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“I suppose it’s too late to create a diversion. I still could try if you want me to.”
I hate that he finds this amusing.
“LAIN—”
“I’m here! Stop acting as if I’ve been kidnapped! I’m right here!”
With a groan, I break free of the tall hedges and stumble out into the clearing in front of the villa only to be greeted by the sight of every single guest standing on the front path, their eyes on me. There’re even a few servants too, some of them with flashlights and flares.
I stare at them, and they stare at me.
And then Emmett walks out of the hedges behind me, perfectly, awfully timed.
“Well this is the kind of reception I’ll expect at every party now, Victor,” Emmett says wryly. “There was no need for you all to come out and greet me like this.”
There are a few muffled laughs from the crowd, but not many.
My grandmother is at the front of the pack, staring daggers at me. If it wouldn’t embarrass us both further, I have no doubt she’d love to reprimand me right here in front of everyone.
To her left, Royce stands with a flashlight in his hand, wearing an unreadable expression. Relief, perhaps, that I’m okay and the search can be called off, but there’s something else lurking below the surface as he shifts his gaze to Emmett.
I understand how this looks. I’m panting and flushed from hustling the last few yards. I’m sure my hair is a mess by now too. I’m obviously very late for dinner, and everyone will assume I’ve been out here with Emmett this whole time. To most of the guests, that won’t matter beyond the fact that I’ve slightly inconvenienced them and interrupted their evening, but to a select few, it will seem extremely odd.
“We found the damsel in distress! Now everyone to the dining room!” Victor shouts, starting to shoo everyone back inside. “The night is young!”
The search party disbands to follow him back inside the villa. I drop my gaze to the gravel, trying to keep my embarrassment from bringing tears to my eyes. Then, with heavy feet, I start to follow behind them.
My grandmother and Royce both wait for me.
Royce steps forward, gallantly taking my hand to help me up the few stairs.
“You told me you would let me take you down for dinner. I was waiting for you.”
I cringe with guilt. “I’m so sorry. I forgot. I didn’t—”
“If you wanted to go for a walk, as you told your grandmother you did, I could have gone with you. I know you were probably disappointed our walk got cut short earlier.”
I merely nod, unsure of what to say other than a profuse apology, which I issue not once, but twice. Then I withdraw my hand from his, overly aware of Emmett walking behind us. I’m glad he’s smart enough not to butt in. He won’t help this situation.
My grandmother stays silent as she walks beside me. I can’t even bear to look at her. I know she’s ashamed of me for creating a spectacle, and though it wasn’t my intention, that’s not what she wants to hear right now. She wants me to fix this, to return to the dutiful granddaughter she’s raised me to be.
I don’t say another thing as we walk on. Royce tells me all about how worried everyone was, how he was the one to gather the staff and the rest of the party guests when it started to get late and I still hadn’t returned from the gardens. The guilt only layers over itself as he continues, its combined weight threatening to crush me as I take my designated seat at the dining table, blessedly far away from Royce, my grandmother, and Emmett. Royce is down on the far side, and Emmett has been placed directly across from my grandmother, at a position of honor beside Victor himself. I’m beside strangers who seem perfectly content to pretend I’m not even there. They continue a conversation they must have started elsewhere, something about mineral rights in the Arabian Peninsula, and I keep my head down, my eyes on the folded napkin in my lap until the first course is served.
It’s a caviar and crème fraîche tartlet.
“I’ll be honest, I can never tell the difference. Is this a canapé or an hors d'oeuvre?” someone asks down the table.
“Is there a difference?” another replies.
I can hear my grandmother’s throat clear from a mile away.
“Appetizers eaten with the fingers are canapés,” she answers with an air of reproach. “Appetizers eaten at the table with a knife and fork are hors d'oeuvres.”
As if on cue, half the table grabs for their salad fork.
“However, this is a canapé,” she continues. “The tartlet acts as the utensil, and it’s best to leave your salad fork where it lies, to be used during a future course.”
