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“Oh, we know.” Brooke tilted an impish smile. “And believe me, the fact that you’re here says a lot about what we thought of your proposal.”
I looked at the ceiling for a second, praying for the strength not to leap all the way through it. “That’s incredible to hear.” Swung my gaze over to include Camellia in the kumbaya of its gratitude. “The competition’s been fierce on this one.” Nervous laugh. “But duh, you both already know that. And I really did just use ‘duh’ in a complete sentence.” Forget the laugh; fast-forward to the blush. “And now I’m really babbling like an idiot, because that’s what I do when I’m nervous as hell, and—”
“You too, huh?” Brooke interjected, though Camellia joined her own giggle to the mix, as well.
“We get it, Lucy. Really, we do.” Her body did a squirmy thing, as if she wanted to hug me again but chose a more “queenly” response. “But you wouldn’t be here if we didn’t love your ideas and weren’t impressed by Expectation’s credentials—though as you might guess in situations like this, we aren’t the only ones in on the decision.”
“Of course.” I blurted it automatically but studied her with fresh intensity. Did I accept her words at face value, or was she being kind, trying to hide that they’d learned about us losing the Kii Ramone gig? That tidbit hadn’t gone public yet but celebrities talked, just like all their “help” did. If someone from Arcadia had spoken to Kii recently…
Brooke pushed into my rumination with a snort. “She’s just trying to be delicate, Lucy.”
My heart thudded into my throat. “Delicate? About what?”
“What she means is, if we two alone had the choice, Expectation would have bagged this thing already.”
“Oh.” I struggled to keep my exhalation casual. “Wow. Okay. Cool.”
“Regrettably, though, we don’t.” Brooke punctuated with a girl growl, when Camellia really did smack her backside. “Whaaat, dammit? She has a right to know!”
“Know what?” I rushed the words to avoid stabbing too much insecurity into them. Like I needed to remind myself of that little factoid.
“Nothing you won’t be able to handle.” Camellia scrambled to squeeze my arm, though it didn’t carry the reassurance she clearly intended. What the hell was that? What was I supposed to handle, other than meeting with their fashion spread hunk of a brother-in-law? Was she talking normal political bullshit “handle”, or zombie apocalypse “handle”? “These things are rarely just a simple signature on a contract,” she went on. “You know that, right?”
“Sure. Right.” I hoped that sounded better than it felt, especially because the page started guiding me away. The golden rule of wedding planning was the bride—in this case, brides—on one’s side as much as possible, but I’d gotten here early so a prince wouldn’t be waiting on me. “It was awesome to meet you both,” I blurted, blushing again like a damn teenager. “Errm—I mean, it was a true pleasure, and—”
“Awww, shaddup.” Brooke invoked enough Daffy Duck to crack the three of us and the page up. She sweetened the deal by hauling me into another full hug. “It was awesome to meet you too, girl.”
After that bath of bridal warm and fuzzy, it was rough to keep following the page down the hall, but I steeled my nerves for whatever lie ahead. I could do this, dammit. I’d rehearsed this presentation so thoroughly I’d be able to present the whole thing to Congress if needed.
Around a bend and past one more boardroom, then we stepped in a high-domed atrium filled entirely by natural sunlight. The effect was nothing short of the word that emerged before I could help it.
“Wow.”
The page lifted a knowing smile as I peered around, taking in the bounty of tropical palms and flowers surrounding a mosaic set into the floor. The sparkling glass pieces emulated the eddies of a lagoon, with a quaint stone bridge arching gently over the “water”. At the other side rested a wide reception desk overseen by a woman with the face of a fairy and the hair of Morticia Addams. Not a lot of people could rock that combination, but on her it seemed right—to the point I was intimidated once more.
Yay me.
Sheez and fucking rice. I didn’t do intimidated.
Intimidated was for people who hadn’t been told their daddy was shot trying to catch a bad guy. Who hadn’t had to pack up a house by themselves, because Mom was in the other room sobbing about it. Who hadn’t gone to bed listening to Mom cry harder, after the department ruled he’d acted “outside the law” chasing that bad guy. And who hadn’t started working at thirteen, hoping even a part-time job would make it possible for Mom to quit the shittier of her two jobs—the one with the greasy boss who used phrases like “three’s really not a crowd” and “I like eating candy two at a time”.
Yeah. Intimidated hadn’t been part of my vocabulary for years. I wasn’t about to let it in now.
It worsened as Fairy Morticia stepped around her big marble desk, extending a hand as if I were the damn president coming to visit. “Miss Fava. Greetings.” She leaned in like I was the most riveting person she’d ever met. “Were your travels pleasant?”
“Yes, thank you.” Total lie. The turbulence had been so insane I’d spouted Hail Marys for the first time in years, but no way was that getting shared. I was certain Morticia would march to Heaven on my behalf, to have a few words with The big guy about the winter weather patterns over the Atlantic.
“Excellent,” she replied, backing off on the lemur stare. Good thing, because her voice was actually the craziest part about her. It really was a mix of Morticia and Tinkerbell, though it was as soothing as her handshake. “My name is Crista Noble. I am Prince Shiraz’s main assistant, and I am here to take care of you in any capacity during your stay in Arcadia.”
I lifted a teasing smile. “Main assistant? What happened to Park and Central?”
The page girl giggled. Crista didn’t. Though if Shiraz Cimarron was half the workaholic everyone painted him to be, I doubted Crista got out much. Not that there was “much” to get out to. Sancti might be large enough for an actual Main Street, but I doubted there was a Park Avenue or Central Boulevard to go with it.
“Sorry,” I muttered. “Not even…a little funny.”
“Well.” Crista’s lips quirked a little. “Perhaps…a little.”
I rejoiced at not having to jam Crista into the Stepford Assistant file. “I’m early,” I continued with a bigger smile. “Maybe I’ll just take a second to run to the ladies—”
