“Well, variety is very important in lively small talk, no?” I asked, my voice muted by the notepad.
Kane ignored me and went on, saying, “She then grabbed the tray of assorted pastries, in the process knocking over my tea, and stormed out of the room.”
“You can’t take her to the Solstice Ball,” Shay repeated once more. “Not with her… temperament.”
“Hmm, yes, yes, I can see this is very grave. Very grave indeed,” I said, nodding sombrely. “I must say, I’m most disappointed in myself. I shall take the blame for this pitiful display.”
I touched my hand to my chest in a heartfelt, sincere gesture as Kane and Shay each stood. I joined them at the door of the parlour and shook their hands.
“Thank you for coming, my friends,” I said, keeping my voice reserved. “I must get back to work. I have two days left and I shan’t waste a single minute.”
Kane looked over his shoulder at me. “We’ll see who’s laughing when we win this little bet.”
“It’s not over till it’s over,” I protested.
Kane laughed as he followed Shay toward the foyer. “I’m not sure it ever got started, mate.”
I watched my friends leave, sticking out a tongue at Kane’s back, and then went down the hallway. Delaney, seeing me coming, pushed herself up from where she had been leaning against the wall.
“How’d I do?” she asked, her eyes searching mine.
I smiled widely and patted her cheek roughly before she could shove me away.
“Absolutely swimmingly, darling.”
Delaney
It was the day before the Solstice Ball and I was addressing my mounting anxiety the only way a trailer trash redneck from the middle of nowhere Texas like myself knew how: with mac and cheese.
An hour after requesting the undisputed king of all comfort foods from the kitchen staff, a casserole dish with sizzling, popping cheese emerged from the oven. Ronan’s personal chef reached for a dainty porcelain bowl and a serving spoon, but I stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
“Don’t bother,” I told him, shaking my head. “I’ll take the whole thing.”
So laden with fifteen pounds of butter and cheese and cream and pasta, I climbed the stairs to the library for Ronan’s afternoon lesson. I dug my spoon into the golden bliss and long strings of ooey-gooey chess stretched toward my open, drooling mouth. I slurped them in noisily like strands of spaghetti.
Adjusting the heavy mac and cheese dish in my oven mitt-covered arm, I reached the second floor and swiped at my messy lips as I rounded the corner toward the library. I was lifting another heaping spoonful toward my mouth when I stopped and frowned in confusion in the entryway to the library.
A semi-circle of chairs was arranged against the tall bookshelves. In the chairs, sitting sombrely and with hands gathered seriously in their laps, were the maid, the gardener, the chef, and Benson. A single empty chair was set in front of this strange, quiet gathering.
I stepped warily into the library and looked from face to face in confusion.
“What in the fucking world is this?” I asked.
The library doors creaked behind me and I whipped around to see Ronan easing them shut with a tired sigh. His easy, carefree smile was gone from his lips and in its place was a tightly drawn line. I flinched as he came up to me and rested his hands on my shoulders.
“Delaney, love,” he said, his voice restrained and quiet and odd. “We’re all here because we care for you, because we all just want to see you get better.”
I stared in utter bewilderment as Ronan guided me reluctantly forward toward the semi-circle of sad, weak smiles.
“What is this?” I asked, feeling my temper flare. “Is this a fucking intervention?”
Ronan clicked his tongue and shook his head.
“No, no, of course not,” he assured me in a calm, hushed tone. “To the contrary, I feel you suffer from a severe lack of fucking. I can help you with that after we’re done here.”
“Bull-fucking-shit!”
“Here, dear, I’ll take this.”
I stammered a protest as Ronan eased the mac and cheese from my hands. He sucked in his breath and bounced the casserole dish from hand to hand.
“Oh, oh, a bit warm,” he said. “Mind if I borrow that oven mitt?”
“Damn straight I mind! I want my mac and cheese!”
In pointing my finger angrily at Ronan, I inadvertently made it very easy for him to slip the oven mitt from my hand.
“You need to focus on listening,” he said before pushing me roughly to the isolated empty seat. “I’ll just hold this for you.”
“You’re going to eat it!” I whined as Ronan moved to take his place in the centre of the semi-circle before me.
“Shh, shh,” Ronan cooed, placing a finger to his lips. “I wouldn’t even think of it.”
He winked at me as he finished the spoonful I’d started.
“Now,” he said, interrupting my curses with a mouthful of food. “Who here has been personally affected, nay, personally harmed by Ms Evan’s fashion choices?”
“This is a fashion intervention!” I shouted, shoving myself indignantly to my feet.
Ronan covered his face with his hand and sighed. I can’t confirm this, but I was almost certain he only did it to hide a devious, horrible, trickster grin.
“Delaney, please. We just want to help. Let us help you.”
My hands practically shook, balled into fists at my sides. “You’re a fucker, you know that?” I said, glaring at Ronan. “A real mother fucker.”
“Lashing out is understandable, but not excusable, Ms Evans,” Ronan said, dipping his pinkie into the mac and cheese. “Please sit down.”
I remained standing and crossed my arms over my chest to convey that I fully intended to stay that way. Ronan’s finger popped out of his mouth with a loud pop and he made a point of setting down the dish and spoon. He folded his hands in his lap and looked up at me, managing to keep his face completely straight save the inextinguishable flicker in his eyes.
“The first step to a proper makeover is admitting that you need a proper makeover,” he explained. “So, please. Sit down.”
I sank warily to my seat, sitting at the very edge in case I suddenly needed to flee.
“As I was saying,” Ronan said, now grinning in amusement as he leaned back in his chair. “Who here has been personally harmed by Ms Evan’s… peculiar fashion choices?”
Ronan eyed what I was currently wearing: a chambray button-down with no bra, silk pyjama bottoms, and embellished white cowboy boots from home.
Benson raised his hand with an apologetic shrug. He was followed by the chef and then the gardener. The maid alone kept her hand unraised. Ronan waited a moment longer and then leaned forward with a question in the form of a lifted eyebrow.
“I actually rather like Ms Evan’s style,” the young maid said, glancing shyly at me with a little smile. “It’s bright and bold and fearless, really. I wish I had the confidence to dress like that.”
“Goddammit, Roberta,” Ronan said. “What did we talk about?”
Roberta blushed and ducked her eyes as she chuckled softly. “Sorry, sir,” she said, raising her fingers to her lips.