unbreakable

fe to a single sound,

agne flute set on marble. The polite clink of my mother's bracelet against h

rus of glasses, forks, and pleasantries collidin

ting, my anxiety closing

elt more like a fancy straitjacket. My hair was pulled so tight I could feel every

not looking up from his papers, "tonight is not a party. It's a presentation.

a five-star, top-

for an endorsement. Gave Jameson Davies III a laugh as he

al," he droned, his eyes glazed with a mixt

houlder at an ice sculpture of a swan that l

t he saw me. He had a sixth sense for inattention. He gave a fractional n

rform. Be

cing the smile wider. "That's

" He beamed, bl

c fluttered in my chest as the recycled, perfume-heav

nd on his arm in the practiced way that said I'd be righ

the string quartet, went around a sad-looking floral display, an

ing to see if my father had sent my mother

ust bump into

the kind where physics an

balanced in one hand. The tray wobbled in his grip. He lurched, his othe

iches were

into the air. They scattered everywhere.

d clinking in the ballroom faded,

he quiche. It

said. "That's one

ts and white shirt, though his uniform was rumpled. He looked flustered, but not scared. His

o be groveling and calling me "Ma'am" and scraping t

od there, l

with a cloth, but just... lo

with a sarcasm so dry it could have started a fire. "The

ould have been horrified. I sh

rst out of me. Relief and sho

A real, actual, pig-like snort. The sound was so forei

s. "Was that... a laugh? I thou

aged, my face burning. "I... it

tall. Not Jameson-lanky, but... solid. "I was

ed smile crack across my fac

the dead, existential-crisis eyes. I'm pretty sure it's a

e wasn't seeing the ice-blue dress, or the Vance name, or the metr

n a cheap tuxedo with a clipboard was marching toward us. "What are you d

he strange, quiche-

The warmth and humor vanished, replaced by a dull, practiced monoto

cket, efficiently sweeping the pastry corpses i

d, apparently just noticing me. His face went pale. "Miss

nd clear, the familiar Vance tone sliding back into p

crouched, glanced up. Our eyes met for

n't let my father know

owing. "Of course, Mi

the evidence cup

o low only I could hear. And then he was gone, w

called

knew my name. Of course he did, I realized. My father had probably mentioned me in a speech. But the way he s

sses and smiling, playing m

black and white uniforms, searching

as g

stone terrace overlooking the gardens. The air was crisp. I pulle

eed a non-quiche

hand flying

e, in the dark, unlit part of the terrace. The "staff" side. He

be here," I whispered, c

o the dark. "This is the 'servants and smoker

etween us was clear: I wore a thousand-dollar dress and borrowed diamonds, while

ck," I said, bu

on't w

a fact. He'd seen it in the

ed with the automatic,

rcus Vance. Big deal. Runs half the city. Wants to run the other half." He l

lest, most obvious statement in the world. I am not my father. But no one had ever s

ow?" I asked,

ks at everyone like they're a chess piece. And you... Yo

exposed. He was right. He was s

pavement on his side. "Look, I'm... this isn't my world. I'm j

ardens of the gala, was the old city park. Its iron-gate entranc

asked. "With the

music shop on the corner. The one with the faded guitars in t

ould be in the park at three. My mind raced. Tomorrow. 3 PM. I had a fitting for the equestrian gala, the

ing like ash. "I have... a fittin

is eyes seemed to dim, and for some reason, that hurt more than

aid, my voi

in his pockets, a small,

I asked. "The manage

gets the paycheck," he

st

Elara. The girl who hates dead-eyed sw

ped. "How d

ghness." He gave a small, two-fingered salute and d

seeping through the silk. My phone buzzed in

e ar

ed at the park across the st

w. Arou

my fingers num

mi

ounds of the party washed over me, but now they seemed dif