decisively. “I hear you start a job next week.” She managed to pronounce the word “job” with precisely the same mix of confusion and disdain that her cousin typically used, as if it were some kind of family quirk.
The silence around the long table was deafening. In the awkward pause, all that could be heard was the clinking of silverware against china.
“It’s event planning,” Lynne informed the family with a dismissive wave of her glass.
“I thought she was an architect,” Belinda Helding snapped to her twin sister, and then whipped her silver-gray head toward Jane. “I thought you were an architect.”
“I was,” Jane replied weakly. “I am, I mean. Just not right—”
“God,” Laura sighed melodramatically, flicking her blond tresses off her shoulder. “A job? Are we all going to be expected to work now?”
“No one expects that of you, dear,” Blake slurred cheerfully from across the table. Jane felt suddenly, uncomfortably sure that the foot rubbing against her ankle neither belonged to Malcolm nor was there by mistake.
“Thank goodness.” Laura dug back into her blini.
“Ariel, stop playing with your foie gras. It’s not polite,” Andrew said.
Cora’s and Belinda’s eyes were still glued to Jane as though she were a bizarre museum exhibit. She braced herself, but no one else at the table seemed to register any tension at all.
“So no more architecture?” Cora drawled. Her steely dark eyes were as cold and unyielding as the black Mikimoto pearls on her necklace.
“Now’s not the right time for it,” Jane said, choosing her words carefully. “But I do really love it. Making a space into someone’s real home is so—”
“Of course,” Belinda interrupted, waving a finger in the air. “You’d like that sort of thing, as an orphan.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. In an instant, Laura was up and tapping her shoulder. “I’m going to powder my nose. Jane?”
“Excuse me,” Jane murmured. Ariel dropped a piece of foie gras down the back of Ian’s shirt. She snickered behind her hand as Ian obliviously continued to shovel risotto into his mouth by the forkful.
“This way,” Laura whispered, leading her down a narrow wooden staircase.
“Thank you,” Jane whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.
Laura waved her off airily. “They take some getting used to, don’t they?”
The two women took the shortest path to the discreet hallway that contained the restrooms, their heels tapping dully on the thick carpet. Just when they came into view of the main dining room, a flash of blue-white light tore through the room, shaking Jane so badly that she dropped her clutch.
Jane swiveled her head frantically to look for the source of the disturbance, but no one else seemed to even notice it. Am I seeing things? The flash came again, along with a vaguely familiar clicking noise. This time, Jane spotted a bearded man crouching behind a vase of gladioli, and the disparate pieces of information came together when she saw that he was holding a bulky camera.
“Laura,” she whispered, “who is that?”
“Who knows?” Laura whispered back, then seemed to register her concern. “Probably Page Six, but he could be freelance. Just ignore him and look happy. The hostess will escort him out soon enough.” She looped her arm through Jane’s and pasted a smile on her face until they were in the relative safety of the bathroom.
“Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” Jane asked awkwardly. The marble bathroom was also covered in flowers. A bouquet of peonies drooped from a metal vase and a collection of gold soaps and lotions lined the vessel sinks. Wall sconces cast dim, flattering light throughout the room, but Jane’s reflection still looked pale.
Laura leaned into the mirror and applied a coat of Nars Dragon Girl to her lips. “You should have seen the fuss when I was trying to poison my mother-in-law.”
Jane’s mouth fell open. “You . . . what?”
Laura
The silence around the long table was deafening. In the awkward pause, all that could be heard was the clinking of silverware against china.
“It’s event planning,” Lynne informed the family with a dismissive wave of her glass.
“I thought she was an architect,” Belinda Helding snapped to her twin sister, and then whipped her silver-gray head toward Jane. “I thought you were an architect.”
“I was,” Jane replied weakly. “I am, I mean. Just not right—”
“God,” Laura sighed melodramatically, flicking her blond tresses off her shoulder. “A job? Are we all going to be expected to work now?”
“No one expects that of you, dear,” Blake slurred cheerfully from across the table. Jane felt suddenly, uncomfortably sure that the foot rubbing against her ankle neither belonged to Malcolm nor was there by mistake.
“Thank goodness.” Laura dug back into her blini.
“Ariel, stop playing with your foie gras. It’s not polite,” Andrew said.
Cora’s and Belinda’s eyes were still glued to Jane as though she were a bizarre museum exhibit. She braced herself, but no one else at the table seemed to register any tension at all.
“So no more architecture?” Cora drawled. Her steely dark eyes were as cold and unyielding as the black Mikimoto pearls on her necklace.
“Now’s not the right time for it,” Jane said, choosing her words carefully. “But I do really love it. Making a space into someone’s real home is so—”
“Of course,” Belinda interrupted, waving a finger in the air. “You’d like that sort of thing, as an orphan.”
Jane’s mouth dropped open. In an instant, Laura was up and tapping her shoulder. “I’m going to powder my nose. Jane?”
“Excuse me,” Jane murmured. Ariel dropped a piece of foie gras down the back of Ian’s shirt. She snickered behind her hand as Ian obliviously continued to shovel risotto into his mouth by the forkful.
“This way,” Laura whispered, leading her down a narrow wooden staircase.
“Thank you,” Jane whispered as soon as they were out of earshot.
Laura waved her off airily. “They take some getting used to, don’t they?”
The two women took the shortest path to the discreet hallway that contained the restrooms, their heels tapping dully on the thick carpet. Just when they came into view of the main dining room, a flash of blue-white light tore through the room, shaking Jane so badly that she dropped her clutch.
Jane swiveled her head frantically to look for the source of the disturbance, but no one else seemed to even notice it. Am I seeing things? The flash came again, along with a vaguely familiar clicking noise. This time, Jane spotted a bearded man crouching behind a vase of gladioli, and the disparate pieces of information came together when she saw that he was holding a bulky camera.
“Laura,” she whispered, “who is that?”
“Who knows?” Laura whispered back, then seemed to register her concern. “Probably Page Six, but he could be freelance. Just ignore him and look happy. The hostess will escort him out soon enough.” She looped her arm through Jane’s and pasted a smile on her face until they were in the relative safety of the bathroom.
“Does that kind of thing happen a lot?” Jane asked awkwardly. The marble bathroom was also covered in flowers. A bouquet of peonies drooped from a metal vase and a collection of gold soaps and lotions lined the vessel sinks. Wall sconces cast dim, flattering light throughout the room, but Jane’s reflection still looked pale.
Laura leaned into the mirror and applied a coat of Nars Dragon Girl to her lips. “You should have seen the fuss when I was trying to poison my mother-in-law.”
Jane’s mouth fell open. “You . . . what?”
Laura
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