Octavius smirked, sharing an amused glance with Fola.
Henry smiled. “That’s okay, Anwar. I’ll show you to the door,” he said, walking out of the dining room with the flustered boy in tow.
Octavius shoved a piece of toast into his mouth. “It appears Bilal has a boyfriend now, how delightful,” he said.
“Anwar’s hisex-boyfriend,” Perdita clarified, barely looking up from her granola bowl.
“Oh.The plot thickens,” Octavius said with a grin, chewing his toast obnoxiously.
“Please don’t chew with your mouth open, Tavi. It’s ill-mannered,” Fola said disapprovingly.
“Nothing ill-mannered about celebrating young love, Fola. It’s great that Billy gets to have it. Some of us are unlovable and will likely die alone, soit’s nice to see that even those with a permanent stick up their asses can find someone who isn’t completely turned off by them,” Octavius said, and Fola shot him a disapproving glance.
Luckily, before she could reprimand him, a loud crash sounded in the distance, followed by the echo of someone running toward the dining room.
Moments later, Henry returned looking very pale, his expression grave.
“Henry?” Perdita asked, frowning at the secretary, who looked like he was seconds away from fainting.
“There’s been an incident,” Henry said, trying and failing to steady his voice.
“What is it? Did Bilal break his other leg?” Octavius asked, which only earned him disapproving glares from everyone, even Romeo, who usually never reacted to his comments.
Henry shook his head, opening and closing his mouth like he couldn’t believe the words he was about to utter. “No, no, not Billy… It’s Mr. Butto—your father,” Henry said, his eyes unfocused as he looked over each of them. “He—He’s been found… dead.”
8:26A.M.—THE BUTTON MANOR
The police arrived shortly after Henry had broken the news that their father was dead.
Perdita could hear Henry now, reciting the same words to the officers in the foyer, his voice echoing through the hollows of the Manor’s walls as she sat with her four siblings in the far-reaching silence of the vast drawing room.
The air felt heavy. So thick with fresh wounds of grief that she felt as though she were suffocating in the quiet. She looked up at the others, spread around the sprawling room in various stages of shock.
Bilal was seated at the edge of their dad’s armchair, hunched over with his head bowed and shoulders tense, his face paler and greener than usual. Perdita thought she heard sniffling coming from his direction but wasn’t sure. Fola was perched on the bay window seat, staring out into the gardens, her eyes glazed over in a way Perdita had never seen before. Fola looked nothing at all like the calm and calculating older sister she knew and loved. She looked as broken as Perdita felt. Romeo was standing in the center of the room, dried tears on his pale white cheeks and a crestfallen look in his sky-blue eyes.
Romeo was the only one who had cried when Henry had told them, which wasn’t at all surprising. Rome was always the first one to cry whenever bad things happened. Perdita suspected she would be next.
They were all drowning together in the abyss of shared sorrow.
Everyone in the room looked an equal level of distraught at the news.
Almosteveryone, anyway.
She glanced over at Octavius, who was seated on the ground by the fireplacein deep concentration, hunched over a checkerboard, playinghimselfat a game of checkers and seeming, at least from her perspective, to be losing. He looked ridiculous in more ways than one, still dressed in his sleepwear, with his odd socks and muttering to himself by the fire.
Maybe we all wear grief differently, she thought.
Just then, the voices in the foyer grew close, and in a rather abrupt fashion, the doors of the drawing room swung wide open, revealing five men all dressed in police uniforms. An exhausted-looking Henry stood next to them.
With the exception of Octavius, who was still engaged in his own games, Perdita and her siblings turned toward the men.
Henry stepped forward. “I’m sure you remember the chief of police, Chief Waxler. He wanted to speak with you all this morning,” Henry said.
Perdita recalled brief meetings with Chief Waxler at several of her father’s dinner parties growing up. The police chief was always overly excitable at these dinners and spent most of the night at their father’s feet, kissing the ground Mr. Button walked on.
“It’s good to see you all again, albeit under these unfortunate circumstances,” Waxler said hoarsely with a downcast expression. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Leontes… Mr. Button… was a dear friend of mine and a huge support to the police department. He will be missed by us all. Myself and my officers just wanted to check in on how you kids are doing and whether there is any way we could be of help?”
Waxler’s words were met with complete silence. He nodded anyway as though they’d given him some kind of assurance before he continued speaking. “We also wanted to let you know the next steps. We will be spending today drawing a picture of the events of last night, starting with the team who was dispatched to the yacht. This is all standard procedure. We aim to interview everyone who attended the Prodigy Ball last night. Thankfully, Henry tells us that because of your father’s annual banquet brunch, the guests are already on the way to the Manor. We have also recalled all the staff and crewthat were working on the yacht last night, who should be arriving by midday. Ultimately, we want to make sure you are all okay. No one wants to see you kids go through any more trouble, especially not me. I owe it to your father,” Chief Waxler said, a deep sadness to his expression as he stared across at them all.
