Page 90 of House of Marionne

“I don’t understand, I thought you didn’t want anyone to know I got a redo,” I say to Grandmom.

“You sorely underestimate my cunning, dear granddaughter. After the exam yesterday, everyone wanted to know how you’d done. Where you were. And I told them you did fine but needed to rest. The celebration would be tomorrow morning.” She winks.

I shake my head. “But how did you know I’d pass?”

“Because getting kicked out of your new home, with all this at your fingertips, isn’t something you were going to risk.”

My mouth opens, then snaps closed.

“Now go on and grab some refreshment. Popper will be up in a minute.”

I almost ask who that is, when I spot Jordan perched against the fireplace mantel, a pride tilting his lips that he couldn’t wipe away if he tried. His eyes say more than his words ever have. I grin, rushing over to him, and his hands hook around my waist. He lifts me into a squeezing hug, and for a moment everyone and everything else disappears. Gold glints in his eyes and his mouth curves in delight.

He sets me down, clearing his throat. But the tingle of his touch still dances on my skin.

“Sorry,” he says.

“Quell, he’s actually here now.” Grandmom pulls at my arm. “If you’ll excuse me, Jordan, my granddaughter is needed for pictures.”

“Of course,” he says, but I don’t look away from him until the curtain of a crowd closes between us.

Grandmom parades me in front of the room, her grip tight on my arm as more and more file in, asking me if I’m feeling better, offering their congratulations.

“Smile now.” She points toward one camera, then another. “A little more teeth.”

I do.

“Too much.” Her hand presses my back. “And watch your posture.”

“What’s all this for?” I manage to ask after the millionth camera flash in my face.

“When an heir passes Second Rite, news goes out immediately.”

“It’ll be on Page Six along with our internal post, Debs Daily.” Popper hands me a card. Rudy Popper, Audior, Debs Daily. “Don’t hesitate to reach out.”

“Thanks for rescheduling on such short notice, Popper.”

“Happy to.” He tugs at his royal blue bow tie. “The Order could use some good news with all the rumors about the Sphere going around.” He flips open a notepad and holds his fingers in the air mid-snap. “And how do I spell Quell?”

“Q-U-E-L-L.” His fingers are pressed tightly together, as his magic transfigures the sounds to written letters on his paper. “But it’s short for Raquell. Use her full name. So, R-A—”

“My name’s Quell. Not Raquell.”

Popper opens his fingers, which stops the writing in his journal.

Grandmom pinches me. “It’s as I’ve said. She was named after my mother, Raquell Janae.”

I was?

“Got it.” He flips his pad closed. “That name, young lady, will be at the top of every exclusive social event invite list before you can blink. You’ve made this House quite proud.” He turns back to Grandmom. “And the dates are set for Cotillion, I saw. I’m showing about a month out.”

She nods. I pinch myself on accident from the excitement.

“Can we get a quote for the piece?” Popper’s notebook is back open as he stares expectantly.

Grandmom’s eyes meet mine, and they are a sea of many things, desperation, fear, hope, and, somewhere underneath all of that, joy. This is a moment for which she’s hungered for so long. Her enthusiasm digs deeper into my arm.

“Quell, I—” she starts.

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