I marveled at her calm, especially when her reputation was on the line too. A part of me wished I could be like Genevieve, but the sensible part knew that wasn’t possible.
I gave my stepsister a strained smile and stood from my seat. “You’re right,” I said. “I’m going to the lavatory.”
I was in more danger of pummeling Julianna with my bare fists than I had ever been before, but I had since learned to curb the violent tantrums of childhood. I satisfied myself by marching up and down the hall instead, imagining I was digging my heel into Julianna’s face with each step. I passed Tori my fifth time down the hall.
“Where you off to?” Tori said, nibbling on a pastry.
“The lavatory,” I said.
“It’s over there,” she said, pointing to the left. “The kitchen is to the right. They’ll let you sneak a little snack before the ball if you ask.”
“Great. Thanks.”
She went back into the sitting room and I made my way to the right. If there was anything I needed, it was Theodora’s signature raspberry tarts, but I would have to settle for the next best thing. The more I walked the angrier I got. What right did Julianna have to hold my reputation against me? That was crossing the line, even for her.
Servants bustled past me with arms laden with baked goods. A maid beat at a stray pigeon with a feather duster. A young man strolled by, polishing a green apple with his shirt.
I stopped in my tracks. It washim.
“You!” I whirled around, pointing a trembling finger at the waiter who had spilled water on me. This time, he was dressed in a plain shirt and breeches. Those in the hall stopped and stared, but I paid them no mind. My blood was boiling.
“Oh. You,” the waiter said. He raised his eyebrows, looking infuriatingly relaxed. “Hello.”
“Hello?Hello?” My voice raised an octave higher as I stomped up to him. “Do you have any idea what you caused?”
“Woah, easy there.” He stepped back, holding his apple away.
“Of all things youhadto give me your jacket! And you...youwinkedat me!” I sputtered.
I wanted to say a million more things, but surely shouting at a palace employee wouldn’t help my situation.
Yet my anger had to go somewhere. I snatched the apple from his hand. Curse him for holding it away from me, like he was afraid I was going to spit on it. I shoved the fruit between my teeth and crunched down.
The servants behind me gasped. The waiter merely stared.
My eyes watered from the acidity of the fruit as I thrust it back into his hands.
“Enjoy that,” I said, mouth full of apple, and marched off.
––––––––
THE MOMENT I RETURNEDto the sitting room, my humiliation curbed my anger. What in the heavens was I thinking? The waiter’s apple soured my stomach, a reminder of yet another bad decision I had made in the past few weeks. I decided not to recount the episode to Genevieve. She was already nervous about the ball.
It wasn’t long before Lady Hortensia ushered us out of the sitting room to the top of the stairs again. The ballroom was now alive with chattering guests. Somehow, the servants had shooed the pigeons away. The only sign of their presence was a dollop of pigeon droppings on an unlit candle.
“Miss Samantha Faas!” Mr. Packington announced.
Samantha descended the marble staircase as several other debutantes had before her. The ballroom burst into a smattering of applause.
The queue shuffled forward. A thousand faces turned toward us.
“Miss Genevieve Bonavich Flora!”
My stepsister descended, the voluminous skirts of her ball gown flaring around her like petals on a rose. She was a tiny figure when she reached the bottom. She curtsied low before the dais and joined the cluster of debutantes on the side of the ballroom.
“Miss Amarante Flora!”
My feet brought me forward at their own accord, seemingly more prepared than I was. The descent was longer than I anticipated. Queasy as I felt, I managed to reach the foot of the stairs and curtsy before the king and queen.
