Izzie suddenly felt cold. Dylan couldn’t be right, because if Dylan was right, then that meant that Brayden could never be with someone like her. She thought back to how Brayden behaved when he first ran into her at Emerald Prep. He acted like he didn’t even know her. Was she really just a phase of his?
I like you. He had said that to her, more than once. He had kissed her, too. Then Izzie looked at Dylan. She bucked the system just like Dylan did, and if Brayden didn’t like her, then…
“I think you’re cool, which is why I feel like I have to warn you. EC destroys people like my brother,” Dylan said quietly before meeting Izzie’s eyes. Izzie felt like all the noise had been sucked out of the restaurant. Dylan took another bite of her burger. “But hey, what do I know? You two are really cute together. I am sure it will all work out.”
Dylan’s mood had shifted perceptibly. Brayden’s sister was smiling right at her, but for a split second, she saw a flash of Emerald Cove on Dylan’s face. It was a look that screamed Savannah Ingram.
Nine
“Are you really reading that thing again?” Izzie asked, her lip twitching slightly.
“Yes.” Mira considered the question insulting, and she hoped her face conveyed that. Hayden was driving her and Izzie to their first official cotillion event of the season, a mother-daughter tea, and instead of using the drive time to complain about how itchy her white gloves were (like Izzie was), Mira was looking over her cotillion handbook again. “There could be something in here that I missed. I don’t want to show up unprepared.”
“Unprepared?” Hayden laughed. “You’ve been practicing your whole life.”
Mira sniffed. “Not my whole life.” Just the past ten years. She glared at Izzie and tapped the laminated handbook on her lap. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to look at this instead of one of your weird pirate mystery novels.”
“Those are worth reading,” Izzie said, and Mira was hurt. “But I’m sure the cotillion handbook has important things in it. Why don’t you, uh, read me something from it?” It looked like it killed her to say that, but Mira turned to the very first page and read.
The Emerald Cove Cotillion Club, run by the Emerald Cove Junior League, has had the same mission since it started in 1948. We hope to empower young women with confidence for their future careers and lives. Our program covers new etiquette and character-development topics such as dating courtesies, positive self-esteem, job interviews, scholarship applications, and how to handle peer pressure. Attendance is mandatory for classes, as is a dress code. White gloves are required for all dance classes. Please select a closed-toe shoe and pick dresses that cover you up appropriately. No backless, strapless, or slip dresses! A party or church dress is suitable. Knowledge of the following dances will be expected: fox-trot, samba, rumba, waltz…
Izzie interrupted, “The rumba? Seriously?” She glanced at Hayden in the rearview mirror. “Surviving cotillion training seems harder than the SATs.”
“It’s just as important,” Mira said tersely, and Izzie gave her a look that could turn someone to stone. “Okay, so the SATs are probably more important, but—”
“Yeah, the SATs only count for a little thing called college,” Hayden cut in. “Cotillion is preparing you for life.” He and Izzie laughed.
Mira flung the book onto the seat. “I should have done this alone.”
Izzie squeezed Mira’s white-gloved hand with her own. “I’m just teasing. This stupid luncheon has me all worked up,” she admitted, and Mira winced as Izzie unwound her hand and pulled off one of her white gloves with her teeth. “I feel like I’m playing dress-up! You, on the other hand, could make a Hefty bag look elegant.”
Mira had to admit her first dress of the season was pretty perfect. The pale blue cocktail dress had rosettes along the collar to give it “something” but was still plain enough to be appropriate for a luncheon with the women of Emerald Cove. “That’s very sweet of you to say. And you do not look like you’re playing dress-up. You look pretty.”
Izzie looked down at her wine-colored dress. It had darts and a wide matching belt that accented the bell-shaped skirt. Very un-Izzie, but she had refused to go shopping, so Aunt Maureen had picked it out without her. “These gloves are itchy, and the dress makes me feel like I’m forty-five. I can’t believe you talked me into this.”
“On Friday afternoon, you were the one into this,” Mira reminded her.
“That was different,” Izzie said. “We were all in the same boat. Here, I’m in foreign territory. I can’t believe they invite debs from as far back as the 1940s to this.” She sank lower in her seat. “And we have to make small talk with all of them.”
“You’re going to do fine,” Mira promised. She looked out the window as Hayden drove through the Sea Crest Resort’s iron gates. “Tell them about the work you’re doing to revitalize your community center. Junior Leaguers eat that stuff up.”
Izzie seemed to think about that. “They do?”
Mira nodded. “Mom says everyone is always trying to one-up one another in the giving department. And you do it because you like to, not to win brownie points.”
“Hear that, Iz? You actually want to help people!” Hayden pulled under the resort’s vine-covered awning just in time, because Mira was ready to strangle him.
Mira could understand why Izzie felt nervous. The Sea Crest would intimidate anyone who wasn’t used to five-course meals on a daily basis. The resort was a tourist destination for travelers from New York to Florida, for both its rich history and its lavish accommodations. Not only did it have a five-star hotel rating for its serene beach location and turn-of-the-century vibe, but its original building was also a state landmark. Victor Strausburg, Emerald Cove’s founder and emerald-mining tycoon, had made his home in the four-thousand-square-foot plantation home that was part of the hotel that stood today.
“You’re going to be fine,” Mira told Izzie as they left Hayden behind and walked to the lobby. “I’m nervous, too,” she added. “I can’t believe Callista is meeting us here instead of coming with us. What if she runs late?”
Mira’s mom had planned on attending the event with both girls, but that Sunday morning, she’d found out she had to go to New York with their dad. Callista had booked him a last-minute spot on Meet the Press to be followed by a political meeting of the minds with a senator and his wife. Mom had felt bad about missing the tea, and Callista had offered to stay back and fill in for her.
“Callista knows if she’s late, your head will spin around like in The Exorcist,” Izzie said to her sister. “She’ll be here.” She glanced at her phone again.
“Haven’t heard back from Brayden?” Mira asked.
“He usually texts me right back,” Izzie said. “I’ve texted him twice, and I haven’t heard from him. I have no idea if he’s coming.” She made a face. “It would be nice to have a dance partner I like.”
“He’ll be here,” Mira assured her. “His mom’s name is on every cotillion form we get. There is no way she would let her son get out of being an escort.” She smiled at Izzie. “And there is no one he’d rather be an escort for than you.”
Izzie still looked anxious. “I hope you’re right.”
Mira wasn’t sure why Izzie was so worried about Brayden, but she didn’t pry. She was too busy staring at the bustling lobby. Women were holding glasses of sweet tea and chatting as a pianist played softly in the background. A giant satin banner welcoming this year’s cotillion class hung in the lobby. Last year’s debutantes could be recognized by the white gardenias they wore, while this year’s pledges were being pinned with hydrangeas. Every year, the Junior League picked a different flower to anchor their theme. This year’s ball was Winter White, and Emerald Cove Castle on the Cliffs was going to be transformed into a lilac-and-white wonderland.
It took Mira a minute to realize that Izzie wasn’t next to her. She turned around. Izzie had stopped dead in the middle of the lobby.
“Are you okay?” She touched Izzie�
�s arm, and Izzie jumped. “You’re so white.” She examined Izzie’s chin. “Did you forget to use bronzer?”
Izzie pushed Mira’s hand away. Her eyes kept darting back and forth among the women and girls scattered around the room. “I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Mira was afraid to push. All she needed was for Izzie to freak and bow out of cotillion before they even officially started. She looked around for the sign-in table. She spotted half a dozen girls standing in a line and practically yanked Izzie over. “Okay, this is it. You’ve been reading your handouts, right? You know the cotillion motto and pledge?”
“You think someone is going to quiz me on it?” Izzie asked incredulously.
“You never know.” It was always a good idea to know your cotillion protocol. “Last year’s class is here. They might ask us some stuff. I bet some of them were the ones who gave us our Gaga makeover.”
Izzie moved up. They were next. “I wonder what they have in store for us.”
A woman with a pin that said Cotillion Class of 1978 looked at them. “Name?”
“Mirabelle Monroe and Isabelle Scott,” Mira said pleasantly.
The woman checked their names off a list and handed them Tiffany-blue name tags that had their names written in a loopy scroll. “Is your mother joining you for our tea today?” Mira had been dreading this question.
“Excuse me! Pardon me!” Mira turned around. Callista was squeezing through a cluster of people in the middle of the room. Mira was relieved—until she saw what Callista was wearing. In any other situation, the outfit would be perfect. But at the EC cotillion tea, Callista’s cream-and-teal spaghetti-strap sundress with the short-sleeve sweater and espadrilles looked like beachwear.
“I’m here!” Callista said as she made her way to the table. “Callista Foster,” she told the woman. Callista laughed while the woman winced. “I’m filling in for their mom, Maureen Monroe, who had a last-minute press commitment in New York. She wanted to be here, but you know how it is.”
Miss Cotillion Class of 1978 looked Callista up and down. “In the future, Ms. Foster, please follow the same dress code as our cotillion class.” She smiled thinly. “We must set a good example, after all.” She wrote Callista’s name in swirly script on a badge and handed it to her.
“Yes, thank you!” Callista said, and turned to the girls. She gave them a face. “Dress code?”
Mira looked around nervously. “Don’t say anything you wouldn’t want repeated at these things. Even the perfume has ears.”
“Sorry.” Callista yanked up the top of her dress and Mira wanted to die. “Sorry. Well, here is something you want the whole room to hear: Teen Vogue called me back. They want both of you for a story and photo shoot.”
“Yes!” Mira yelled before remembering where she was.
“You’d have to do the photo shoot with your dad, of course,” Callista added, and Mira’s face fell. “I know, awkward. But this opportunity is huge! Think about it.”
“Okay.” Mira tried not to sound defeated. She couldn’t stand being in the same room as her dad. How was she going to do a photo shoot with him?
“Super! Mind if I slip off to the bathroom to touch up for Miss Cotillion 1978 before we head inside?” Mira and Izzie both nodded.
“Why do you want to do Teen Vogue so badly, anyway?” Izzie asked when Callista had walked away.
It’s a chance to show I still matter, she wanted to say, but not when Lea and Lauren were just a few feet away. They were preoccupied with a purple notecard. Probably another party invite she wasn’t getting.
Savannah, on the other hand, had no problem spotting them. She strode toward them in four-inch heels, looking practically regal in a simple navy shift dress.
“Hi, girls,” she said, holding a thin-stemmed glass of sweet tea. “I’m glad you are here. I was worried you wouldn’t show your faces after the story in the paper today.”
Someone with an obviously long camera lens had taken pictures of the family arguing over dinner on the outdoor patio one night. Mira wasn’t even sure she remembered what the fight had been about, but it didn’t matter. Their angry faces in the photos did all the talking. The headline said: Are the Monroes’ Family Values All for Show?
“Why wouldn’t we show up?” Izzie asked sweetly. “We have nothing to hide. At least no one seems to think either of us are the devil.”
Savannah smiled coldly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I wasn’t even at the game. I was visiting my grandparents,” she lied. “The three of us went riding.” She brushed her hair away from her blue eyes. “How’s your grandma doing in her nursing home?”
Mira winced. That was a low blow even for Savannah.
“Hey, Savannah?” Izzie pointed to her right ear. “I think you still have a little red paint right there.”
Savannah reddened and turned to Mira. “Nice dress.” She cocked her head. “Didn’t I see this on clearance last week at Prepsters?”
“No,” Mira squeaked. “I’ve had this for a while.” Why did she let Savannah get to her? She should say something tart like Izzie, but before she could think of a comeback, a gorgeous guy who could have doubled for Bradley Cooper walked up to them. He looked overdressed in a tuxedo, but what really stood out were the purple envelopes in his hand.
“Hello.” He passed out the cards that had each of their names on it. “I suggest you read these discreetly. Good luck.”
Izzie and Mira looked at each other. Savannah walked off. She obviously knew what Mira hadn’t realized before. The envelope had information about their next hazing. Mira felt her lungs constrict. The hazers expected them to complete a dare at the welcome tea? Were they insane? She opened the envelope and pulled out the note.
Mirabelle Monroe:
“We promise to embrace, honor, and accept our womanhood.” Such beautiful words for a cotillion motto, don’t you think? That’s why we want you to make sure everyone at this luncheon—both debs of old and new—hears the cotillion pledge before it’s time to head home. We’ll be watching to see how you do. Remember: Discretion is key!
XO,
Your Cotillion Captain
“I don’t know where they come up with these ideas,” Izzie said after reading the note. “My dare of the day is that I have to force everyone who has hot tea to add ice to it.” She chuckled. “That should be interesting. What does yours say?”
Mira felt clammy and weak. The envelope dropped from her hands, and Izzie swooped in to rescue it. “I have to recite the Cotillion Club pledge to everyone I speak to,” she said in a monotone voice. “I’m going to sound ridiculous! I’ve been practicing so hard to get ready for today, and now all my conversation starters are going to be ruined because I have to say the cotillion motto.” Izzie started to laugh. “It’s not funny!”
“It’s a little funny,” Izzie said. “At least now we don’t have to suffer through an afternoon of prim and proper boringness. We get to do something fun.” She bounced on her toes excitedly. “I can feel the adrenaline pumping through my body already.”
Well, at least she didn’t have to worry about Izzie ditching cotillion today. The hazing ritual lightened her mood.
Callista walked back over. Her makeup and hair seemed much more cotillion-tea-worthy after a quick touchup. She flashed them a big smile. “Someone said we’re supposed to move into the ballroom. Ready for your proper entrance into society, ladies?”
“I was,” Mira said under her breath. Now I’m not so sure.
Too bad she didn’t have a choice. Mira headed toward the ballroom and prepared to face the music.
Ten
The Sea Crest ballroom was so decked out, Izzie thought they had walked into someone’s wedding reception by mistake. There were cascading flower arrangements full of hydrangeas on every table, antique china, tiered plates with tea sandwiches, lilac satin tablecloths and napkins, and Waldorf salads being brought out by waiters in tuxes. The room filled up quickly, and everyone seemed to know one another.
Not only was the ballroom breathtakingly beautiful and expensive-looking, so was every woman and girl in it. Instead of looking ridiculous in their prim Chanel skirt suits and Talbots threads, they all fit in perfectly, just like Mira. It was Izzie who was out of her element, and she was sure it showed. This was why she didn’t want to do cotillion. It brought up too many emotions that she still hadn’t gotten a handle on yet. I don’t belong here, a nagging voice in the back of her head reminded her. Izzie tried to push it away, but she could still hear it. She had felt so confident a few minutes before, but now she felt a little ill.
What she needed now was Brayden. He would see her face and make a joke about high society, and instantly she’d be at ease. They hadn’t talked about her doing cotillion till Brayden figured out she was one of the Gagas at the game. Even then, all he wanted to discuss was her glittery hair. Now she wished she had brought up the escort topic. If he knew how crucial it was for him to be there, he would have come. She checked her phone one last time, but there was still no text. She was on her own.
Izzie exhaled. How was she going to keep a straight face when she approached EC’s elite with a pair of ice tongs?
“I guess it is time to face the music,” Izzie said as they picked up their table cards. They both looked like they were going to a funeral. “I’m going to get ice.”
“Ice?” Callista’s expression was bewildered. “Why do you need ice?”
“Callista?” Mira put a hand on the publicist’s shoulder. “Have I ever told you about the cotillion code of honor? Let me recite the pledge for you.” She cleared her throat. “We promise to respect, honor, and accept our womanhood by…” Izzie made her exit.
Ever since Dylan told her she was involved with initiation, Izzie felt like she was being watched. The idea that she could be forced to do something crazy at a moment’s notice was both terrifying and exhilarating. Today, she had reason to be worried. Former debs were everywhere, observing members of her cotillion class taking part in their latest hazing.
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