Chapter 21
Can you eat if you can’t breathe?
Because I can’t breathe.
Unfazed by Peter’s antics, Nathan slides into the vacated seat next to me, placing a chaste kiss on his mother’s cheek as he does. He nods a greeting to his father, too, before turning to me and nodding politely.
He’s already looking away from me before I can summon a suitable response.
With my heart racing and my lungs failing, I’m unsure of what to do. Do I greet him? Do I stay quiet? Do I die from asphyxiation?
Peter obnoxiously coughs and my gaze snaps to him. He’s leaning back in his new seat, smirking.
“Breathe,” he mouths.
from
I glare at him, wishing I could smack the smirk off his face. But at least redirecting my focus from Nathan allows me to finally take a breath.
Samuel clears his throat and the small chatter that was going around ceases.
“Hello, ladies,” he starts, his authoritative voice carrying over the silent dining room. “It’s nice to have the chance to relate in an informal setting such as this.”
As he talks, servants file in and fill the wine glasses next to us with wine.
If this is informal, I’d hate to see what formal is.
“I’ve heard promising feedback about your training recently and I’m pleased that you all seem to be carrying yourself with the dignity and grace expected from an Ashford. This dinner was organized so we could get to know you a little better because other than your etiquette training and your daily grooming, your character, talents, and mind are more important to us. So please feel free to be yourselves tonight; even if you don’t win this competition and marry any of my sons, you can use your time here to build important relationships that will last a lifetime.”
If–when I don’t marry any of his sons, I intend to move on with my life. Whether I’ll force myself to forget this whole experience or it will be a cherished memory is still to be determined.
Samuel waves, and before I can feel confused by the action, the doors open, and servants file in, each holding a plate of food.
Anna, with her head held high, stands next to Samuel and says, “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. To begin your meal, we present a classic Oysters Rockefeller, baked to perfection with a blend of herbs, butter, and breadcrumbs.”
Samuel nods slightly, and the servants move, placing a dish before each person, starting with Samuel and then the rest of the Ashfords.
Nathan leans slightly to allow a maid to place his plate in front of him. The fabric of his jacket rubs against my bare arm, and that’s enough to send all my thoughts scattering wildly.
The dinner commences, and it feels like every lesson from every etiquette class vanishes like snow under the blazing sun that is proximity to
Nathan.
It doesn’t help that I’m not a huge fan of seafood. I usually stick to the familiar food served at the buffet, so this dish–its name I’ve already forgotten–is not only strange but borderline repulsive.
I glance at my cutlery, forgetting which one I’m supposed to use. Hlook up, subtly trying to see what everyone else is doing.
My eyes meet Eliza’s across the table and she smiles encouragingly, picking up the smallest fork on the outermost edge.
I return her smile with a grateful one of my own and try to mirror her actions, feeling foolish and completely out of depth.
“Mr. Ashford,” Valerie speaks, her voice dripping with honey. “I just wanted to say what an honor it is to be dining with you and your family tonight. You have all been so generous to host us so wonderfully.”
Samuel smiles. “It’s our pleasure. And call me Samuel.”
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Chapter 21
Valerie preens like a peacock, and I resist the urge to roll my eyes. But more of the girls speak up, thanking the Ashfords and complimenting them on either their home or their person.
I know I should say something. But all of my brainpower is directed at making sure I don’t put my elbows on the table or slump or use the wrong cutlery or spill wine on myself.
I’m well aware of how poised and confident every other girl is—even Eliza, who’s actually joining in on the conversation with Samuel, Marisol, and some of the girls. The only people on the table who don’t speak are Lucas, and Nathan–and me.
Say something, April. Anything.
But what? I’m not educated like the girls in this room, not in the ways that matter, at least. I can talk all day about epigenetics or DNA editing. But they’re talking about stock markets, real estate, the most expensive wines, travel, and vacations. There’s just no way for me to fit in.
As we finish the courses and more are being brought out, despite all the training, I have to keep an eye on Eliza, so I don’t use the wrong cutlery or eat the wrong way. I glance at Marisol once and try to emulate the grace and composure she so effortlessly exudes, but it’s like trying to dance when I barely know how to walk.
And I dare not glance at Nathan next to me, worried that if I so much as shift my attention to him, the tiny amount of poise and grace I’ve mustered will instantly disappear.
After the first three courses, Anna announces the main course–some fancy combination of Frenched lamb rack, Dijon mustard, and whatever the hell herbed breadcrumbs are.
My plate rattles as it is set in front of me, and I look up to see that the maid is visibly shaking. I frown, studying her worriedly.
Her face is flushed red, and her lips are tightly pressed together as if to keep herself from screaming.
“Um, are you okay?” I ask quietly. Her name tag reads: Sarah.
Sarah glances at me, and her eyes widen. Her chest rises and falls rapidly, and her breathing is harsh like she just ran a marathon. I can’t tell if she’s sick or having an episode of sorts.
She doesn’t answer my question, though; she just gives a stiff bow and practically runs out of the room.
I frown after her. Should I say something?
I decide against it. The first thing I’ll say at this dinner should not be my concerns for a servant. Not when Marisol and a girl named Cecily are gushing about how beautiful Paris is in the spring.
I glance back to my plate and frown when I see a gold bracelet next to it. I glance back in the direction the maid left. The bracelet must have slipped off her wrist while she set my plate down.
I take the bracelet in my hand, glancing at the table. Would it be rude if I left?
But then I see two empty seats–a girl who excused herself to the bathroom mid–course and Lucas, who I didn’t even notice leave.
Feeling better about leaving–and maybe never coming back–I push my chair back and stand as quietly as I can.
“Excuse me,” I mutter to no one in particular before leaving the dining hall, desperate to be anywhere but the suffocating room filled with people I’ll never fit in with.
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