The Writing Retreat(22)
“He’s in finance.” She shrugged and the hand disappeared back under the table. “And a musician, in his off time. He’s… I don’t know; he’s a good guy.”
“When?” I croaked.
Everyone looked at me.
“When’s the wedding?” I managed to say. It would be strange to ask my original question of when they’d gotten engaged.
Her eyes flickered away. “We’re not sure yet. Maybe in the fall.”
“Cheers!” Ian jumped up to smash his glass against hers, which led to a table-wide clinking. Taylor pounded the last of her wine and threw up an arm, almost punching Yana, who was bending over her to fill her water glass.
“I’m really starting to think you’ve got Roza tied up in the basement or something, Ian.” Taylor leaned back, giving Yana space.
“She just likes to make an entrance.” Ian rolled his eyes.
“What’s she like?” Poppy asked.
“Well, sweetheart, what would you like to know?” His tipsy grin turned into a leer as his eyes dipped down at her cleavage.
Wren and I shared a disgusted glance.
Stricken, we both looked away.
The shared look, the shared thought—Ugh, what a dick—had happened so automatically, like a missing note that had to be filled in.
I chanced a look. Wren was now concentrating hard on Poppy.
“I mean, everything,” Poppy said gamely. “Do you have any crazy stories?”
“Crazy stories? There’s plenty of those.” He leaned back, his eyes screwed up as if peering into the past. “There was this one time in Barcelona—”
“Oh no you don’t.” Suddenly she was entering the room, she was striding towards us, she was seating herself with a heavy sigh. “I get to tell that story, Ian; you always fuck it up.”
She perched on her chair, primly positioning her napkin in her lap, the scent of a dark jasmine perfume wafting over the table. The energy in the room ran to her like a current; it was impossible to look away. It wasn’t her outfit, or that she’d in any way dressed up for us. In fact, she wore a gray sweatshirt, and her hair was still damp from a shower. But something clung to her that made the rest of us in our finery—even Wren—look silly and childish, like teens in sparkly dresses trying to sneak into a bar.
Time slowed; I felt frozen in place.
It was Roza. My high priestess, my guiding light since age twelve.
Roza in the flesh.
“Hello, girls.” Her long, full lips pulled into a smile. She raised a glass, which Yana had already filled, and took us in. “Welcome to Blackbriar. I’m so pleased you’re here.”
Chapter 9
The next few minutes passed in a blur. We introduced ourselves as Roza listened in a queenly way, sipping her wine and completely ignoring the steaming plate of food before her.
I ended up going last, and I stumbled through my little spiel. Name, where I’m from, what I’m doing when I’m not writing (ha). After, there came a pause.
“Where’s your necklace?” Roza’s brow furrowed.
“Oh.” My face warmed. “I was rushing to get ready and I totally forgot to wear it.”
“You forgot to wear it?” She said it lightly, but her expression was suddenly grim.
“I’m sorry.” I glanced around the table. Poppy, Wren, and Taylor stared down at their plates while Ian and Keira watched Roza. “I mean… I didn’t know we were supposed to.”
“You come to my home.” Roza suddenly leaned forward, her accent growing stronger as she said the words slowly, empathically. “And you receive my gift. And you don’t stop to think that perhaps it would be a good idea to show your appreciation by wearing it?”
My mouth opened and closed. I felt stricken. Was this actually happening?
“Nothing?” She narrowed her eyes, then sighed and looked down. “Well, Alex dear. I think we know exactly how seriously you’re taking this opportunity.” She picked up a brussels sprout with her fingers and popped it into her mouth. “You can leave,” she said, chewing.
“What?” I gawped stupidly.
“Goodbye.” She waved a hand.
I thought suddenly of the book festival, how the mood in the church had shifted so rapidly. The atmosphere in the dining room, so light a seccond ago, was now heavy with shock and dread.
“Roza.” Ian smiled, appeasing. “Come on, love. You don’t really mean that.”
She stared not at him but at me, her green eyes blazing. I wanted to crawl under the table or flee upstairs to my room, where I could lock out whatever this brutal punishment was.
But I forced myself to stare back at her. There were tears gathering behind my eyes but I refused to let them well up.
The silence stretched out, interminable. I stopped breathing and my heart thundered.
Then Roza threw her head back and laughed. The mood pitched again, this time to confusion and relief. Uneasy smiles formed on Taylor’s and Poppy’s faces. Ian groaned and rubbed his temples. Wren continued to gaze at her plate while Keira stared at Roza, her face filled with distrust.
“My darling!” Roza wiped at her eyes. “You’re so serious!” She finally calmed down and exhaled with an Ohhhh. “You really think I would kick you out for not wearing a stupid necklace? Jesus. You must think I’m an absolute monster.”