Page 14 of The Golden Spoon
“Oh, I was just going to my room. Trying to, anyway.” The words leave my mouth like balloons.
“I think your room is the other way,” Archie says. He’s trying to be helpful, I think.
“I wasn’t going to go in there, just looking,” I say. The wine is making me warm inside. I don’t want to go to bed anymore.
“Whoa! Easy there, partner.” Archie’s grip tightens. I think I must be falling over a bit, because suddenly I’m leaned up against him, my shoulder against his chest. I know logically that I shouldn’t be touching Archie Morris. That it would be frowned upon for a contestant to behave this way with a host. This is why people like drinking, I think to myself. It’s a shocking realization. Alcohol makes you not care about the repercussions of what you are doing. I like it. I can smell Archie’s cologne more strongly than earlier. It’s like the wine was—complex. Rich. I just want to be near it.
“Easy, yourself,” I say. I look straight up. I can see the stubble already forming on his chin after a day of filming. It’s gray in patches. I expect him to set me straight, to send me to my room, but he doesn’t move. “What’s it like over there?” I stage-whisper, leaning into him. “In theEastWing.”
“Oh, you know, piles of diamonds, closets full of champagne. You’d hate it.” He smiles slyly, only half of his mouth rising up his cheek.
I grin up at him, delighted. “How doyouknow what I’d hate?”
His eyebrows shoot up, amused. I imagine telling my mom about this later, how she will squeal with delight. “No, you did not say that!” she’ll shriek.
“Good point,” he says. I feel my heart sink as he steps away, coolair replacing the warmth of his arm. Now he’s going to tell me to be a good kid and run along. He glances behind him at the door, then runs his eyes up and down the staircase. All are empty and quiet. When he talks, his voice is low and conspiratorial. “I tell you what, I’ll give you a peek at the East Wing, but you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone. Can you keep a secret?”
I lock my lips with an invisible key and follow Archie up the staircase.
PRADYUMNA
“I’m sorry, man.” We are the last two in the library. Several empty wine bottles sit between us on the table. Peter is clearly heartbroken to be going home so soon. I can locate where that feeling would exist, I think, though I’ve never actually felt it. Heartbreak is for people who don’t have my kind of resources.
“I just can’t believe I did that to her.” He looks down into his empty glass like he’s committed a crime for which there will be no repentance.
“What, to Betsy?” I scoff. “She ate a little salt, she’ll survive.” Honestly, the way these people treat that woman like she is some sort of deity is a bit much. I didn’t really watchBake Weekbefore I got here. I never quite understood the obsession. It’s a cute enough show but not really my idea of entertainment. I like my television to have a bit more edge, an explosion or two, something to keep me engaged or I’ll get bored. I’ve moved on to wine and reach for a fresh bottle, inspecting the label. “Care for some more wine? This is a lovely Montepulciano.”
I open it and offer Peter the bottle, but he shakes his head.
“Suit yourself,” I say. He watches the ruby liquid slosh into my glass and shrugs, lifting his glass up in surrender.
“I guess why not have another, right? Might as well enjoy my last night here. It’s not like I have to bake tomorrow or anything.”
“That’s the spirit.” I fill him up.
Peter leans back, looking into the fire. “Too bad. I finally figure out the house, and it’s no longer useful.”
“What do you mean?” I perk up.
He glances behind him at the door and then leans forward as if he is going to impart some sort of confidential information.
“Well I didn’t want to tell the others but you know how the stairs don’t go past the third floor?” he asks, his voice hushed.
I shake my head eagerly. I have to say, I am intrigued by Peter’s little mystery. “Yes, it doesn’t make sense. I was noticing that while I was walking around the other night.”
“Exactly. Well, I had this theory that the staircase exists, I mean it must. Well, after dinner, Gerald showed me these blueprints he’d brought to Grafton, and I was right. According to the plans, there are stairs at the end of the hall. But now it’s just a wall.”
“You mean that hallway our rooms are on, the dead end?”
Peter nods.
“You think the stairs might be there still?”
“Unless they took them out completely.”
“You think they would’ve done that?”
“It’s possible. But it wouldn’t make much sense. You’d want to be able to have a way to reach that floor just for safety. You can’t just leave part of a house to decay.”
