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She sets the candle in the holder, mutters a prayer in Latin, and bows her head as she makes the sign of the cross, then turns to me. She’s pretty. And young. My age, I guess. I watch as she walks down the center of the aisle more swiftly than I’d guess she could with her oversized belly. She stoops to pick something up from one of the pews. Her mask.
“You’re Santiago De La Rosa’s bride.”
I nod as she comes to stand a few feet from me, mask in one hand.
“I’m Colette.” She extends her free hand.
“Ivy,” I say, shaking hers. It’s small and hardly a handshake at all.
“It was getting a little much out there,” she says and holds her mask up, then lays her hand on her belly again. She takes a seat on the edge of the closest pew and bends down a little, trying to reach for something.
That’s when I notice she’s barefoot and what she’s reaching for are a pair of strappy golden sandals that must have a four-inch spiked heel.
“Here, let me get them.” I stoop to pick them up and set them where she can slip her feet inside. “Those can’t be comfortable. I mean, with…” I gesture to her belly.
She smiles wide, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “They’re not comfortable when I’m not pregnant either. But you know how they are.” She gestures to the door, and I assume she means men in general.
I sit beside her and nod, wondering about her. Why would her husband make her wear those shoes when she’s obviously not comfortable?
“When are you due?” I ask her.
“I still have three months to go!” She looks down at her belly. “I hope he comes sooner, honestly. I’m pretty sure he’s ten pounds already.”
“He?”
She nods as she squeezes her foot into the sandal. “Damn.”
“What is it?”
“My feet have swollen so much. I probably shouldn’t have taken them off in the first place.”
“What size are you?”
“Seven and a half normally but these days, eight.”
“Here,” I say, slipping my feet out of my flat sandals. “We can swap. I mean, if you want. They're not as pretty as yours, but they’re a size eight and probably more comfortable than those.”
She looks at my sandals, then at me. “I swear mine are torture devices, Ivy,” she says, trying for a laugh.
“They look it. I don’t mind. These are a little big on me anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
I nod, some part of me wondering how I’m going to walk in the spikey heels, but I’ll make it work.
“Thank you. Really.” She smiles so warmly I wonder again how much we have in common within The Society.
“I’m happy to do it.”
“I have your veil,” she says, surprising me.
“What?” I ask, tying the sandals. They’re a little tight but not too bad.
She turns to me. “I came in here that night. When…the marking.” She lets her gaze drift like she’s embarrassed for me, and I wonder if she saw us in here. If she saw what he did. No, that’s not possible. She was out near the courtyard, but maybe she guessed.
“Oh.”
“I repaired the tear.” She clears her throat as if just realizing how awkward this conversation is about to get. “I can bring it to you. I mean, if you want it.”
“You repaired it?”
“I like to sew, and it was such a pretty veil. It was a shame not to.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure honestly that I want it back, but I do want a friend. I could use one, and she seems nice. And a little like me, maybe.
“Should you be home, Colette? I mean,” I start, looking at her stomach, “you don’t look very comfortable.”
She smiles and shrugs a shoulder. “Jackson likes these gatherings, so well, I’ll be fine.”
“Jackson is your husband?”
“Yes. Jackson van der Smit.”
“I don’t know the name. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. You’re not one of…I mean, Mr. De La Rosa chose…” She breaks off. “That’s all coming out wrong.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say, realizing she means to say I’m not from one of the upper-echelon families. I guess she must be to know.
“I just meant you couldn’t know. I didn’t mean to sound arrogant. I mean, I hate that whole thing.”
“It’s okay. You didn’t sound arrogant.”
She does something unexpected then. She turns to squarely face me and takes my hands into hers. “Are you doing okay, Ivy?”
Her question makes me want to cry. Makes me wish I’d kept my mask on. I pull my hands away and shift my gaze down.
“I know it’s hard at first,” she continues when I don’t answer. “All their requirements and The Society, and well, it gets easier.”
“Does it? I’m not so sure for me.” I can’t help the tear that slips out, but she doesn’t comment when I wipe it away.
She takes my hand again. “You know I don’t live too far from you. Jackson’s family home is just a few miles away. I mean, if you come over, you’ll have to deal with his grandmother.” She makes a face, and again, I wonder how old she is. “She’s a mean old witch, I swear.”
