Page 38 of Crown of the Fae King

In another bag, a thick and fluffy pink robe, like the one Charlotte had worn the last time I saw her. No need to blend in while wandering around my own room, it said.

A lightweight bag had four nightgowns with matching robes. Powder blue, crimson, white, and leopard. The next bag was full of panties in various styles, various fabrics. Not a granny panty in the bunch. Lots of colors. Everly had said, in Italy, that we only had to blend in on the outside. What we wore underneath was our business.

I was suddenly sick with remorse. I had cut short what would have been a fun afternoon because my pride stung…along with my legs, my pits, and other parts.

A plan began brewing in my mind. I had to find a way to apologize.

The last bag was from Tiffany & Co. I had never imagined I’d need expensive jewelry in my life, but once I held it in my hand, I started to understand the appeal. Nothing from Penny’s ever felt so heavy, so…intense. It had some magnetic pull that demanded I try it all on.

Each piece came in its own box. With labels. A matching set of gold creations by Paloma Picasso.Olive Leafwas the pattern. A heart necklace, a wide bracelet, small branches of the leaves for earrings, and a ring. I wasn’t a fan of gold, but it was growing on me. Fast.

A small redfleur de lispendant. Far too flashy to wear out in public. Far too expensive to flaunt around my bedroom. Silver teardrop hoops I totally would have picked for myself. A watch with a soft leather band. Solitaire studs I was sure were diamonds—and yes, the enclosed papers verified it.

It was a bizarre dream I never dreamed for myself. Never thought in a million years I would want diamond studs, let alone have a place to wear them, or an outfit I might wear them with.

Money meant nothing.

I stared at the bed now covered in it. Tried to convince myself it was true. But those blue walls of my Hazelton apartment were still out there, waiting for me to wake up.

16

Servants In The Servant’s Quarters

When Wickham moved us to the house, he’d announced that dinner would be at seven every night for whomever among us was in town. And we wouldn’t need to do the cooking, or the dishes, which was a lucky thing because of how I was dressed.

I came down the stairs just before seven wearing my black Alexander McQueen wide-legged trousers, a black camisole, and a new poncho-like loose-knit sweater, gunmetal gray, with the collar open to my belly button. My arms were a little bare for my taste, but I wanted Everly to know I appreciated her.

I wore the diamond studs and the redfleur de lisnecklace, a black watch with a mother of pearl face, and the silver open-heart ring of my own, from a boyfriend a long time ago. It was the only jewelry I’d ever been given that hadn’t turned my skin green. It was still going strong.

Who knew a car mechanic would have good taste in jewelry?

I had never worn so much bling at one time before. It felt heavy, gawdy. But even if it was just once, I wanted to look as polished, as finished, as Everly MacKenzie.

I had reapplied the makeup, though not as thick as the cosmetic chick had done. I’d brushed through my hair, then ran my fingers through it like I’d been taught. Together with the new threads, I was pleased with the result. I might be able to do it all from scratch sometime.

At the bottom of the steps, Kitchens headed past me, but looked up and stopped, to let me go ahead of him. “Lovely hair,” he said, his Scottish accent heavy. “Shall I take ye in to dinner?”

He didn’t mention the clothes, but I was sure he’d noticed just by the way he avoided looking directly at them.

Wickham sat at the head of the long dining room table chatting with Persi, seated on his right. Urban sat between her and Everly. That left the opposite side for Kitchens and me if we didn’t want to yell from the distant end. I could feel all eyes on me as I walked, felt like I was wearing only the red panties andfleur de lis, as exposed as I’d been in that brightly lit salon/dungeon where I’d been tortured earlier.

Kitch pulled out the chair beside Wickham, and I sat down without incident. Only then did I look at the faces around me.

I smiled at Everly. “I’m so sorry about today. I…I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” she said. She pointed to my neck where thefleur de lissat in all its glory. “That’s supposed to be my apology.”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Persi pointed at the necklace. “Don’t you owe me an apology too?”

Everly’s brows rose. “Do I?”

Persi snorted. “Surely…I can think of something.”

Everyone laughed, but the men were obviously waiting for an explanation. Everly rolled her eyes. “We’ll explain later…to Persi, maybe.”

Urban scowled until his wife said, “Woman stuff.” Then he coughed and shook his head. “We’ve mounted the maps,” he said. “The war room will be ready…”

The double doors opened. A middle-aged man pushed the doors wide and left them that way, then stepped aside while his twin and two women carried in two plates each. Green salads with a side of berries. The first man brought a tray and went around the table to place little pewter pitchers of vinaigrette dressing for each of us. As in Italy, individual portions seemed to be a thing.

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