That family wealth had been enough to keep the invitations coming, despite his increasingly boorish personality. Apparently he’d always been annoying, but had taken a hard turn into intolerable a few years ago after falling down some conspiratorial Facebook rabbit hole. Giving me a building at a big, splashy, widely publicized event was his way of buying his ticket back in, because everybody else would start hoping he’d give them a building too.
I wondered how many buildings Opal would have to buy someone to be invited to their gala. Probably one, because, being real, my crowd had short memories and really loved money, even if they liked to pretend that they were above it. In a way, even though we never talked about money, all we talked about was money.
Pardon me. Sometimes, since rising like a resplendent phoenix from the ashes of my before-life, I liked to wax philosophic. Probably something about growing more mature. Anyway, I’d kept Conrad Phlume’s involvement on the down-low in preparation for the grand announcement tonight, and also because I didn’t want people to no-show so that they wouldn’t have to hang out with him. Maybe I shouldn’t have kept it secret, though—my parents had been ahead of the curve and had never invited him to any of their galas, despite his wealth. Same with my grandmother, which was maybe the one thing she and my mother had ever agreed on. If they knew he was coming, maybe they wouldn’t show.
Honestly, it served them right. Maybe I should even seatthem near Conrad. He’d think it was an absolute honor to be seated with the parents of the gala-thrower.Thatwould teach them to RSVP.
Quite cheered, I gave Conrad what was now a genuine smile. I’d totally missed what he’d been blathering on about, so hopefully I wasn’t smiling about something horrible, like the time I’d pretended I knew French at a party with the Belgian ambassador’s son so that he’d think I was cool and cultured and later found out I’d been nodding and smiling along to his story about his family’s collection of artifacts they’d stolen from various colonized countries in an assortment of horrible, blood-soaked ways. Though, as it turned out, an undercover Interpol officer had been at the party in hopes of finding some of those artifacts, and the son’s attempt to impress me had ended with several of those artifacts getting returned. Really, that whole saga should have ended with INTERPOL giving me an award and maybe a really cool piece of art (not stolen).
“Lovely,” I told Conrad. Mental note: tell that story to more people tonight to demonstrate how cultured and altruistic and clever I am. (Mental footnote: leave out the part where I had no idea what I was hearing.) “Please, have a drink. The champagne is very good, but they’re slinging a signature cocktail in my honor too.” The Pomona Afton: a little sweet, a little spicy, and deceptively strong. Also, pink. “And let me know if there’s anything else that you need.” I stepped away before he could actually tell me anything else that he needed.
I kind of wanted a The Pomona Afton, but had to keep my mind sharp tonight. Also, I had to greet the people who were filtering in. I shook hands, smiled wide, gave plummy, practiced laughs to old, tired jokes, and said “no comment” to every nosy person who asked about Opal. I also dodged waiters, who were starting to circle the room with trays of tuna tartare on sesame crackers and tiny avocado toasts topped with roe. Old Pom wouldn’t have acknowledged them except to shoot annoyedglances their way if they stepped into her path; New Pom made sure to smile if they caught her eye.
The one person I didn’t see while circulating through the steadily more crowded room? Vienna. I kept one eye out for her, wanting to make sure she was having a good time after whatever was going on earlier.
“Pom!” As soon as I registered that the voice belonged to Jessica, her arms were around me. She smelled like she’d just finished baking something with apples and vanilla. “A million congratulations! I’m so proud of you!”
I gave her a genuine smile as she released me. She was beaming so hard in my direction that it almost made up for the lack of smile coming from Nicholas. If I were to commission a custom cocktail for my brother tonight, it would consist mostly of lemon juice. With the seeds. “Pomona,” he said flatly, his arms crossed. “Congratulations. The room looks nice. Though—”
“Though not as nice as if I’d held it at the Afton, I know,” I finished for him. He looked a little stunned by my daring. “I appreciate you coming anyway.”
He sniffed. “I wouldn’t miss my sister’s first gala. Even if she’s—”
“Even if she’s a traitor to the family. I know.” I leaned in and gave him a hug. It was like hugging a mannequin. “Jessica, you look stunning.”
“Thank you!” I’d taken her shopping after all and helped her find a gauzy blue-violet crepe dress that had been, to her great and inexplicable pleasure, on clearance. Hopefully she’d just stick to telling everybody who complimented her on it that it had pockets. “Pom, you’ll come wedding dress shopping with me, won’t you? I mean, I haven’t even started the wedding planning process, but—”
“Say no more.” I linked arms with my future sister-in-law. “I’ll start working on a spreadsheet.”
“A spreadsheet?” She blinked at me. “I was thinking we justgo to theSay Yes to the Dressstore and try stuff on until I find something I like.”
I heaved a sigh. “We’ll loop back on this soon.” Jessica really didn’t know anything.
“Okaaaaay.” She sounded like I’d told her we’d be wedding dress shopping inside a bear cage. “By the way, is your friend okay? I just saw her over there looking like she was about to cry.”
“My friend? You mean Vienna?” I followed Jessica’s pointer finger to the far corner of the room, where… Was that the tip of Vienna’s sleek black chignon peeking up over that bookshelf? “Excuse me.”
I nodded goodbye to my brother, who grabbed a The Pomona Afton off a circulating tray, and Jessica, then hustled toward the side corner, nodding hello and giving my busy smile to several small donors and the girl from Broadway, who I really wanted to talk to later (namely to ask an important question: If the part of Elle Woods in theLegally Blonderevival vibed with somebody’s very soul but they could neither sing, act, nor dance, could they still hypothetically be stunt-cast on Broadway?).
I reached the bookcase Vienna was hiding (???) behind just in time to hear her speak and realize that she wasn’t alone. She was saying, in a low, tense voice, “You’ve got to give me more time. I don’t have it yet.”
“Tonight was your deadline.” I blinked in surprise, because the voice belonged to my guest of honor. Conrad Phlume. “If you can’t—”
“Please,” Vienna said. “Give me one more day.”
“Perhaps there’s another way—”
“Oh my God, Pom, why are you hiding away here in the corner?”
Before I could turn myself, I was physically grabbed by the shoulder and turned by two tiny, bony, illogically strong hands. My cheek was bumped by a hollow jawbone and the corner of athick glasses frame. The smells of freesia and lavender drifted past me.
“Millicent, Coriander,” I said, trying to turn back and failing. How was Coriander so strong when she refused to do any exercise that made her sweat? “So good to see you, but—”
“Oh my God, Pom, you look amazing,” Coriander said, pushing me away at arm’s length—I almost hit a pillar—so that she could look me up and down. “Lovethat dress. It’s so… bohemian.”
Was that a compliment or an insult? Did she know what “bohemian” meant? It didn’t matter. I just smiled and nodded. “You look amazing too. Both of you. Especially you, Coriander. Those glasses are so wow.”
I tried to turn back toward the corner where Vienna and Conrad were seemingly conspiring, but now the pillar was in my way. I was trapped staring at Millicent and Coriander as their hands moved to their hips and they ducked their chins, posing. Coriander’s mermaid dress was so tight it was a mystery how she could walk in it, but at least it didn’t swamp her tiny frame the way the paper bag dress she wore to the last gala had, and her blond hair (expertly dyed) really popped against the iridescent navy. Her glasses looked terrible, but that was on me. Meanwhile, Millicent had gone for grandeur in a long, flowing ball gown in bloodred. She’d also chosen red eye shadow around her enormous deep, dark eyes, which on most people would have made them look sick, but which gave her a look just on the attractive side of dangerous.
