Page 131 of Wicked Serve

I help Isabelle out of the car, careful not to mess with the long skirt of her dress. She’s wearing green tonight, a warm, inviting shade that runs counter to the still-cold March weather. I miss the warmth of Brisbane already. We landed in New York earlier today and, after sleeping for a few hours, pulled ourselves together for Grandfather’s dinner party.

She fiddles with one of her earrings as she looks up at his building. I just look at her. She’s always gorgeous, of course, but something about this outfit is making it particularly difficult for me to think. The careful arrangement of her hair, the diamond jewelry, the elbow-length white gloves and fur stole... she looks like a princess. I know we make a good pair; I put as much care into my armor for tonight as she did, but I don’t feel like her prince. I don’t fit in this world. If anyone does, between the two of us, it’s her.

“Ready?” I ask, offering her my arm. “You look stunning.”

She fixes my tie, a light green that echoes the shade of her dress, before letting me lead her to the door. “You wouldn’t know I was just on a plane for a hellish amount of time?”

“Not at all.”

“The bags underneath my eyes look atrocious.”

“Bags? What bags?”

She rolls her eyes as we thank the doorman. Just before the elevator, someone calls, “Nikolai!”

Not just someone. Cricket. She’s wearing slacks and a neat white button-down, her short hair slicked back. Large red glasses give her face an owlish look.

I smile at her fondly as she pulls me into a hug. “It’s been way too long.”

“I’ve been dying to meet you!” Isabelle says as Cricket hugs her, too.

“You must be Isabelle,” she says. She adjusts her glasses, beaming at us both. “I’m Cricket, Nik’s favorite cousin.”

“My only cousin,” I say dryly.

“What about that second cousin in Smolensk? No? Thank God you’re here. Now it’ll actually be a party.”

“It’ll be something.”

“Well, after you ditched us on Christmas, you pretty much had to come to this one.”

Isabelle makes a face. “Whoops.”

“Oh, please. I’m glad he was with you.” She slides her arm through Isabelle’s, walking to the elevators. “I want to hear all about the wedding you’re doing for your brother. If I tried to plan one it would be a hot mess, so props to you for being able to do it. I’ve seen pretty much every episode of Say Yes to the Dress, though.”

“Oh my gosh, then you have to hear this story about Bex’s dress.”

By the time we reach the penthouse, Isabelle and Cricket are talking like old friends. I always knew they’d get along, but finally seeing it in action makes me smile, despite the knots in my stomach. I trail behind them as we enter the party. A server appears with a tray of champagne.

My grandfather’s dinner parties happen a couple times a year, and they’re so exclusive, people have begged to get on the guest list. He pulls out the stops for friends, business partners, and anyone else who seems like an interesting contribution to the conversation. Over the years, I’ve met politicians, scientists, authors. I don’t recognize anyone famous in this crowd, but I do spot Mom chatting with Grandfather and a few people from Abney Industries. I steer us into the next room before they can wave us over.

I wonder how many of these I’ll be expected to attend starting this summer. All of them, probably. Grandfather is always quick to point out that most of the time, business happens outside the boardroom. Cricket plays the networking game better than me; as we walk through the party, she recognizes and says hello to nearly everyone. Isabelle’s a natural, too, drawing stare after stare.

I resist the urge to chug my champagne. I almost snatch a fresh flute from a nearby server, but manage to contain myself. That’s what my father would do. Actually, he’d be several drinks in before the party even started. As much as I’d like to take the edge off, I hate the thought of acting like him even more.

“Ah, there you are. It’s been too long, son.”

I turn at the sound of Grandfather’s voice. I haven’t seen him in person since Christmas—when I ditched him for Isabelle and her family—but he looks the same as ever. Black suit, silver hair combed neatly over his temples, a carefully selected watch. He claps me on the shoulder, then steps back so Mom can hug me. She messes with my hair, tutting, but she’s already looking past me to Isabelle.

“Katherine!” Isabelle says, hugging her tightly.

“You look lovely,” Mom says. “I noticed you wearing the stole when you walked in.”

Isabelle gives me a small smile. “Thank you for letting me borrow it.”

“It looks better on you than it ever did on me.” She squeezes her arm. “We’ll talk all about the wedding soon, okay? I’ll fill you in on every detail from the week. You’re doing great.”

Grandfather holds out his hand for Isabelle to shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I’ve met your parents a few times. They do wonderful work with their foundation.”

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