Page 16 of Savannah Royals
“He was just a friend, Mellie. Geez. I left a lot of people behind when I came here. It’s not easy, staying connected to both worlds.”
She looks at her slippers, momentarily abashed.
“I’m not stepping out on my fella,” I say firmly.
“I know you aren’t,” she whispers. “But I’m not sure you should be trying so hard to stay connected, Kat. You left the Catacombs behind for a reason. Same as me with the farm. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
And with that, she pulls her foot back and softly closes the door.
CHAPTER FOUR
Muchtoourdismay,Florence Vanderbilt graces Mellie and me with her company at breakfast. A pious smile plays on her lips as she plunks down her plated egg-white omelet across from me.
“Did you enjoy the open house yesterday, Katarina?”
“Yes, it was lovely.” I focus on stirring my Cream of Wheat.
“It certainly was. These opportunities aresoimportant in our final year, don’t you think?”
I merely nod, waiting for the shoe to drop. Florence is woefully predictable.
“Making a good match—it’s positively crucial,” she continues. “Having the right pedigree, being on similar paths…there’s so much we need to consider. Don’t you agree?”
I finally look at her, the insinuation crystal clear. I have a poor pedigree; I’m certainly not on the same path as the trifecta.
When I interviewed for admission to the Academy, there were a lot of reservations. People just like Florence on the panel, from donor families with long ancestries. People conditioned to turn up their noses at those beneath them on the social ladder. But Paul had prepared me well. I pilfered an exquisitely refined dress for the interview and pinned my hair in a conservative chignon. I walked straight in demure heels, saying “yes, ma’am” and “no, sir.” Being a con artist and a Royal paid off in dividends that day, because Lady Genevieve agreed to let me in, tuition deferred.
Unlike Florence, whose family foots the bill upfront for her education, a select few girls, like Mellie and me, will have a small pile of loans to our names when we graduate. Loans I’ll either slowly pay back with earned wages at Raymond’s, or better yet, loans my wealthy, Academy-sanctioned husband will repay when we marry. The Academy doesn’t take on charity cases out of the goodness of its heart, make no mistake, but once you’re in, they protect their own. It’s just smart business, after all, to protect one’s investment.
“Katarina?” Florence’s eyes are wide. “Don’t you agree?”
Something deep inside of me—the wolf, no doubt—snarls, but I tamp it down. Instead, I give Florence the response she’s after: submission.
I make a slight huff of agreement and lower my eyes as though sufficiently chastised. It costs little to do it, really. Only my dignity…and if I’m being honest, I surrendered that years ago. Buried it deep in the tunnels of the Catacombs. Dignity doesn’t feed hungry mouths. Doesn’t pay bills or buy new shoes.
Dignity, it turns out, is shockingly expensive.
Satisfied, Florence turns to her next victim. She nods at my roommate’s plate, piled high with two buttered biscuits, eggs, and potato-sausage hash. “Smelly Mellie, you’re never going to lose five pounds that way.”
The nickname is unfortunate. It started in our first year when some of the girls found out Melinda came from a working plantation family. That she’d hauled manure and cleaned out chicken coops in her past life.
I come to Mellie’s defense. “Who says she needs to lose five pounds?”
“She does.” Florence points her fork at Mellie. “She whines about it to anyone who will listen.”
It’s true, but it’s beside the point. “Mellie’s waistline is fine. Far better a goal to lose five pounds than to pine for the ironclad shackles of marriage with every breath.” I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”
“I always tell myself the diet starts tomorrow.” Mellie laughs nervously as Florence’s cheeks burn rouge. “But somehow, tomorrow never seems to come.”
I snort, amused, as a flash of silver-streaked hair enters my periphery. Headmistress Helena walks from table to table, dropping a piece of paper on each.
“Another social next week?” I ask, reading the notice.
“Gracious, back-to-back events?” Mellie sighs. “Talk about double duty.”
“You should be grateful.” Florence winds up for another swing. “It’s not like you have any prospects, Melinda.”
Mellie’s cheeks blotch. “Well, there’s still another year.”
