It was shocking that even someone as perfect-looking as Wren had those stories. But we all had those stories, didn’t we? Horrific taunts, the trials of female adolescence. Growing up, I’d been ridiculed for my acne, my nose, my weight, my breasts…
Ian poured wine into my glass and I jerked. He was talking again, telling another story.
“Is Roza here yet?” I said it softly, almost to myself, but Wren heard.
“She is. She just had to take a call.”
The whole table stopped to listen.
“She’s upstairs,” Ian added. “She’ll be down shortly, don’t worry, love.”
“We were joking this is all an elaborate setup.” Taylor gestured at Ian. “He’s actually a serial killer who lured us here.”
“Because, as you know, I hate women.” He grinned.
“So, Ian.” Poppy leaned forward. “Can you tell us more about this retreat?”
“Ladies.” He raised his hands, like a conductor. “Believe me when I say I know absolutely nothing. Roza’s in charge of all that. To be honest, I’m just here because I happened to be in New York for the week and I never miss a chance to visit Blackbriar.”
Yana and another woman appeared carrying steaming plates. The other woman had kind, lined eyes and dark hair threaded with silver.
“Specifically because of this woman.” Ian pressed his hands together. “Chitra Patel. One of the finest chefs in the state if not the country.”
“Oh, here we go.” She had an English accent as well, though it was softer, more lyrical. “We all know you’re a charmer, love; no need to lay it on so thick.”
“Just wait.” Ian fluttered his fingers. “Take a bite and tell me I’m wrong.”
The plates held filet mignon and small heaps of creamy risotto, salty mushrooms, garlicky brussels sprouts. We set to the food quickly, with exclamations: “Oh my god.” “This is incredible.” “Chitra’s specialty: neo–comfort food. You girls really are in for a treat.”
“So, Miss Wren.” Taylor sat back, appraising her. “You said you had a photo shoot this morning?”
“I did.” Wren swallowed, a delicate pulse at her throat.
“That is so effing cool.” Poppy stabbed at her mushrooms.
“It was a lipstick shoot at a sewage treatment plant.” She rolled her eyes. “My bosses think they’re so cutting-edge.”
“Did it smell?” Taylor looked horrified.
Wren raised an eyebrow. “You mean I don’t reek? I guess the stench is just permanently in my nostrils now. But, hey, anything for a good picture.”
Everyone chuckled. Her charisma was starting to unfurl, its vines wrapping around the table. It caused anxiety deep in my belly. But as she moved to a story about a photo shoot in the reptile house of the Bronx Zoo, when a Komodo dragon had escaped and eaten several designer shoes, I tried to push it down. This month wasn’t about Wren, and it wasn’t about who people liked more. It was about Roza.
Then the word “fiancé” caught my ear.
“What does he think about your intrepid adventures?” Ian pointed at Wren’s left hand. It had been in her lap for most of dinner, but she’d just used it to gesture.
“Evan?” She stared at her hand, flat on the table. The gigantic diamond sparkled. “He’s fine with it. I think he likes getting a break from me.”
Wren was engaged? I was floored. When had that happened? She hadn’t posted about it on social media.
“Wait, show us!” Taylor cried. Wren obligingly flashed her hand. I looked to be polite, even though my stomach churned. Wren glanced at me and quickly away.
“Girl.” Poppy gasped and leaned forward. “That rock is ob-scene!”
“I keep forgetting about it.” Wren laughed a little, her eyes lowered. “Evan loves it when someone asks me about it and I’m, like, what?”
“What’s he like?” Poppy watched Wren dreamily, swirling her wine. “What does he do?”
“He’s in finance.” She shrugged and the hand disappeared back under the table. “And a musician, in his off time. He’s… I don’t know; he’s a good guy.”
“When?” I croaked.
Everyone looked at me.
“When’s the wedding?” I managed to say. It would be strange to ask my original question of when they’d gotten engaged.
Her eyes flickered away. “We’re not sure yet. Maybe in the fall.”
“Cheers!” Ian jumped up to smash his glass against hers, which led to a table-wide clinking. Taylor pounded the last of her wine and threw up an arm, almost punching Yana, who was bending over her to fill her water glass.
“I’m really starting to think you’ve got Roza tied up in the basement or something, Ian.” Taylor leaned back, giving Yana space.
“She just likes to make an entrance.” Ian rolled his eyes.
“What’s she like?” Poppy asked.
“Well, sweetheart, what would you like to know?” His tipsy grin turned into a leer as his eyes dipped down at her cleavage.
Wren and I shared a disgusted glance.
Stricken, we both looked away.
The shared look, the shared thought—Ugh, what a dick—had happened so automatically, like a missing note that had to be filled in.
I chanced a look. Wren was now concentrating hard on Poppy.
“I mean, everything,” Poppy said gamely. “Do you have any crazy stories?”
“Crazy stories? There’s plenty of those.” He leaned back, his eyes screwed up as if peering into the past. “There was this one time in Barcelona—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Suddenly she was entering the room, she was striding towards us, she was seating herself with a heavy sigh. “I get to tell that story, Ian; you always fuck it up.”
She perched on her chair, primly positioning her napkin in her lap, the scent of a dark jasmine perfume wafting over the table. The energy in the room ran to her like a current; it was impossible to look away. It wasn’t her outfit, or that she’d in any way dressed up for us. In fact, she wore a gray sweatshirt, and her hair was still damp from a shower. But something clung to her that made the rest of us in our finery—even Wren—look silly and childish, like teens in sparkly dresses trying to sneak into a bar.
Time slowed; I felt frozen in place.
It was Roza. My high priestess, my guiding light since age twelve.
Roza in the flesh.
“Hello, girls.” Her long, full lips pulled into a smile. She raised a glass, which Yana had already filled, and took us in. “Welcome to Blackbriar. I’m so pleased you’re here.”
Chapter 9
The next few minutes passed in a blur. We introduced ourselves as Roza listened in a queenly way, sipping her wine and completely ignoring the steaming plate of food before her.
I ended up going last, and I stumbled through my little spiel. Name, where I’m from, what I’m doing when I’m not writing （ha）。 After, there came a pause.
“Where’s your necklace?” Roza’s brow furrowed.
“Oh.” My face warmed. “I was rushing to get ready and I totally forgot to wear it.”