Lucia sank down into one of the plush chairs arranged for the guests. She wiped her eyes, smudging her eyeliner. ‘I don’t know what’s got into me,’ she whimpered. ‘I feel so stupid for crying over such a heartless . . . cad.’
Olivia sat down beside her, taking Lucia’s hand in her lap. ‘Can you tell me what happened?’
Lucia blinked back more tears. ‘I was engaged.’ Her chin dropped to her chest. ‘I was supposed to have a beautiful wedding, just like the one tomorrow.’ Lucia’s breathing was shaky. ‘But at the last moment he called it off. It was only a month ago. My whole life fell apart.’ Her lower lip quivered and Olivia worried she was about to start real, full-on sobbing. Olivia patted her hand, noticing that even Lucia’s fingernails were painted black.
‘I’m sorry to hear that. That truly is the worst! A cancelled wedding! I can’t even imagine. When you must have been dreaming of your wedding day – with the veil and the big white dress and beautiful bouquets!’ Olivia noticed Lucia glaring at her. ‘Sorry,’ she said, returning to her train of thought. ‘But surely no, erm, cad is worth abandoning your entire faith in romance for, right?’
Lucia sniffled, but didn’t disagree.
‘Listen,’ continued Olivia. ‘I remember when I was in Hollywood and another actress tried to ruin my big moment. But was I going to let someone else get the better of me?’ Olivia paused for a response.
‘No?’ Lucia finally hiccupped.
‘Of course not!’ Olivia said with a touch more oomph. ‘And what about you? Should you let some guy get the upper hand?’
‘I guess not,’ Lucia squeaked.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Olivia, feeling like she was in the middle of a very important pep rally. She pulled Lucia back on to her feet. ‘The best way to get over your loser ex would be to celebrate the very idea of romance with a wedding fit for a prince and princess. How often do you get to throw a royal wedding? And think of the thrill it will give Tessa and Alex when they see all you’ve done.’
‘You’re right.’ Lucia swallowed hard, gesturing to the greenhouse lady, who was cradling her half-empty basket by the wall. ‘Helga, let me see those flower samples one more time.’
Olivia watched Lucia sniff a bright purple bloom. All in a day’s work, she thought, mentally patting herself on the back. As the Great Hall began to bustle again, this time with more energetic activity, she slipped outside through the giant French doors.
My own love life may be on ‘pause’ for the time being, but that doesn’t mean I can’t help fix other people’s. As she wound her way through the long corridors of the Lazar mansion, Olivia realised that she should have felt positively giddy at her triumph. She had helped save the day !
But instead of being happy and light, she still felt like a heavy weight had settled in the depths of her stomach. The sound of her wedge sandals ricocheted along the empty hallways, giving Olivia a hollow feeling. She missed Jackson, with his megawatt smile and sweet blue eyes that made her feel like she was melting. But that wasn’t all. As Olivia wandered aimlessly among the ancestral portraits and ornate wallpaper, she realised that maybe one day Ivy might have her own wedding in this very building. Maybe she’ll never return to Franklin Grove. Olivia felt so isolated it was as if she was living on the outskirts of Siberia. Even when she tried to take her mind off Jackson or Ivy, there was no escaping the fear that was quickly becoming all too real to Olivia. She’d only recently got to know this whole new side to her family, and now it felt as though it was all being snatched away again.
I might be left on my own, she thought. I might lose my sister.
Chapter Six
Ivy stuffed another tender piece of rare steak into her mouth. She and Petra were seated at a round, granite table inside the Wallachia canteen. Unlike at Franklin Grove, where the students ate off plastic trays with flimsy forks, Wallachia provided fancy cloth napkins and baroque silverware. The table setting was even nicer than her father’s best china at home!
‘You like it?’ asked Petra, shoving some food around on her plate.
‘Like it? The food here is ten times better than anything at the Meat and Greet and the Bloodmart back home, combined – and, trust me,’ she said with her mouth full, ‘I’m a big fan of both.’
‘American food . . .’ Petra sighed as if a plate of burgers and French fries might be the most exotic thing on the planet. ‘You’re so lucky!’
Lucky? Ivy was about to disagree entirely when she took a sip of straight B-positive from the crystal goblet in front of her, grimacing the way humans did when they sucked a lemon. ‘OK, fine, I’ll admit, you guys may be lacking in the milkshake department.’ Ivy preferred to get her blood fix a little less directly.
‘Well,’ said Petra, ‘if you came here permanently, I’m sure the chef could figure out something as simple as a milkshake. But seriously –’ she pointed her fork at Ivy – ‘we need more cool, less stuck-up girls around, and having you here would be a big help.’
Ivy felt her face get hot. ‘Thanks,’ she stammered. Ivy thought Petra was cool, too, but how stuck-up was this place if Petra was so desperate to balance out the snoot-factor?
Just then a group of first years walked by in their Wallachia uniforms – each with a matching strand of pearls. Their red pleated skirts swung lightly at their knees. As if on cue, their heads swivelled to examine Ivy. Oh no, do I have something in my teeth? Ivy slid her tongue over her would-be fangs, but that wasn’t it. A blonde first year with a trendy designer tote bag wrinkled her nose, her gaze lingering on Ivy’s plain T-shirt and jeans. She was worse than Charlotte Brown – even worse than the old, prima-donna version of Charlotte before she had become kind of, sort of, Ivy’s friend.