Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Before I can process what that means, he’s offering his arm again. “Ready to make an entrance, Miss Mitchell?”
“As ready as someone can be to meet an entire town of strangers in silk and heels.”
“That’s all anyone can ask for.”
Chapter Seventeen
Saylor
I’m starting to think Blue’s definition of party and mine are fundamentally incompatible. What I pictured: cocktails, small talk, maybe some light interrogation about my intentions toward Grimlock’s most eligible bachelor-slash-serial-killer.
What I’m getting: a receiving line that stretches across the entire main hall, with every single resident of Grimlock queued up like I’m royalty holding court.
“Is this normal?” I whisper to Blue as we pause at the bottom of the staircase.
“Define normal.”
“People lining up to meet your houseguest like she’s the Queen of England?”
Blue’s smile is almost apologetic. “You’re the first woman I’ve brought to a party in . . . well, ever. They’re curious.”
Before I can ask what that means for my social survival, the first wave hits.
“Saylor!” A woman with silver hair piled into a classic updo glides toward us, her emerald dress rustling like autumn leaves. “I’m Dame Gothel. Welcome to Grimlock, darling. So lovely to finally meet you.”
Dame Gothel. Even her name sounds like it belongs in a fairy tale. She looks like she stepped off the pages of Vogue at seventy with an elegance that makes me immediately curious about her story.
“Of course,” I manage, accepting her gloved hand. “Thank you for coming.”
“Darling, I wouldn’t miss it.” Her eyes sparkle with something that might be mischief. “Blue throws such interesting parties. Always full of surprises.”
Before I can ask what she means by that, another voice cuts through the crowd.
“Miss Mitchell!” A distinguished older man wearing wire-rimmed glasses appears at my elbow, his kind eyes warm with genuine concern. “I’m Dr. Finch. How are you settling into Grimlock?”
“It’s been . . . eye-opening,” I say carefully.
“I’m sure it has.” His smile conveys that he knows exactly how revealing it’s been. “Blue’s given you the full tour, I take it?”
“The highlights, anyway.”
“Ah, well, there’s always more to discover.” Dr. Finch glances around the crowd. “Grimlock has layers. Like an onion, but with more secrets and less tears.”
A man with dirt under his fingernails and tattoos covering his forearms steps forward—the gravedigger from the cemetery we passed earlier, although he’s cleaned up remarkably well for the evening. His black suit fits him perfectly, and his dark hair is slicked back in a way that gives him an old-world elegance—like a Victorian gentleman who just happens to spend his days six feet underground. The whole room has this vibe, actually. Pocket watches and perfect posture, like everyone walked out of a period drama but forgot to mention it.
“Jasper Crane,” he says, offering a calloused hand. “Sorry for your loss. Your father was an honest man. Fair in his dealings.”
“Dealings?”
“He helped my sister when she needed it. Got her somewhere safe.” Jasper grows more serious. “Family don’t forget debts like that.”
I want to ask what kind of help Dad provided, but a younger woman bounces over with the enthusiasm of a golden retriever who’s just discovered tennis balls.
“Saylor! Finally!” She’s maybe twenty-five with wild curls barely contained by a hot-pink hair tie and a smile that could power the entire electrical grid. “I’m Luna Bright. I run the flower shop, and oh my god, your dress is absolutely stunning. That color is perfect with your skin tone, and the way it moves—”
“Luna,” Blue interrupts gently. “Let her breathe.” He gets pulled away with another guest but makes quick eye contact first and I nod that I’ll be fine.
Luna laughs, completely undeterred. “Sorry, I get excited. It’s just so nice to have new people in town, especially someone with such exquisite taste in fashion. And speaking of taste”—she leans in conspiratorially—“the whole town’s been buzzing about when you two are getting married.”
I nearly choke on the champagne someone just handed me. “Married?”
“Well, yes! Blue’s never brought a woman to one of his parties before. Not as his guest, anyway.” Luna’s eyes sparkle with gossip-hungry delight. “Everyone’s taking bets on whether it’ll be a spring or summer wedding.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding,” I say quickly, very aware that our conversation is drawing interested glances from nearby guests. “Blue was just a friend of my father’s. He’s helping me get back on my feet after”—I struggle for words that explain kidnapping and murder without actually saying kidnapping and murder—“after everything that happened.”
Luna’s expression changes, her enthusiasm dimming to something more understanding. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you’d been through something difficult.”
I’m about to respond when a distinguished man with salt-and-pepper hair and a perfectly groomed goatee joins our growing circle. “Arthur Bearskin,” he introduces himself with a refined accent indicative of private schools and old money. “I own the bookshop downtown. Your father mentioned you were a singer?”