Page 137 of Brutal Prince

Indi

Ithought I had it all figured out, but I’d forgotten one very important element: Marigold Davis. When I arrive home after detention, she’s already home and busy with something in the kitchen. I try to sneak past to my room, but she must have the hearing of an arctic fox, because I haven’t gone two steps before she calls out to me.

“Indi? Join me, please.”

I roll my eyes and drop my backpack on the stairs. Sweet cinnamon hangs thick in the air, and I can’t help but inhale a greedy lungful as I step into the kitchen.

“What you making?”

“We’re making snickerdoodles. And then shortbread, and some pound cake.” Marigold peers at me over her shoulder. “Hurry and go wash your hands. We have a busy afternoon ahead of us.”

“I…I have homework.”

“And the whole weekend to finish it,” Marigold says smoothly.

Fuck.

I hurry down the hall to the guest bathroom and wash my hands. When I come out, my eyes track down the hall to my mom’s old bedroom. I glance toward the kitchen. An electric mixer turns on, and I use the noise as cover to race down the hall and try the door.

Locked.

Because why on earth should anything ever be easy?

I roll my eyes and head back to the kitchen. Marigold turns off the mixer, spots me standing idle, and frowns. “Don’t just stand there. Make yourself useful.”

I walk over to the eye-level oven and peer inside. “Are these ready?”

“What does the timer say?”

Back to good old Marigold, eh? I knew our truce was too good to last. “One-minute twenty-five.”

“Then they’ll be ready in one-minute twenty-five,” Marigold says.

I roll my eyes again, and start clearing up some of the mess on the countertop. “What’s all of this for?”

“The church has a fundraiser tomorrow.” Marigold looks around and points at a lined baking tray. I bring it over to her, and her eyes dart up to mine before she starts spooning batter on the tray. “We’ll be selling these.”

We?

No, good God, say it ain’t so.

“You know I have finals coming up, right?”

Marigold snorts. “You can’t offer up a few hours of your time for God?”

I blink at her, caught off guard. I never knew Mom to be religious, and she’d never mentioned anything about Marigold’s affiliations either. Then again, she’d only ever mentioned grandmother in passing.

“I didn’t know you…went to church,” I finish weakly.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, young lady.” Behind us, the timer goes off. “Now get those out of the oven before they burn.”

Shortbread, pound cake, and snickerdoodles?

So much for the damn party — I’ll be lucky if I get out of this kitchen before midnight.

* * *

Briar

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