Page 26 of River & Rue

My nails dig into my thighs, creating bright points of sensation for me to focus on, and the flashback recedes. Looking around, I blow out a relieved breath. I only lost a few seconds.

Nearly everyone waits for Penelope to speak. Penelope herself is staring down the table at Dan and River, who haven’t noticed her and are still talking softly, their heads close together.

“May I have your attention?”

Those years on the stage weren’t for nothing—Penelope’s voice projects so well a staff member on the other side of the cavernous Lodge freezes and looks up.

Dan spins in his seat, his cheeks flushing. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

River says nothing as he crosses his arms over his chest. His face is impassive, almost bored, but his eyes burn with derision as he stares at Penelope.

Like he knows exactly what she’s planning.

Penelope acknowledges his focus with a small smile before running her gaze methodically around the table. To avoid making eye contact with her, I do the same.

Kirk’s bushy eyebrows are touching, his gaze bouncing between Penelope and Claudia, whose serene smile hasn’t wavered. Penelope’s main allies—Wyatt, Elio, and Anna—wear small anticipatory smiles. Several others, including Maya and Dan, look uncomfortable. And the two artists who arrived ahead of me today, Matteo and Larissa, are visibly confused by the palpable tension in the air.

Claudia finally breaks the silence, her smile curling higher. “I believe the floor is yours, dear.”

Penelope lifts her chin imperiously. “Thank you, Claudia. Firstly, I’d like to express my gratitude to the Pacific Arts Collective for hosting this incredible program for up-and-coming artists each summer. I’m confident my time here will benefit my personal growth and career—a goal we can all agree is why we worked so diligently to earn these illustrious residencies.”

In the dramatic pause that follows, there’s an audible sigh from Priya, a pink-haired collage artist. “Can you hurry this up? We’ve already spent an hour listening to you talk about yourself.”

There are scandalized gasps, some glares, and a few muffled laughs. Penelope gives Priya a brief, scathing glance before regaining her composure.

“What I have to say isn’t about me. It’s about all of us—about our fidelity to this collective and our duty to protect it.” She gestures to Claudia. “It brings me no joy to inform you that someone at this table has egregiously taken advantage of our lovely, kind benefactor.”

Kirk jumps to his feet, his weathered face puckered in distress. “Now, Penelope⁠—”

She speaks over him, her voice thick with scorn as she points down the table. “River Ashburn used his wealth and influence to coerce—possibly blackmail—his way into a residency. Not only did he rob an artist of their rightful spot beside us, his facinorous presence threatens to corrupt the sanctity of this collective. On behalf of Claudia, ourselves, and PAC as a whole, we must unite to cast him out.”

Voices erupt, staged shouts of approval overlapping with demands for proof and Kirk’s pleas for calm as he hurries to the head of the table. He bends down to whisper into Claudia’s ear. Her smile still holding, she listens, then shakes her head subtly and pats his hand.

But I barely register the oddness of her reaction.

Either I’m fully disassociated, or my two glasses of wine with a champagne chaser have caught up with me, because all I can think about is the word facinorous. I’m pretty sure it means wicked or criminal and just as confident it hasn’t been used since Shakespearean times.

“Facinorous,” I murmur absently, my gaze unfocused as I trace the edge of the table with a fingertip. “Fuh-sin-uh-rus. Who says that? No one, that’s who, because it’s been a dead word for three hundred years. Makes me think of another word—grandiloquent. Adjective, used to describe someone who uses long or rare words to sound smarter than they are. Present examples: egregious, fidelity, facinorous.”

I tap my finger on a small knot in the wood. “I wrote a paper on the Fallacy of Verbosity once. It warns us to be wary of grandiloquence, as it’s often used to intimidate or distract from an unsound argument. In other words, people use it when they’re full of shit.”

Clapping jolts me from my reverie. My head whips up to find Priya grinning in my direction.

“Well said, Rue.”

I look at Maya. She stares back at me, expression caught between a smile and a grimace. The panicked question in my eyes must be obvious because her grimace deepens and she nods.

Oh hell.

According to Ivy, my main tell of drunkenness is monologuing. Usually in public. Oftentimes in my outside voice.

I knew that champagne was a bad idea.

My tongue thickens. Anxiety shimmers on the outskirts of my mind as I finally take in the table at large.

Everyone is indeed staring at me, but none as fiercely as Penelope. She’s leaning over the table, fingers splayed on the wood like she’s readying to launch across the surface and tackle me.

Without thinking, my gaze swings to the end of the table.