Page 27 of River & Rue

But River’s chair is empty.

13

rue

​. . .​

suspicious serendipity

“That’s rich. The person who makes up stories is accusing me of lying. You’ve got some nerve, haven’t you?”

Penelope’s acidic taunt snaps my focus back to her. My eyes narrow, my self-consciousness vanishing. I truly didn’t mean to say all that out loud, but I didn’t lie, and I’ll never cower before a bully again. I return her fuming stare with a steady, unimpressed one, and it only takes a few seconds for her to realize she can’t intimidate me.

She regroups fast. Dismissing me with a sneer, she straightens and spreads her arms like her picked-over dinner plate is a pulpit and the people around her props.

“As I said, I have evidence to back up my claim. But let me ask you something—do you even need it? We all saw River skulk away instead of defending himself. He’s clearly guilty.”

“Actually, I’d love to hear this so-called evidence.”

Penelope doesn’t acknowledge Dan’s words or the several voices of agreement.

She stabs the air with a rigid finger. “I call for a vote. Should River be allowed to poison our collective any further, or should we rise as one to protect PAC?”

Someone, maybe Matteo, whispers, “This is wild.”

“Well?” demands Penelope. “Let’s have a show of hands. Who’s with me?”

Wyatt and Anna raise their hands. Elio sinks in his chair, shaking his head and looking down to escape the heat of their glowers.

The man to my right places his folded napkin beside his plate and stands. All I know about him is his name, Jae, and that he’s a mixed-media sculptor. Beyond introductions, he didn’t speak all evening. I figured he was introverted, maybe shy, but his commanding presence now belies that assumption.

Every whisper dies.

When he fixes his gaze on Penelope, she stiffens.

“I find Rue’s assessment to be accurate.” His voice is exact, each syllable slicing the air. “You use complicated language but tell us nothing. You say you have proof Ashburn is a criminal but deflect when you’re asked to provide it. You say you have respect for PAC and for Claudia, but you haven’t allowed her to speak on her own behalf. You’re dramatic and childish, and I’ve heard enough.” He turns to Claudia. “Thank you for your hospitality. Good night.”

He walks away, disappearing through the Lodge’s doors. A gust of wind slams the heavy wood closed behind him.

Priya stands next. “Claudia, Kirk, I’m sorry you were subjected to this farce. Dinner was lovely, thank you.”

“Sycophant,” hisses Penelope.

Priya rolls her eyes. “Get over yourself. No one cares about your personal vendetta. But you already knew that, didn’t you? It’s why you made up all this bullshit in the first place.”

Penelope scoffs.

But thanks to my childhood, I’m well versed in micro-expressions. Even with a head full of champagne bubbles, I catch her subtle flinch.

Anna must catch it as well because she tugs Penelope’s arm. “What’s she talking about? What vendetta?”

“Nothing,” Penelope says quickly. “She’s trying to distract you.”

Priya shakes her head. “Wrong move.” She looks at Anna. “I’m talking about the fact Penelope threw herself at River the first night we were here. He turned her down, and she’s been gunning for him ever since.”

Anna recoils.

Wyatt pales. “Penelope? Tell me that’s not true.”