Page 2 of Queen of Nothing

Broke for aristos. I wasn’t confused about that. But it was new information.

Amelia added, “If she had done her research, she would have learned the cost of going against the coven.”

I was grimaced against Mother’s uncaring application of the lotion to my face, dragging it all over, even around my ears, but her gaze was on the reddish cocktail that Amelia plucked from the table.

My question was muffled by her hands pulling against my mouth, “Are the Ströms poor?”

Mother’s smile came with a curt, choked laugh.

Amelia nudged me with her foot. “Do not eavesdrop, Olivia.” Then she hid her smile behind her glass. “But, yes, almost.”

Mother said, “The coven is only strong when we stand together, isn’t that right?”

I nodded. But I was sure some sunscreen was leaking into my eyes, because they were starting to sting.

“Without the coven,” Amelia warned, “then we would all be sentenced to a little life.”

She shook her head with the disgust of it, then sipped from her blood-red cocktail.

“Go play.” Mother booped me on the nose “And don’t you dare go in the water for the next thirty minutes. Let it dry first.”

Again, I nodded, then practically flung myself off the daybed. My bare feet came smacking down on hard, smooth pebbles that sent winces shooting up me—but I remember how excited I was to rejoin the others.

With fresh gossip.

I avoided Landon, who still played in the water. He would not have appreciated it. Besides, Asta and Serena had joined him.

So I ran straight for the pit dug into the sand.

The pebbles slowed me down, but when I reached the transition of pebbles to sand, my legs moved faster.

I scrambled to the pit, falling to my knees, and looked down at them.

Oliver and Dray sat in there, not wrestling or fighting like I expected, but rather, they picked through the menu book from the restaurant and bickered over lunch orders.

They both looked up at me, squinting against the midday sun.

“Mr Ström is angry because Mrs Ström is sad that they are poor, and now she’s choosing the little life.”

For a moment they just blinked at me.

Then Oliver dropped his frown to Dray. “What about the paella?”

Dray flicked the page of the menu. “I hate Mediterranean cuisine.”

He wasn’t allowed to say that. He would never say it now, not as adults. But when we were children, and it was just the three of us, filters faded.

Oliver smacked my hand, curled on the edge of the sandpit. “Get in here before someone sees you.”

I climbed into the pit.

As I dropped onto my bottom, Oliver hit the edge of my ugly sunhat that Mother made me wear.

“It’s an exclusive pit,” my brother added with a pointed look.

That meant I couldn’t invite anyone in. It was just us three.

I didn’t mind.