“I would not have missed it for all the money in the world. Especially since this island has already taken so much of my money. But I guess I have you to thank for that.”
Ceridwen stiffened next to her, and even Magdalene exhaled audibly. There was no mistaking Dagmar’s meaning.
“Congratulations, Ms. Allende, on a well-fought campaign. You’ll make a fine mayor, I’m sure. Cooperation is a golden goose that lays precious eggs, I’m told.”
No, there was no mistaking Dagmar’s meaning. Having most certainly lost the election she had tried to buy for her puppet, she was here to attempt to reach her endgame by other means. And Paloma had all but had it with the riddles.
“I hope you weren’t told by the same people who convinced you that meddling in island business would be profitable. Or advisable. Because those people were wrong.”
Dagmar’s lips curved into what looked like a genuinely amused smile. But Paloma wasn’t done.
“As for the golden goose and its eggs, I am in possession of my own millions, Mrs. Rathcross, and no, I didn’t need to inherit them. In fact, I made ten times more before I received my inheritance, which I gave away in its entirety. Not many people around here can say that.”
The smile was wiped from Dagmar’s face, leaving behind a quiet fury. But it was gone in the blink of an eye, and the same vapid smirk was back.
“I’d say touché, Ms. Allende, but there’s no need to state the obvious. We all have our own little eccentricities, and my loving this island is merely one of them. Appreciating the people of this little town is another. People like Deryn Crowhart, for example. Such a shame what happened to her. A talented chef before whom all doors open, and yet she is stuck here…with no prospects…”
Paloma bit the inside of her cheek and let the coppery taste of blood wash away the intense desire for something drastic. But apparently, Dagmar was not finished.
“Since I can appreciate talent, I’ve taken the liberty to offer Ms. Crowhart a position to run my new restaurant venture in New York. Rathcross Enterprises is opening three different spaces in Manhattan, and we need someone in charge. Someone who is stifled by her current circumstances. Someone who should be valued.”
Paloma held her silence, thoughts running amok in her mind. The feeling of an elephant sitting on her chest was overwhelming. Dagmar’s smile was like a dagger as she gave Paloma’s fingers one last squeeze. She’d forgotten that thewoman was still holding her hand. The lack of warmth, or any other sensation from her, was eerie.
Dagmar seemed entirely unperturbed as she nodded to Magdalene with a barely audible “Headmistress” and then turned to Ceridwen. The change in expression was instant. Something unreadable crossed the sharp features, and the eyes lost their ice. They held avarice itself in those colorless depths. Paloma almost shuddered.
“Ceridwen Crowhart.” It wasn’t a question. If Paloma didn’t know better, she’d swear it was a spell, an incantation, as the low voice seemed to caress every sound in the name.
Ceridwen didn’t answer, the moment becoming uncomfortable—or as uncomfortable as an already awkward one could get. It was Dagmar who broke the silence. She turned away from Ceridwen slowly, as if the pale blue eyes were consuming her entire being before once again addressing Paloma.
“A wonderful little party, Ms. Allende. My regards to the chef. This place is a backwater, but the food is still…of a rather high standard. Oh, and do tell Deryn not to lose my number. In fact, you know, tell her that if she does, I’ll find her myself. I seem to do just that these days.”
With that, Dagmar was gone, leaving Paloma, Magdalene, and Ceridwen speechless in her wake.
Palomaall but ran from the ballroom. She saw nobody as she apologized to the Headmistress and the elder Crowhart. She made it to the exit unimpeded, and then she heard steps following her and bolted. The nearest destination presented itself in one of the tête-à-tête rooms on the farthest side of thefloor. She threw the doors closed behind her and then leaned against them, breathing hard.
Why had she allowed that woman to get under her skin like this?
“You know why…” She whispered to herself.
Yes, she knew why. It wasn’t the implication of Dagmar presenting danger to herself. It was Deryn… Deryn… Deryn, whom she had almost lost, whom she refused to have because…
Coward. You’re such a coward.
Yes. Yes, she was, and she couldn’t… She couldn’t let herself even consider Dagmar’s words. Nor the possibility of Deryn leaving. No, Dagmar’s words were much more sinister…
As Paloma walked to the glass windows on shaky legs, she could feel the tears on her cheeks. The grounds in front of her were filled with people, the heaters up and bright lights illuminating the patio, the party in full swing. She was vaguely aware that the New Year’s countdown would start soon.
The door behind her opened, and she whirled to tell whoever it was to leave her alone. But it was the one person she ached to see.
“I saw you run out of the ballroom. I’m not going to ask if you’re okay.”
Deryn came closer, and Paloma could finally admit the tuxedo was indeed a work of art. Black with a starched white shirt, and… Jesus, Mary, and Joseph… suspenders. And a bow tie that was undone, hanging loose at the unbuttoned collar, a glimpse of the collarbone demanding to be touched. To be kissed.
Paloma was aware that Deryn was speaking. She was also aware that she was completely unaware of what she was saying. When Deryn grinned, Paloma finally lifted her eyes to meet the mischievous green ones.
“Had I known that suspenders were all it took… At least you got some color back.”
Paloma shook like a leaf, suddenly dunked into the ice-cold reality.
