Philip tensed. “Do you have an issue with the contract?”
“Not at all,” Thomas rushed to say. “I just want to know what to expect.”
There was a pause before Vivienne’s stepfather answered. “Tonight’s party will run well past curfew. Sometimes Vivienne has trouble after dark. I’d like to make sure that trouble stays between us.”
“I don’t plan on saying anything to anyone,” Thomas assured him. He thought of Vivienne in the bathroom, her eyes wild, her wrist bloodied. Wariness punched a hole through his chest. He’d come in here today prepared to tell Philip about Jesse Grayson.
Instinctively, he decided against it.
“I nearly forgot,” said Philip, slapping a hand onto the desk. He reached into the topmost drawer and withdrew a sleek cigar box, setting it between them. “I’ve got a gift for you.”
Thomas took it, prying open the lid. Nestled into a velvet cushion was a thickly linked bracelet set with a single stone. Flat and lusterless, the white mount had a slightly uneven shape to it. It looked identical to the stone in Philip’s signet ring, too opaque to catch the light.
“Amelia had it custom made for you,” said Philip. “Put it on. See if it fits.”
Thomas obliged, setting down the box to affix the clasp in place. The chain was cold against his wrist. The white stone winked up at him like a blind eye.
“It’s great. Thank you.”
“You’re in the family now,” said Philip. “And in this family, we do what?”
Thomas swallowed. He felt strangely cornered. “We keep it in the family.”
“That’s right.” Philip smiled. “Sign the NDA, son. It’s just a formality.”
•••
Several hours later, he was midway through wrestling with his bow tie when the doorbell rang. It reverberated all through the house like a death knell. The dogs fell immediately to barking. On his bed, his phone lit up with a text. He gave up on his tie and moved to check his messages.
Princess
door
Thomas
you have me confused with the butler.
The doorbell rang again. Whoever was outside was pressing the button repeatedly, holding it down so that the dogs went wild. On his bed, the phone stayed dark. Vivienne’s parents had headed out an hour earlier, leaving the two of them behind to prepare on their own. Across the house, the doorbell rang and rang. With a groan, Thomas caved.
Shoving aside the dogs, he pried open the front door to find Hadley Appelbaum and Frances Lefevre on the other side, the former dressed in a puffy, plum-colored gown and the latter in a tailored tuxedo.
“Get excited, Superman,” said Frankie, in her usual deadpan. “We’re riding with you.”
“Says who?”
“Vivienne,” said Hadley, who didn’t look remotely pleased to see him.
Frankie, on the other hand, looked delighted. “You must have really pissed her off if she doesn’t even want to be alone in the car with you. Where is she, anyway?”
“Upstairs,” said Thomas darkly. “I’ll go get her.”
•••
He found Vivienne in bed, her skin lit gold beneath the setting sun, her shadow stretching along the wall like taffy. She didn’t look up as he let himself in. She lay on her stomach, dressed in a silk pajama set, her hair in fat pink curlers. A thin bit of fishing wire curled between her teeth. All her focus appeared to be trained on slowly threading little glass beads onto a strand of wire.
“Your friends are downstairs,” he said. “You should probably get ready.”
She ignored him, her feet swinging through the air. A pair of faux fur slippers whisked together in an audibleswish-swish-swish.
