“Winter had to finally hit at the worst possible time, didn’t it?” Rémi’s mother groaned, wringing her hands in the snowy entry hall. “What a mess, an absolute mess…”
Any other day, any other show for the Fontaine fashion company, Rémi would’ve agreed with her. Not this time.
Every time the double doors opened, they ushered in a new high society guest with their meticulous hairdos turned into birds’ nests by the wind and their delicate silks spotted from the snow. While Rémi and Mme Fontaine had planned to greet a constant stream of guests as they arrived, shake some hands, kiss some cheeks, they were now overlooking a bottleneck of frustrated, flushed, and frazzled folks.
Rémi was thankful for it. The tangle let him scan more faces.
He spotted a lone older man who was shaking the snow off the brim of his top hat. He was totally unfamiliar–Rémi would for sure recognise that obviously-dyed black hair and waxed mustache if he’d ever seen it before. His own eyes jumped on and off Rémi’s with a squirrelly concern. But Rémi wasn’t being suspicious, right? It was normal enough for the son of the host to greet the guests? So why was he shying away like that, behind the next incoming group of windswept elites?
Rémi patted his mother’s arm. He said, “You got this, don’t stress yourself to death, okay?” as she headed away, mumbling about pushing the show back an hour. He neatly greeted a couple people as he approached the man.
Rémi had helped out at these events since he was a kid. Sure, back then he liked them because they gave him the chance to play pranks with a captive audience, but either way, he’d learned to recognise the many, many faces of the Fontaine social circle. He knew his father’s croquet buddies, his mother’s favourite tea party guests, the company’s highest donors, who could be counted on to buy one of everything from a new collection, who Mme Fontaine secretly wanted to boot off the VIP list, ASAP…
“Welcome to the Amaryllis auditorium. Here, let me help you with that.”
The man looked up–took in Rémi’s appearance and the proffered hand, then handed over his hat with a wary suspicion. Still keeping a beady eye on Rémi, he got to unbuttoning his snow-spattered coat. The flakes were huge and bristling, definitely a far cry from Eavredor’s usual sparkly dusting.
“Thank you, thank you. What a kind young man you are.” He shucked the jacket and made a swipe for the hat. Rémi absently moved it to his other hand. “I really must drop these things off and head in–”
“What’s the rush?”
His face went steely. “No rush, except to get out of this cold.”
“I have to say, I’m a regular at these events, and I’ve never seen–”
“Monsieur Levesque!”
Louis spoke in his best impression of pleased surprise (it needed work. He sounded like the old man had jumped out at him in a dark alleyway). “Camille will be playing after the show. She’ll be really happy to see you.”
The man’s burgeoning annoyance at being accosted instantly melted away. They shook hands warmly. “I’m sure she’s looking forward to performing without my instruction, that’s all.”
With a polite open hand, Louis gestured past him and Rémi, over to Sylvain. Sylvain was manning the final checkpoint before the lounge, checking the tickets that Mme Fontaine had hand-written and signed. “After presenting your ticket, you can proceed to the right for the coat room.”
The man moved on, fixing his mustache–the snow appeared to have wilted the wax.
Louis explained, “He’s Camille’s music tutor. He used to be really famous. Maybe he thought you were gonna ask him for an autograph?”
Rémi smoothed down his hackles. After they got back from Altolia and Chloé told the other guys what happened, a ribbon of paranoia had begun constricting each of them, bit by bit.
However, Chloé didn’t confess to Étienne, Louis, or Sylvain what she explained to Rémi in the carriage: that she suspected she was the lost Gagnon girl from that crazy arson case. Rémi felt like he had when he first met Chloé, when she greeted him by hoisting him upside down in a tree.
He’d never met the Gagnons, so it kinda made sense that he didn’t recognise Chloé–Marie–whoever. What Rémi didn’t get was that Chloé attended La Belle Lavande, a school stuffed to the brim with socialites, and no one had even pointed and whispered about how familiar she looked. He was friends with so many students that surely one of them would’ve brought it up to him.
Still, the timing of her arriving in Eavredor was perfect, and there was that guy in Altolia who swore he knew her…it was too weird. What was he supposed to do with info like that?
Louis checked his watch. “I gotta take over for Étienne soon…but he’ll be in your way up here, won’t he?”
They’d expected all the guests to have arrived by now. The streets must be a total nightmare. “Yeah. He makes people linger and act all weird.”
“I’ll let him stay, then.”
“I think he’d prefer it that way. Sure seems like he likes how Antoinette’s got the stones to tell anyone loitering to screw off. He insisted on helping backstage during the show anyways, so you can take over for him then.”
Rémi, Sylvain, Louis, and Étienne had all secretly agreed that they’d trade off spending time with the girls all night. Neither Chloé nor Antoinette would be alone for a second…in case someone unsavory was waiting to make their move. Even Camille was on stand-by, ready to run after them if they went to the powder rooms. (She didn’t get what the point in all this was, but she agreed when Rémi promised to give her a set of hair pins from the brand new Winter collection if she helped.)
Finally, there was a lull in the guests stumbling in. Sylvain stepped up beside them. He flashed his leather book full of writing at them, like they could memorize it as quickly as he could.
He said, “No one that wasn’t on the guest list yet. Other than a few mangy little dogs… That can’t be allowed.”
Rémi took the book and thumbed through it. It was packed with names, occupations, ticket-holder level, time they arrived, everything. “Man, my mom will love you. She can never find someone who spells all the names right.”
“It’s truly not hard.”
“Are you good with holding the exit doors all night?”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to watch the show.”
“Antoinette’s gonna be there.”
“And?”
“Put the claws away, man. I just mean, it seemed like last year you spent a lot of time together, so maybe you’d want to–”
“I said it’s fine. I’ll make sure no one tries to sneak in late.”
Rémi’s retort was stopped by someone tapping his shoulder.
Étienne. He looked a little apologetic.
“Antoinette sent me away,” he said.
“And you let her?”
“I don’t make a habit of fighting with Delphines. You do. So go on,” Étienne said. With the smallest tilt of a tease in his voice. And with a little push between Rémi’s shoulder blades.
Rémi and Étienne went into the lounge. The building was armed with a spacious coat room, a small kitchen for catering and drinks, plenty of smoking parlours, and, most importantly of all, an enormous auditorium space with a runway stage set a couple feet above the floor.
When the Fontaines bought the Amaryllis, they stripped out the uncomfortable theater seating and replaced it with comfy chairs in tiered semi-circles, close enough to see every detailed stitch on the models. They knocked out tons of walls that separated the eating from the viewing areas.
Now, the open concept of the building set Rémi’s mind at ease–with all six of them aware of potential danger, no one was gonna manage to pull the wool over their eyes in here.
Étienne whispered a goodbye as he ducked into one of the backstage halls. Rémi secretly hoped that Étienne would run into Mme Fontaine. Rémi luckily needn’t have worried that she’d give Étienne the usual dishonest, awkward, subservient treatment that he hated so much. When they met, she’d acted like Étienne was her long-lost nephew who she was thrilled to catch up with.
Rémi spotted Antoinette’s blazing red hair and Chloé’s eye-bleedingly teal dress in the crowd. He didn’t make it far before a familiar name floated up to his ears from the thrum of idle conversation.
“Did you hear about what Antoinette Delphine did at the Samhain Formal?”
Rémi sighed. His own stories filtered out of the gossip mills a long time ago, thanks to laying low for so many years, but he knew how many times a story could be spun before it totally fell apart into conspiracy.
“Yes! She lost it at that new girl, didn’t she?”
“What on earth for?” a third voice whispers.
“What else? She had something Antoinette didn’t…” The instigator paused for dramatic effect. “A kiss with the prince!”
“No way.”
“You don’t think she’s interested in Étienne now?”
“As if he’s her type.”
A fourth conspiratorial voice joined in. “Maybe she’s trying to get into the palace…?”
“Why now, though? They’ve been classmates forever, and I don’t remember her ever even glancing at him. You don’t think–”
“Is there more trouble between the Delphines and the monarchy? She could be trying to dismantle it from the inside…”
“Good luck. Maybe she would’ve had a shot if she didn’t get black-out drunk at the Formal. Didn’t you hear?”
Look, Rémi wouldn’t consider himself all that more mature than his peers. But when it came to gossip, he had them all beat. Wasn’t it boring to make crap up? He thought better of listening and kept moving…
…Only to run into another conversation.
“...not that kind of person, do you think?”
“I mean, god, who knows. I haven’t spoken to her since the Formal. She nearly gets killed in Altolia and still can’t bother to tell me that she’s okay. I bet she was out joyriding.”
“Shh! She’s right over there; she’ll overhear.”
“So? That’s probably the only way to get her to listen to me.”
“She leaves us for all those boys, okay, but why? Who knows what her angle is.”
“Hah, her angle?! Please, we’ve known her for long enough. Do we really have to pretend to guess?”
Antoinette’s voice, clear as a bell: “Excuse me?”
Well.
Rémi still wasn’t close enough to intercept, but Antoinette herself was up close and personal with the group of gossipers. They were a quartet of girls that Rémi didn’t know by name, though he did recognise them now that they were in a matching set with Antoinette. Her friend group–old friend group, by the sound of it.
Antoinette said, “I’m listening now. Why don’t you clarify?”
The girls all looked at each other. Then they pushed a brunette forward to take the hit. To her credit, she didn’t hesitate. “We’re just confused. You’re only hanging out with them. And her.” She pointed at Chloé. Chloé was tucked behind Antoinette’s shoulder, golden eyes wide.
“Why is your jealousy my concern?”
“Because,” she at least had the courtesy to drop her voice, “it’s not like you get involved with people for no reason.”
“What are you implying?”
“Oh my God, Antoinette, I’m implying what literally everyone is thinking already! You’re trying to get something out of each of them!”
That’s rich.
“Ah, so everyone thinks my every move is in service of my family. That would make sense as to why I dropped all of you. You’re entirely useless to me and always have been.”
Now she’d done it. The brunette puffed up. “What makes no sense is your obsession with her.”
Chloé, as always, looked like she forgot she was a player in this scene, too.
“You couldn’t stop saying awful things about her only a couple months ago. And now you let her follow you everywhere. Is she just easier to push around than us? Or,” her voice dropped again, this time in a hiss, “are you obsessed with her for that other reason?”
Antoinette went violently pink, almost as bright as her hair.
“Okay, ladies, we’re done here,” Rémi said, shouldering in. He watched their expressions war for a minute–he was one of the guys who set off all their friendship angst, but he was also part of the hosting family. “Before you start talking about us, remember I’m the one with the ear of the guestlist organizer. Chloé?”
Chloé took Antoinette’s arm. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Antoinette rolled her eyes. She fell in step with Rémi and Chloé, but Rémi saw her physically tense up as one of the women called, “Sure, let yourself be swept away! What’s up with this damsel in distress show, Antoinette? I know you’re planning something! You’re always planning something! You two better watch out for her!”
The instant they were backstage, among only a few scattered, busy make-up artists, Antoinette huffed, “They know about what happened in Altolia. Everyone does. How did it get out?”
“It always does, somehow,” Étienne said as he joined them. “Did someone ask you about it again?”
“No. This particular group was dreaming up some scenario where I’m sleeping with all of you.”
Chloé went pink. She recovered by saying, “And me. I mean, they’re weirded out by me, being around you. I don’t get why. Even Sylvain had problems with me.”
Rémi offered, “You’re the piece that doesn’t fit, that’s all.”
“Sure, because I’m new and because of this stupid magic. But I feel like I’ve done literally nothing all that important since I showed up, and yet I keep causing problems for the rest of you. It’s like everyone pays way too much attention to me and–...” She cringed. Rémi might’ve been the only one close enough to hear her whisper, “Oh my god. I really am the main character.”
Side-stepping that, Rémi asked Antoinette, “What did they mean by ‘other reason,’ anyways?”
Antoinette shook her head, waving it off. “It doesn’t matter.”
Judging by how she’d initially reacted, Remi was willing to bet it was something she’d write in a little note for someone to blackmail her with, that’s what it was.
She continued, “Thank you for the heroic rescue, anyways. How is the show coming together?”
“I overheard that some models haven’t arrived,” Étienne said. “They must have gotten stuck in the storm.”
“Really?” Rémi folded his arms. “They were all La Belle Lavande students this year; I talked with the school to drive them out here pretty early.”
“No,” Antoinette said. “They never left the school.”
“How do you know?”
Antoinette shrugged. “I took the tickets that your mother wrote them.”
Chloé groaned. “Antoinette, what?”
“It was a while ago now,” she said, a little defensive, like that explained anything. “And I only took the tickets from the women I knew would be too humiliated to ask for a replacement. They were too excited about helping him, and I–Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just let Chloé and I help out, and it’ll all be solved.”
“I don’t want to!”
“Why not? It’ll be fun.”
“Do you want us to get more attention or not, Antoinette?”
“I’m a Delphine, and you’re closely associated with me, now. You’re all doomed to attract attention.” She furrowed her brow, as if something had just occurred to her. “All you can do is control what attention you attract.”
He hadn’t known Antoinette long, but Rémi knew that look plus her emotional high from earlier was a very bad sign.
Worse was how she turned to Étienne, and ordered him, “Tell whoever’s managing the models that we have two volunteers. They can’t say no to you, anyways, and let them see Chloé; they’ll approve of her. Go on.”
Étienne and Chloé shared a look. Clearly knowing there was no fighting her, they headed off.
Antoinette turned to Rémi. Oh, so he was involved too, then.
“Do you remember how we were betting during Samhain Formal?”
“What, you want a rematch? I’ll warn you, I know these guests pretty–”
“No. I want another deal. Another…game.” She set a hand on her hip, staring him down in a way that made him feel like she was about to whip out a contract. “After the show, I’m going to ask if we could start courting, and you’re going to agree. And you’ll follow my lead from there.”
“Winter had to finally hit at the worst possible time, didn’t it?” Rémi’s mother groaned, wringing her hands in the snowy entry hall. “What a mess, an absolute mess…”
Any other day, any other show for the Fontaine fashion company, Rémi would’ve agreed with her. Not this time.
Every time the double doors opened, they ushered in a new high society guest with their meticulous hairdos turned into birds’ nests by the wind and their delicate silks spotted from the snow. While Rémi and Mme Fontaine had planned to greet a constant stream of guests as they arrived, shake some hands, kiss some cheeks, they were now overlooking a bottleneck of frustrated, flushed, and frazzled folks.
Rémi was thankful for it. The tangle let him scan more faces.
He spotted a lone older man who was shaking the snow off the brim of his top hat. He was totally unfamiliar–Rémi would for sure recognise that obviously-dyed black hair and waxed mustache if he’d ever seen it before. His own eyes jumped on and off Rémi’s with a squirrelly concern. But Rémi wasn’t being suspicious, right? It was normal enough for the son of the host to greet the guests? So why was he shying away like that, behind the next incoming group of windswept elites?
Rémi patted his mother’s arm. He said, “You got this, don’t stress yourself to death, okay?” as she headed away, mumbling about pushing the show back an hour. He neatly greeted a couple people as he approached the man.
Rémi had helped out at these events since he was a kid. Sure, back then he liked them because they gave him the chance to play pranks with a captive audience, but either way, he’d learned to recognise the many, many faces of the Fontaine social circle. He knew his father’s croquet buddies, his mother’s favourite tea party guests, the company’s highest donors, who could be counted on to buy one of everything from a new collection, who Mme Fontaine secretly wanted to boot off the VIP list, ASAP…
“Welcome to the Amaryllis auditorium. Here, let me help you with that.”
The man looked up–took in Rémi’s appearance and the proffered hand, then handed over his hat with a wary suspicion. Still keeping a beady eye on Rémi, he got to unbuttoning his snow-spattered coat. The flakes were huge and bristling, definitely a far cry from Eavredor’s usual sparkly dusting.
“Thank you, thank you. What a kind young man you are.” He shucked the jacket and made a swipe for the hat. Rémi absently moved it to his other hand. “I really must drop these things off and head in–”
“What’s the rush?”
His face went steely. “No rush, except to get out of this cold.”
“I have to say, I’m a regular at these events, and I’ve never seen–”
“Monsieur Levesque!”
Louis spoke in his best impression of pleased surprise (it needed work. He sounded like the old man had jumped out at him in a dark alleyway). “Camille will be playing after the show. She’ll be really happy to see you.”
The man’s burgeoning annoyance at being accosted instantly melted away. They shook hands warmly. “I’m sure she’s looking forward to performing without my instruction, that’s all.”
With a polite open hand, Louis gestured past him and Rémi, over to Sylvain. Sylvain was manning the final checkpoint before the lounge, checking the tickets that Mme Fontaine had hand-written and signed. “After presenting your ticket, you can proceed to the right for the coat room.”
The man moved on, fixing his mustache–the snow appeared to have wilted the wax.
Louis explained, “He’s Camille’s music tutor. He used to be really famous. Maybe he thought you were gonna ask him for an autograph?”
Rémi smoothed down his hackles. After they got back from Altolia and Chloé told the other guys what happened, a ribbon of paranoia had begun constricting each of them, bit by bit.
However, Chloé didn’t confess to Étienne, Louis, or Sylvain what she explained to Rémi in the carriage: that she suspected she was the lost Gagnon girl from that crazy arson case. Rémi felt like he had when he first met Chloé, when she greeted him by hoisting him upside down in a tree.
He’d never met the Gagnons, so it kinda made sense that he didn’t recognise Chloé–Marie–whoever. What Rémi didn’t get was that Chloé attended La Belle Lavande, a school stuffed to the brim with socialites, and no one had even pointed and whispered about how familiar she looked. He was friends with so many students that surely one of them would’ve brought it up to him.
Still, the timing of her arriving in Eavredor was perfect, and there was that guy in Altolia who swore he knew her…it was too weird. What was he supposed to do with info like that?
Louis checked his watch. “I gotta take over for Étienne soon…but he’ll be in your way up here, won’t he?”
They’d expected all the guests to have arrived by now. The streets must be a total nightmare. “Yeah. He makes people linger and act all weird.”
“I’ll let him stay, then.”
“I think he’d prefer it that way. Sure seems like he likes how Antoinette’s got the stones to tell anyone loitering to screw off. He insisted on helping backstage during the show anyways, so you can take over for him then.”
Rémi, Sylvain, Louis, and Étienne had all secretly agreed that they’d trade off spending time with the girls all night. Neither Chloé nor Antoinette would be alone for a second…in case someone unsavory was waiting to make their move. Even Camille was on stand-by, ready to run after them if they went to the powder rooms. (She didn’t get what the point in all this was, but she agreed when Rémi promised to give her a set of hair pins from the brand new Winter collection if she helped.)
Finally, there was a lull in the guests stumbling in. Sylvain stepped up beside them. He flashed his leather book full of writing at them, like they could memorize it as quickly as he could.
He said, “No one that wasn’t on the guest list yet. Other than a few mangy little dogs… That can’t be allowed.”
Rémi took the book and thumbed through it. It was packed with names, occupations, ticket-holder level, time they arrived, everything. “Man, my mom will love you. She can never find someone who spells all the names right.”
“It’s truly not hard.”
“Are you good with holding the exit doors all night?”
“It’s fine. I don’t want to watch the show.”
“Antoinette’s gonna be there.”
“And?”
“Put the claws away, man. I just mean, it seemed like last year you spent a lot of time together, so maybe you’d want to–”
“I said it’s fine. I’ll make sure no one tries to sneak in late.”
Rémi’s retort was stopped by someone tapping his shoulder.
Étienne. He looked a little apologetic.
“Antoinette sent me away,” he said.
“And you let her?”
“I don’t make a habit of fighting with Delphines. You do. So go on,” Étienne said. With the smallest tilt of a tease in his voice. And with a little push between Rémi’s shoulder blades.
Rémi and Étienne went into the lounge. The building was armed with a spacious coat room, a small kitchen for catering and drinks, plenty of smoking parlours, and, most importantly of all, an enormous auditorium space with a runway stage set a couple feet above the floor.
When the Fontaines bought the Amaryllis, they stripped out the uncomfortable theater seating and replaced it with comfy chairs in tiered semi-circles, close enough to see every detailed stitch on the models. They knocked out tons of walls that separated the eating from the viewing areas.
Now, the open concept of the building set Rémi’s mind at ease–with all six of them aware of potential danger, no one was gonna manage to pull the wool over their eyes in here.
Étienne whispered a goodbye as he ducked into one of the backstage halls. Rémi secretly hoped that Étienne would run into Mme Fontaine. Rémi luckily needn’t have worried that she’d give Étienne the usual dishonest, awkward, subservient treatment that he hated so much. When they met, she’d acted like Étienne was her long-lost nephew who she was thrilled to catch up with.
Rémi spotted Antoinette’s blazing red hair and Chloé’s eye-bleedingly teal dress in the crowd. He didn’t make it far before a familiar name floated up to his ears from the thrum of idle conversation.
“Did you hear about what Antoinette Delphine did at the Samhain Formal?”
Rémi sighed. His own stories filtered out of the gossip mills a long time ago, thanks to laying low for so many years, but he knew how many times a story could be spun before it totally fell apart into conspiracy.
“Yes! She lost it at that new girl, didn’t she?”
“What on earth for?” a third voice whispers.
“What else? She had something Antoinette didn’t…” The instigator paused for dramatic effect. “A kiss with the prince!”
“No way.”
“You don’t think she’s interested in Étienne now?”
“As if he’s her type.”
A fourth conspiratorial voice joined in. “Maybe she’s trying to get into the palace…?”
“Why now, though? They’ve been classmates forever, and I don’t remember her ever even glancing at him. You don’t think–”
“Is there more trouble between the Delphines and the monarchy? She could be trying to dismantle it from the inside…”
“Good luck. Maybe she would’ve had a shot if she didn’t get black-out drunk at the Formal. Didn’t you hear?”
Look, Rémi wouldn’t consider himself all that more mature than his peers. But when it came to gossip, he had them all beat. Wasn’t it boring to make crap up? He thought better of listening and kept moving…
…Only to run into another conversation.
“...not that kind of person, do you think?”
“I mean, god, who knows. I haven’t spoken to her since the Formal. She nearly gets killed in Altolia and still can’t bother to tell me that she’s okay. I bet she was out joyriding.”
“Shh! She’s right over there; she’ll overhear.”
“So? That’s probably the only way to get her to listen to me.”
“She leaves us for all those boys, okay, but why? Who knows what her angle is.”
“Hah, her angle?! Please, we’ve known her for long enough. Do we really have to pretend to guess?”
Antoinette’s voice, clear as a bell: “Excuse me?”
Well.
Rémi still wasn’t close enough to intercept, but Antoinette herself was up close and personal with the group of gossipers. They were a quartet of girls that Rémi didn’t know by name, though he did recognise them now that they were in a matching set with Antoinette. Her friend group–old friend group, by the sound of it.
Antoinette said, “I’m listening now. Why don’t you clarify?”
The girls all looked at each other. Then they pushed a brunette forward to take the hit. To her credit, she didn’t hesitate. “We’re just confused. You’re only hanging out with them. And her.” She pointed at Chloé. Chloé was tucked behind Antoinette’s shoulder, golden eyes wide.
“Why is your jealousy my concern?”
“Because,” she at least had the courtesy to drop her voice, “it’s not like you get involved with people for no reason.”
“What are you implying?”
“Oh my God, Antoinette, I’m implying what literally everyone is thinking already! You’re trying to get something out of each of them!”
That’s rich.
“Ah, so everyone thinks my every move is in service of my family. That would make sense as to why I dropped all of you. You’re entirely useless to me and always have been.”
Now she’d done it. The brunette puffed up. “What makes no sense is your obsession with her.”
Chloé, as always, looked like she forgot she was a player in this scene, too.
“You couldn’t stop saying awful things about her only a couple months ago. And now you let her follow you everywhere. Is she just easier to push around than us? Or,” her voice dropped again, this time in a hiss, “are you obsessed with her for that other reason?”
Antoinette went violently pink, almost as bright as her hair.
“Okay, ladies, we’re done here,” Rémi said, shouldering in. He watched their expressions war for a minute–he was one of the guys who set off all their friendship angst, but he was also part of the hosting family. “Before you start talking about us, remember I’m the one with the ear of the guestlist organizer. Chloé?”
Chloé took Antoinette’s arm. “Yeah, let’s go.”
Antoinette rolled her eyes. She fell in step with Rémi and Chloé, but Rémi saw her physically tense up as one of the women called, “Sure, let yourself be swept away! What’s up with this damsel in distress show, Antoinette? I know you’re planning something! You’re always planning something! You two better watch out for her!”
The instant they were backstage, among only a few scattered, busy make-up artists, Antoinette huffed, “They know about what happened in Altolia. Everyone does. How did it get out?”
“It always does, somehow,” Étienne said as he joined them. “Did someone ask you about it again?”
“No. This particular group was dreaming up some scenario where I’m sleeping with all of you.”
Chloé went pink. She recovered by saying, “And me. I mean, they’re weirded out by me, being around you. I don’t get why. Even Sylvain had problems with me.”
Rémi offered, “You’re the piece that doesn’t fit, that’s all.”
“Sure, because I’m new and because of this stupid magic. But I feel like I’ve done literally nothing all that important since I showed up, and yet I keep causing problems for the rest of you. It’s like everyone pays way too much attention to me and–...” She cringed. Rémi might’ve been the only one close enough to hear her whisper, “Oh my god. I really am the main character.”
Side-stepping that, Rémi asked Antoinette, “What did they mean by ‘other reason,’ anyways?”
Antoinette shook her head, waving it off. “It doesn’t matter.”
Judging by how she’d initially reacted, Remi was willing to bet it was something she’d write in a little note for someone to blackmail her with, that’s what it was.
She continued, “Thank you for the heroic rescue, anyways. How is the show coming together?”
“I overheard that some models haven’t arrived,” Étienne said. “They must have gotten stuck in the storm.”
“Really?” Rémi folded his arms. “They were all La Belle Lavande students this year; I talked with the school to drive them out here pretty early.”
“No,” Antoinette said. “They never left the school.”
“How do you know?”
Antoinette shrugged. “I took the tickets that your mother wrote them.”
Chloé groaned. “Antoinette, what?”
“It was a while ago now,” she said, a little defensive, like that explained anything. “And I only took the tickets from the women I knew would be too humiliated to ask for a replacement. They were too excited about helping him, and I–Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just let Chloé and I help out, and it’ll all be solved.”
“I don’t want to!”
“Why not? It’ll be fun.”
“Do you want us to get more attention or not, Antoinette?”
“I’m a Delphine, and you’re closely associated with me, now. You’re all doomed to attract attention.” She furrowed her brow, as if something had just occurred to her. “All you can do is control what attention you attract.”
He hadn’t known Antoinette long, but Rémi knew that look plus her emotional high from earlier was a very bad sign.
Worse was how she turned to Étienne, and ordered him, “Tell whoever’s managing the models that we have two volunteers. They can’t say no to you, anyways, and let them see Chloé; they’ll approve of her. Go on.”
Étienne and Chloé shared a look. Clearly knowing there was no fighting her, they headed off.
Antoinette turned to Rémi. Oh, so he was involved too, then.
“Do you remember how we were betting during Samhain Formal?”
“What, you want a rematch? I’ll warn you, I know these guests pretty–”
“No. I want another deal. Another…game.” She set a hand on her hip, staring him down in a way that made him feel like she was about to whip out a contract. “After the show, I’m going to ask if we could start courting, and you’re going to agree. And you’ll follow my lead from there.”
