“Why not?” Enne asked.
“I just have a terrible feeling. Superstition is outdated, I know, but still.” Poppy smoothed out her hair. “I’m dreading the debate more than anything. I’ve heard it’s a huge event, and all the South Side shows up for it. He gets terrible stage fright, and—”
“The debate?” Enne echoed. “It draws that many attendees?”
“Absolutely. It’s like showing up to a music hall or a tennis tournament. Everyone pretends to be interested in the show, but they’re really just there to get their pictures taken. It’s not until the end of September, which is still over a month away, but he’s mentioned it multiple times already. He’s excited. Like he actually stands a chance of outtalking Harrison Augustine.”
If the event truly garnered that level of attention, then Aldrich Owain would likely attend. And Vianca might have Enne attend, as well. She clutched at the edge of her skirts, tracing the outline of her gun.
It was a perfect opportunity.
“I need to go,” Enne said quickly.
“You’re already running off?” Poppy asked. “Where do you always disappear to?” Before Enne could answer, Poppy’s face split into a knowing grin. “Maybe I was wrong about the Bellamy boy. Maybe it’s a North Side boy, and you’re worried about scandalizing me.”
Enne let out a strained laugh. “You’re imagining my life to be far more interesting than it is.”
Nevertheless, Poppy blew her a kiss. “Tell the North Side boy he hogs too much of your time.”
As Enne tried to slip out of the party, a hand grabbed her wrist, and Enne let out a gasp of surprise. “You don’t even say hello to me anymore?” Vianca yanked Enne around to face her.
“I...I thought you weren’t coming today,” Enne stammered. In fact, as Vianca’s only confidante, Enne had advised her not to. Vianca insisted these appearances made her look in control, but really, she seemed obsessive. Especially with all the rumors the tabloids reported about what might’ve happened between her and her son.
Vianca ignored her question. “Did Poppy tell you anything interesting? You have a job to do at these parties, don’t forget.”
Enne ripped her hand away. “We both know that’s not why you want me here, or why you call me ten times a day.”
“You think this election is breaking me. Everyone seems to think that.” Vianca peered over her shoulder, making several eavesdroppers blanch and turn away. “If I were a man, all the talk would be about my financial interests in this election. Instead, it’spersonal.”
Enne didn’t believe that to be entirely true, but she also agreed it wasn’t false, either.
The donna tucked a loose hair back into her fraying bun. “You’d think the women at least would understand, but look around—who are the ones craning their necks to get a glimpse of the heartless casino owner?” Enne did so, and sure enough, it was mostly women staring. “Well?” she snapped. “What’s your opinion on this?”
Enne sighed. Vianca never listened to her advice, anyway. “I think it takes more strength to be vulnerable than it does to appear invincible.”
Vianca squeezed Enne’s shoulder. She’d already spent so long leaning on it for emotional support that Enne was surprised it wasn’t bruised.
“That’s it, then?” Vianca snarled. “I should cry motherly tears on a radio station? I should give them what they all want?”
This was what she always did, twisting Enne’s honest words into something wrong. For someone convinced she had something to prove to all the men in her life, Vianca would prefer to be regarded as just another man than as a woman successful in her own right, and that made her as narrow-minded as the rest of them.
“Do you hate Harrison?” Enne asked, deeply tired.
“Of course I do. My grandfather, my father, my brother, my son. I hate them all.” Her voice grew weaker as her words grew more vicious. “But this was never about the men. This has always been about me.”
Enne would never admit to identifying with Vianca Augustine, but she understood the frustration of other people’s assumptions. She was either “wasted at finishing school” or “corrupted by the North Side.” In reality, she wasn’t any particulartypeof girl. She was simply practical, dedicated, and clever.
Maybe Enne had cried over a boy who didn’t deserve it. Maybe she could be called silly or naïve. But if she truly believed tears and vulnerability meant weakness, then she wouldn’t merely understand Vianca Augustine—she would respect her.
“Then beat them,” Enne told the donna, and Vianca’s lips curled into a satisfied smile.
The words might’ve suited Vianca’s ruthless vision for herself, but they were too pretty, too simple. But since the donna disdained women for the same reasons, Vianca wouldn’t know the difference.
8
“The most romantic legend of the North Side is Innocence and Iris. They were rival street lords, and so they hid their relationship for years.
“Until they were both apprehended.
