Page 14 of Violet

My brother’s there, reading on his tablet. It’ll be the newspaper. That’s what he does now around this time. Like our father, except Dad always had the real thing.

He’s pacing and then stops as he sees us. His dark gaze zeroes in on Quinn. “Why is the orange stray here?”

The corner of his mouth actually twitches.

“To claw up your favorite seat,Heather,” Quinn says.

His eyes narrow at the nickname she’s given him since first befriending Iris years ago. The one hehatesand she won’t let up on.“All I hear is mewling.”

“All I hear is?—”

“Girls! Heath!” The front door slams, and Mom comes hurrying in, cutting off the well-worn sniping of old friends. She’s waving a thick cream-colored envelope so fragrant I can smell it from across the room.

It’s a sweet smell. It makes me nauseated.

“From the Monarch herself!” she shrieks.

“O.M.G., Mom!” Rue rushes in holding a box of crackers and waves her phone. “Save a tree, you ancient people, use Stitch or even email.”

“Hush, Rue.” Mom’s eyes scan the page. “It’s the list of Omegas the Monarch is considering as her Luxe.”

“Oh, God,” Iris says, stomping in. “Not this nonsense again.”

Dahlia hits a few dramatic notes on the piano.

Mom is not daunted. “To pick her Luxe, someone thatwill make all the eligible Alphas vie for her, Sophine is requesting presentations from all the Omegas on this list.”

Iris grunts. “It’s just a list of this year’s cattle to line up and bid on for the slaughter.”

I let out a nervous laugh, and Heath straightens sternly but I don’t miss his eye roll.

My mother suddenly starts almost hyperventilating and flapping her hands in excitement. “Violet! Oh, Violet! Your name is on here! Sophine wants a special presentation from you!”

Every eye in the room swings toward me, and I freeze on the spot. Blood rushes in my ears.

Me…? No… There’s no way.Me?

No. No. No.

“Oh shit…” Iris breathes.

“Wait, Violet?” Rue’s jumping up and down and clapping her hands. “Our sister! A Luxe!”

“She’s not a Luxe yet, Rue. Shut it,” Iris snaps, but their voices are starting to fade into the distance, muffled by my own raging pulse.

Mom is all fluttery. “Do you know what this means?”

“I-I—” I can’t even form words. My tongue is stuck on the roof of my mouth.

Mom grabs my hand and grips it tightly. “It means we have to go shopping!”

Mom pictured grand, deep-violet satin to go with the amethyst family tiara, one from my grandmother’scollection, where the majority of the Gardener properties and riches came from.

But the dress and tiara aren’t me. I can’t pull off high fashion, so while I don’t want to bring shame to my family, I also don’t want to wear something so out of my league.

We settled on a lovely pale-lavender dress in silk, simple and moreme, and with it, pretty amethyst-studded hair combs.

Hopefully it’s enough to make me stand out to the Monarch. At least that’s Mom’s prayer. I’m hoping it makes me forgettable enough.

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