I inspected my work, mixing a bright shade of green to match one Cora had used. “Ginny was clearly jealous that your ornament was so beautiful. And apparently, she and good ol’ Lulu have something in common: Not knowing how to attract a guy without tearing down another girl in the process.” I handed the fixed ornament back to Cora.
Cora’s eyes again welled with tears, this time from gratitude. “Thank you, Birdie.” She shook her head. “Why would they come after me, though? I’ve done nothing to them.”
Sabine chimed in from down the table. “They’re mean girls, Cora. Haven’t you seen that movie? They live sad livesand want to make those around them miserable because they aren’t happy with themselves.”
“They seemed so nice when I first met them at the gala. When I was talking to Prince Oliver, they made it a point to tell him all about the bakery I work at and how nice it was that he invited me even though I’m from a lower house.”
“Oh, sweet little dove,” Mel said, patting Cora’s hand. “Welcome to the dog-eat-dog world that is inner court politics.”
“Dogs aren’t cannibals, are they? I thought they ate dog food?”
“Oh, honey.” Sabine pressed her fingertips into her forehead.
“Cora, what she means is that they weren’t being nice, they were trying to shame you for working at the bakery. And they were trying to imply they pity you. Which there is nothing to pity. You’re a beautiful woman. And clearly a talented one, too.” I smiled at her, putting my arm around her in a side hug.
Well, I thought,there’s the drawback to being here.Catty women with their catty politics and mean-girl antics. People who made others feel little or less-than made my blood boil. I wouldn’t let them get away with that shit was while I was around.
As much as I tried not to watch Birdie and Oliver talking together, I couldn’t help from sneaking glances toward the table where they worked, heads close together. Right then they were roaring with laughter, but just moments ago had been staring into each other's eyes with such tenderness that I felt as though someone had punched me in the gut.
It had to be residual feelings from that stupid dream, or thinking of how Birdie had studied my face during our seven minutes in heaven. There was no reason for me to feel like this just because they were having tender moments and making each other laugh. For God’s sake, that was the whole point of this contest—for Oliver to be happy.
Get your head right, Knox. You’re not allowed to have feelings for this woman.
Thankfully, I was at my home away from home. I made my way to the back of the room and through the heavy wooden door that led to the workshop.
My dad used to bring me there as a teenager; he wanted meto find a productive way to blow off steam after getting into a fight at school. What started as chopping wood for Mr. Lewellen evolved into a summer job shadowing the Lewellen family, taking care of whatever small tasks needed to be done around the shop. After losing my parents, it became my place of solace. Whether it was taking out my grief by swinging an axe against an innocent Scotch pine or sweeping the woodshop in silence as I sifted through my thoughts, this was where I came whenever I needed to think.
I heard the door open as I settled at my workbench, grabbing one of the animal figurines I was carving as a Christmas gift for Rosie. I turned around to see Mr. Lewellen walking in.
“Knox, I didn’t see you sneak back here.”
It didn’t matter what time of year or how formal the occasion, I wasn’t sure I had ever seen Mr. Lewellen in anything besides a flannel shirt and worn jeans—perhaps his way of rebelling in his adulthood against the formality of growing up in a manor house as a lord’s son. Over the years, his belly had become more pronounced, and his gray hair had started to disappear. Seeing him age often made me wonder what my own dad would have looked like with the passage of time.
“Yeah, sorry. I needed to get out of the art room and come find some peace and quiet.”
“It’s a whole show in there, isn’t it? I don’t know how Prince Oliver does it, all the conversation and such. You know me, I much prefer the quiet of the woods and my shop.”
“I feel the same way. But I’m sure you’re going to love the media coverage of the place—-it should be great for business.”
Mr. Lewellen chuckled. “Oh, Celeste is already worked up about the influx of customers and orders we’re going to get. But we’ll handle it.”
“If you need any extra hands, just let me know and I’ll make sure you have the help,” I assured him.
“We’ll manage. It’ll be good to stay busy right before Christmas, and it’ll give us a little extra money to put into Lyla’s wedding this spring.”
I huffed a laugh through my nose. “That should make her happy.”
The Lewellens’s youngest daughter Lyla and I had dated for a few months about four years prior. She was an amazing woman—intelligent, beautiful, witty. We tried to make our relationship work when she moved to France for school but ultimately concluded that it was best we break things off while we were still on good terms. I had been afraid that Mr. Lewellen would be angry and think I broke his daughter’s heart, but the next day he had walked into the shop and let me know, man to man, that he understood and just wanted us both to be happy.
She met her fiancé, Laurent, at London Fashion Week two years ago. I had met him a few times and he seemed like a very kind man. He was the polar opposite of Darren Lewellen, working in a high-rise, financing one of Paris’s largest fashion brands, but that’s one of the reasons why Lyla loved him. I think we both knew long ago that she wouldn’t end up in Wexstone, and she was looking for something different for her life.
“What are you working on there?” Mr. Lewellen pointed to the horse I was carving.
“Oh, this? It’s a horse for Rosie. Every year for Christmas, I give her a few new animals to add to her collection. She used to play with them alongside her dollhouse, but now she keeps them displayed in a glass case.”
“That’s real nice of you. If she ever lets it slip that you made them, the country’s little ones and their parents are going to be knocking down your door to make and sell them.”
“I guess I’d better swear her to secrecy then,” I chuckled. Ihad no desire to make this into a business. Carving was something to keep my hands busy while I sorted through my thoughts.
