knew it was mostly because of that I had to speak.
“It is a good tradition,” I said, sitting up a bit. “I wished we had done that when my father died suddenly. It was probably healthier than me taking a bat to all of his things.”
“You did what?” Eliza gasped.
I glanced up at her. “I went to my father’s house. It was a few days after he passed. I do not know. Maybe I was hoping it wasn’t real, and he’d be there like always, working in his library. But he wasn’t. He worked so much I barely got to see him. So, when all of his things and all of the work he had given his time to were just there, as he had left them, I was so upset. I grabbed one of his baseball bats and smashed his 3D models, then his computers, then anything in sight. I swung so hard that I fell, and of course, since I was smashing everything, there was broken glass and things on the floor. That’s how I got this scar.”
I lifted my hand to show the faded line. Eliza leaned in to see, and her mouth turned up. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sophia cut in before her.
“And did you feel better after that tantrum?” she asked, and I looked to see her staring at me. It was creepy how dead-eyed she looked.
However, I ignored it and spoke to her like I didn’t notice. “A little but nowhere close to enough. Afterward, while I was sitting in his wrecked living room with a bottle and a bloody hand, I felt a bit ashamed. I had destroyed his work because I was jealous of it and mad at him. But soon, I remembered how happy he was to do it, so it felt like I was hurting him. I tried to clean up. That failed—my hand wasn’t letting me do it.” I laughed, remembering. “I had people pack everything, and I spent my time trying to rebuild his models.”
“It took me a year to fix most of the memories I broke of you. For the ones I lost forever, I am sorry. It’s my fault, but still...” Eliza repeated my lyrics.
“I blame you because I love you, and you’ll forgive me because you loved me too.” I finished, nodding at her.
She grinned then laughed. “That song was about your dad?”
“Yes. What did you think it was about?” It was always fun hearing what fans sometimes thought.
“I thought it was about...” she trailed off.
“You thought it was about what?” I leaned forward, more interested.
She shrugged awkwardly. “I don’t know, some man, boyfriend you loved and lost.”
“It couldn’t be another man,” Gale finally spoke again, his eyes narrowing on me.
“Why not? I liked other people before you.”
“Really, who? Chef Tremaine?” he asked with a wicked grin. “How cute.”
My mouth dropped open, and I wanted to throw something at him. Instead, I glared, and all I could say was, “New topic.”
“Wait, no, who is Chef Tremaine?” Eliza asked, looking between us. “I want to know.”
“Well, he is—”
“Eliza, do you want to know about the wig your brother glued onto his head while we were in Seattle?” I asked her quickly.
“What?” Both Eliza and Elspeth questioned then looked at him
As he glared, I grinned back. “I do not know what she is speaking about,” he lied.
“Really?” My eyebrow lifted. I reached into the pocket of my dress—thank God for them—pulling out my personal phone and not the new one the palace had given me. “Did you really think I did not get evidence?”
“You did not,” he grumbled.
“I did so,” I replied, nodding.
“Let me see!” Eliza squealed, already excited and outstretching her hands.
I unlocked the phone, but before I could give it to her, Sophia spoke beside me, “Miss Wyntor, cell phones are not to be brought to dinner, let alone passed around the table. It is considered very rude here.”
I froze.
Slowly, I brought my hand back down.
“Sophia is correct, Odette. Do not do so again,” Elspeth said gently. “But as you have brought it this time unknowingly, you may show us this evidence during Pašrévaka.”
“Mother”—Gale groaned—“that is not necessary.”
“I shall be the judge of that.” She smirked. “Who knows, maybe I shall like the look on you? If not, I shall get a very good laugh.”
Gale tiredly looked at me with a small smirk on his lips. “And here I thought you cared about me. Now you wish to make me a laughingstock