“Probably,”
Alexander knew everything, except the parts I buried where even I couldn’t find them.
“They’re going to be at the reunion,” Vivienne finished clicking the last of the magnetic taps on.
The last thing we wanted was someone who didn’t know what the lip balm was using it. The owner fingerprint matched to the cap.
Dynasty daughters knew what the balms where, but outside of that no one.
“The reunion,” Charlotte repeated. “On the yacht.”
“Of course it’s the yacht,” Vivienne moved a new line vial towards Charlotte . “Where else do dynasty children go to pretend the water can still baptize them?”
“Floating court,” Charlotte said, eyes bright. “Floating confessional.”
“Floating trap,” Vivienne added.
I swallowed. “You two are making it sound like a haunted house.”
“It is,” Vivienne said. “Only the ghosts wear stain.”
“Are you going?” I asked.
Charlotte’s mouth went sideways. “I am—how do I put this politely—very busy not attending. Unless I receive a… persuasive calendar invite.”
“That means if Rome asks,” Vivienne translated.
Charlotte watered the basil on her windowsill like the plant had personally offended her. “We cannot all be stoic and pure, Emilia. Some of us have appetites.”
Vivienne’s bracelets chimed. “Nikolai texted an hour ago.”
“Of course he did,” Charlotte and I said at the same time.
Vivienne showed us her screen:Bring a case. Not for me.
“Not for him,” Charlotte repeated, smug. “Translation: for her.”
Vivienne slid the phone away. “It’s possible we are conducting a small market test on the west docks this weekend.”
Charlotte lifted a brow. “Is it a you test or a balm test?”
Vivienne looked scandalized. “Please. I market-test men all the time. This is business.”
“Is business why you have a cufflink in your purse?” I asked, because I’d seen the N earlier when she’d searched for a lip balm scoop.
Vivienne didn’t blush. “It’s collateral.”
“What does Rome keep at your place?” I asked Charlotte lightly, and she didn’t answer, but the faint red mark just under her jaw did.
“Do your mothers know?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Mine suspects everything and admits nothing,” Charlotte stopped sorting the vials. “She pretends I’m still twelve and can be dressed into obedience.”
“Mine knows and keeps a ledger,” Vivienne said. “Everything with her is accounts. Losses, gains, daughters.”
“And mine,” I said, then stopped. The kitchen went quiet. “My mother would have told me to stop embarrassing the family.”
Charlotte looked at me a long beat. “Your mother would have told you to stop breathing loud.”
