
Feeling as if she were caught in the middle of a brewing storm, Nightshade went to the bed, thankful Francis was more focused on her skinniness than her kissing Merc, and gently lowered the tray to the surface before it was knocked out of her hands by another emotional outburst. Lifting the lid, she studied what was mainly fruits and dips. There was a small carafe of coffee, a crystal glass of orange juice, and another glass of water. She lifted a piece of bacon, surprised when it hung limp in her fingers, and cautiously took a bite. She grimaced.
It wasn't bacon. It wasn't even close to bacon.
“What's wrong, darling? Did your turkey bacon sour?” Francis clasped her hands together in front of her stomach.
“Turkey bacon?” Nightshade choked out and dropped the meat back onto its plate.
Since when did turkeys make bacon?
“Yes, dear, just like always — two slices of turkey bacon with a side of egg whites and nonfat Greek yogurt. I also threw in some of your favorite snacks in case you got hungry while Fernando worked on you this morning — strawberries, whipped cream and sugar. And a non-fat soy latte, too.”
Nightshade studied the plate, trying to decide what she could stomach and not appear too suspicious in front of Francis. Turkey bacon was just wrong, so that was out of the question. She took a small forkful of egg whites into her mouth and tasted absolutely nothing. She could handle that. And strawberries, she liked strawberries. She carefully made a plate of egg whites and strawberries, took the glass of water, and sat at the frilly vanity chair Fernando held out for her, studiously ignoring Francis and Harriet's concerned glances.
She didn't want to hurt the older woman's feelings. Francis obviously cared for Caroline. “Thank you for the food.”
Harriet strode across the floor, making no bones about hiding her curiosity and slapped a hand on Nightshade’s forehead. “No fever. Well, I guess we can’t expect you to go right back to normal after all you've been through. But if you start turning down chocolate, then me and you are going to have a talk.” Harriet softened her gruff words with a chaste kiss on Nightshade's cheek.
Warmth spread across Nightshade’s chest. They were acting like concerned mother hens. Like the mother she never had.
Maybe Caroline hadn't had it so bad after all if she had these two looking out for her.
