Page 4 of Meadowsweet and Marigold
Magnolia Everhart stood apart, unnoticed by most, yet impossible for Marigold to ignore. They shared the same face — the same emerald hair cascading in perfect waves, the same sunset-gold eyes. But where Marigold's features were now rigid with shock, her twin's lips curved into a satisfied smile.
Subtle and self-assured, her sunset eyes glinting with a triumph that seemed grotesquely out of place. The satisfaction was a stark beacon amidst the dimming light of Marigold's world.
The realization that her sister might revel in her downfall sent a new wave of nausea roiling through Marigold's stomach.
"Did you see her face?" someone whispered too loudly from the front row.
"I always thought there was something off about them," another voice answered.
Marigold forced her breathing to remain steady, counting the beats as she would during a difficult sequence.
One, two, three, four... hold it together.
Her gaze drifted upward, away from the sea of staring faces, toward the wings of the stage. That's when she saw her.
Their eyes locked across the distance. Magnolia didn't flinch or look away.
Instead, she lifted her champagne flute in a small, private toast.
As if that announcement is truly some sort of rejoicing to be toasted to…
"Miss Everhart?" The stage manager approached cautiously. "Would you like to..."
"I'm fine," Marigold said, her voice sounding foreign to her own ears. "Just give me a moment."
She couldn't tear her gaze from her sister.
Why is she looking at me like that? Why isn't she coming to help me? Did…she betray me somehow? Is she involved in this sudden change in Rowan’s heart?
The realization came slowly, then all at once.
The conversations Magnolia had with Rowan behind closed doors. The whispered phone calls that stopped when Marigold entered a room.
The questions about her schedule, about when she'd be performing next.
"Ladies and gentlemen," the company director was suddenly beside her, his hand at her elbow, "let's give our prima ballerina the appreciation she deserves."
The audience, grateful for direction, broke into renewed applause, though it was tinged with uncertainty.
"You don't have to stay," he murmured for her ears only.
Marigold nodded once, mechanically. As she turned to leave, she caught sight of Magnolia again, now moving through the crowd toward where Rowan had disappeared, her green hair gleaming under the lights like a beacon.
"She knew," Marigold whispered, too softly for anyone to hear.
9 - 10
A memory flashed through Marigold's mind — three nights ago, in their shared apartment. She had returned late from rehearsal to find Magnolia sitting at the kitchen island, casually scrolling through her phone.
"You're working too hard, Mari," Magnolia had said, not looking up. "How's Rowan handling your absences?"
"He understands," Marigold had replied, setting down her dance bag. "This is important to both of us. He’s the one encouraging and funding it after all."
Magnolia had smiled then — that same smile she wore now.
"Of course it is. Oh, by the way, I saw him today while you were at the studio. Poor man seemed...uncertain about something."
"Uncertain?" Marigold had frozen, water glass halfway to her lips.
