The civil ceremony and the religious wedding were quick affairs. The magistrate handled all the paperwork in less than fifteen minutes, and then they went to the church. The fashion was for couples to write elaborate vows, but this couple was minimalist in their declarations because, as Nina had told Hector, no one could stomach to sit inside the church for more than half an hour during the summer months. With gold rings on their fingers, they soon exited the building, and everyone headed back to Oldhouse for the dinner reception.
Since the dining hall could not accommodate all guests and allow space for dancing, they set tables behind the house, the glass and silver gleaming under the afternoon sun. There were five courses, as befitted the occasion, and cakes for dessert.
When the sun went down, they lit the lanterns and it was time to dance. Nina partnered first with Hector, but they were allowed only one dance before she was whisked away by her cousin Gaetan. Then came Étienne Lémy’s turn, who had acted as best man to the groom. It was tradition that the bride dance a total of seven dances with friends and family before she could partner again with her groom.
Hector, therefore, sat patiently and watched Nina twirl around while the guests made toasts to their health. Seven toasts were necessary; that, too, was tradition.
“I shall have to become used to this new outlook of yours,” Étienne said as they held their glasses up for the seventh toast. “You look as happy as a clam.”
“I would think clams cannot be happy, since they are mollusks who spend their days filtering water,” Hector replied.
“It strikes me that your smile resembles one of those simple mollusks, placidly sitting on the ocean floor.”
“I look forward to being a placid man.”
Étienne chuckled at that. Then Nina came to clasp Hector’s hand, and he let her lead him to another dance. It was a long day, but they did not proceed to their room until the moon was high in the sky, and then only after the guests had made half a dozen jokes about the couple because it would not have been a wedding in Montipouret if the young men had not launched into a series of colorful double entendres.
When they reached their room, Nina walked slowly around it, humming and running her hands over the wheat sheaves the younger girls had used to decorate the chamber.
“We have to kiss like this,” she said, holding one of the sheaves between her hands.
He ran a hand down her neck and kissed her deeply, the wheat rustling as she pressed it against his chest and stood on her tiptoes to better reach him. She stayed there, stayed close, her breath hot against his neck.
She whirled away from him and set to undoing the chignon she wore, carefully removing each hairpin and the flowers, placing them upon a table, where she’d also set the sheaf of wheat, while she watched the night sky through an open window, one part coy and another part the coquette.
“Nina, I have yet to give you a wedding gift,” he told her.
She turned around, a hairpin in her hand, which she quickly tucked away. He took out a case and offered it to her. Inside, there was a necklace made of the clearest amber. A web spinner, its wings spread, was nestled inside the largest stone.
“It’s pretty,” she said.
“It’s from Iblevad. There are many of these in the jungles near Port Anselm. There are also mosquitoes—I feared I would be drained of all my blood during the nights when I was performing there.”
“I shouldn’t mind the mosquitoes if there are as many strange beetles as they say there are,” Nina replied, her voice thick with delight. “We shall have to go there one day.”
“It’s far,” he mused. “I don’t know, how do you fare on a boat? Do you get seasick?”
“I fare fine on a skiff and have gone downriver many times, it’s the way one is supposed to travel around here,” she replied. “I would think a large ship would be no trouble.”
Nina stood before a full-length mirror, admiring the necklace as she held it against her skin. Gently he took it from her and placed it around her neck, securing the clasp. He slid his hand down her shoulders.
“It’s a bit different, a skiff and a boat. It can get somewhat monotonous, and the cabins are cramped,” he declared.
“As long as I’m with you, I’m sure I’ll be entertained.”
“I hope you mean that, since we are boarding a ship to Port Anselm tomorrow.”
She looked up at him in the mirror. “You said we could not honeymoon except for a couple of days in Bosegnan, at that summer house owned by Étienne’s wife. You said that you had business in the city.”
“I lied.”
“You are terrible. I did not bring more than a couple of new dresses and you know it is bad luck to wear old clothes during a honeymoon,” she said, but her eyes were merry.
“I’ll buy you more clothes, three hundred gowns if you wish it. It’s not as if you have a full trousseau, anyway.”
She dipped her head, blushing, but then she raised an eyebrow at him, her eyes filled with mischief. “I jest. I don’t need more than a couple of dresses,” she said.
“I’ll save a lot of money, then. And here I was told this business of having a wife was a great expense.”
Nina walked a few paces, turned her back toward Hector, and proceeded to take out the rest of the pins from her hair. He saw her from behind and was mesmerized. When she spoke, he had to ask her to repeat herself.
“I asked how long we’ll be gone,” she said.
“A couple of months. We can’t possibly see anything in less than that. It is a whole continent, and there is Port Anselm, but also Yehenn and Carivatoo.”
“You performed there?”
“Everywhere.”
“And now that we are going back, you won’t do any shows?”
“It’s not a business trip. But if you like, I’ll make mirrors spin for you.”
“Only if you show me how to do it. I don’t think I understand the whole levitation trick where you are able to fly on them.”
She undid the buttons of her dress, shedding the satin shell, until she stood only in her white linen chemise. Then she ran a hand through her hair, undoing a couple of knots with the motion.
He was struck with the incongruity of it all, wondering how he had arrived at this precious moment. So securely she had nestled in his heart, it was impossible to map his trajectory.
“How did I ever find you?” he asked as he moved to her side.
“You didn’t. I found you. At the library of the De Villiers, at the party of the Haduiers, and that night I went to Boniface,” she said lightly.
He thought that truly it had been so, but that he had also been drifting toward her since the beginning, magnetized, a compass that had spun wildly and then gently settled upon a true north. Not love at first sight, because those fancies were best left for books and songs, but she had extended her hand and invited him to follow her into a dance, and he had found after a few steps that though he had never danced it before, he did not want to stop.
“Keep finding me, then,” he said.
One of her hands was resting on the windowsill and she was looking outside, her head tilted in the direction of the musicians who were still playing their merry tunes.
He knew that in the years to come, even when they were old and gray and their spines were bent by the weight of time, he would remember her as she was in that moment, with a couple of stray yellow flowers in her hair, her lips parted.
He stood still, holding the moment against his heart.
Then she turned her head and smiled at him.
Acknowledgments
Thanks to my agent, Eddie Schneider, to Quressa Robinson for acquiring this book, and to everyone else at Thomas Dunne/St. Martin’s Press working behind the scenes. Thanks also to Orrin Grey, who read an early version of the manuscript and offered corrections. And finally, thanks to my husband. It’s all for you, babe.
ALSO BY SILVIA MORENO-GARCIA
Certain Dark Things
Signal to Noi
se
Love & Other Poisons
This Strange Way of Dying
About the Author
SILVIA MORENO-GARCIA is the critically acclaimed author of the novels Signal to Noise—winner of a Copper Cylinder Award, finalist for the British Fantasy, Locus, Sunburst, and Aurora awards—and Certain Dark Things, which was selected as one of NPR’s best books of 2016. She won a World Fantasy Award for her work as an editor and lives in Canada. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Part One
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Part Two
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Acknowledgments
Also by Silvia Moreno-Garcia
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THOMAS DUNNE BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
THE BEAUTIFUL ONES. Copyright © 2017 by Silvia Moreno-Garcia. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.stmartins.com
Cover design by Kerri Resnick
Cover photographs: woman © Miguel Sobreira/Trevillion Images; butterflies © Aboard/Shutterstock.com; pattern © Magenta10/Shutterstock.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Moreno-Garcia, Silvia, author.
Title: The beautiful ones / Silvia Moreno-Garcia.
Description: New York: Thomas Dunne Books/St. Martin’s Press, 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017021477 | ISBN 978-1-250-09906-8 (hardcover) | ISBN 978-1-250-09907-5 (ebook)
Subjects: LCSH: Psychic ability—Fiction. | Socialites—Fiction. | Paranormal romance stories. | GSAFD: Fantasy fiction. | Love stories.
Classification: LCC PR9199.4.M656174 B43 2017 | DDC 813/.6—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017021477
eISBN 9781250099075
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First Edition: October 2017
The Beautiful Ones Page 33