gold necklace, the diamond on the end round and sparkling. I lifted my chin, giving him access to my neck, careful not to mess my hair when I moved it to the side, and then he fastened it with ease.
The diamond rested against my jugular notch, cold and iridescent.
My hand went to my throat. “I—”
“I know.” He smiled. “You don’t like to be showered with presents. But I thought perhaps you would like to carry a piece of your Grandmother Poésy with you this evening. That necklace belonged to her. It’s yours now. I do believe, apart from her wedding rings, that necklace was the only fine piece of jewelry Evelyn Rose Poésy allowed Bennett James Poésy to spoil her with.”
I touched the diamond a bit more reverently. “Thank you, Daddy.” My voice caught. I took a moment to compose myself. “This means a lot to me.”
He nodded, his eyes watching me through the mirror. “Are you nervous because Brando Piero will be your guest this evening?”
A loud laugh escaped my throat—like a pot being beat against the soft tone of the music. My father grinned at me.
“Brando Piero?” I laughed again, this time with smoothness.
“Yes. Brando Piero. If my Italian serves, Piero means ‘rock,’ which seems quite fitting.” He took a breath. “I’ve always thought so.”
“Why do you think so?”
My father was not a man to shrug. When he thought, he did so with a stone face and an imposing stance, almost like a rock willing itself to come to life.
“Scarlett Rose, not every thought has a reason. Or perhaps, I should say, we should not give every thought credence.” He patted me on the shoulder. “You better get a move on, darlin’. The guests have already started to arrive.”
He made it to the door in a few long strides and put his hand on the knob. Whatever he hesitated to say, he thought better of it and left. The only remainder of his presence came in the form of his sweet cologne.
I wondered if the woman he sought comfort in tonight—of course, not my mother—after the soirée, perhaps during, would wear it on her clothes as well.
The stairs were long and winding, and I took my time on the way down. The entire house sparkled crimson and champagne. An array of fancy clothing broke up the monotony, expensive perfumes rising like smoke.
The light music was now infused with chatter, laughter, and the occasional sneeze. The walls of the old house were near to bursting.
Violet tugged me closer. I stopped, admiring her.
She shrunk away from my gaze. “Stop looking me like that!”
I gave her my best smile. “I don’t tell you enough, Violet Constance, but you are beautiful.”
Violet liked to hide behind her funny, her sarcasm, but the truth was that she was gorgeous. Her blonde hair had been swept up in a curled do, and the dress Pnina Poésy had sent over for her seemed to be designed with Violet Constance Castellanos in mind. The tanzanite-colored dress showed off her golden skin, and her blonde hair brought out the blue in her eyes. She reminded me of a Greek goddess.
A flash of pink highlighted her cheeks and she scrunched up her nose. “Aw, shucks.” She waved dismissively, covering her delight with humor. But then she pulled me closer, resting her head against my shoulder, and sighed. “I do feel pretty.”
“You look beautiful,” I corrected and nodded toward the rest of the stairs. “Ready?”
“No,” she said so softly that I barely heard her. “Not yet.”
I followed her line of sight and found that Mitch and Mick had arrived. Just through the door, one of the attendants was in the act of collecting their coats. Tonight, their differences seemed to be magnified.
Mitch was the loose cannon. Mick was the safety net.
“What are you going to do?” I asked just as quietly.
“Boys,” she said dreamily, watching them, “are in one way or another Peter Pan all their lives. One side never grows up; he’s always lost to the clouds. The other. He grows up but can never remember being lost.”
She lost me with her Peter Pan talk—which, I incidentally remembered, was what she had called Mitch when he had ridden the insane train during his birthday party at the tracks.
Closing my eyes, I found myself squeezing Violet’s arm, holding on for dear life—a rollercoaster about to start its journey. The humming in my blood picked up, a sensational heat wave rushed up from toes to head, and every part of me