CRAZY RICH ILLÉANS
VII
Debutantes and (almost) Disasters
[ - - - ]
"I am not apologising to him," Maeve hisses.
This lunch with Daphne and Anna is not what she expected. She expected to spend time with the two women she likes most in this godforsaken city, but no, they have to be nightmares too. Daphne sighs, while Anna looks torn between treating Maeve's life as a soap opera and agreeing with her boss. Maybe she's about to do both. Probably.
"Gemma, please. Noah didn't do anything; you yelled at him. Be an adult; you're twenty-four years old!" her mother scolds her.
"I didn't do anything wrong!" Maeve insists. She crosses her arms and ignores her strawberry tarts as if they did something wrong. Poor tarts.
(She also lies, but details. You can't admit you're wrong if you're Gemma Maeve Schreave.)
Daphne puts on that awful motherly frown that she last had twelve years ago. "Think of your inheritance, maybe? Rebecca will know of it. She wouldn't approve."
Maeve opens her mouth, desperate for an excuse she doesn't have, but that conversation between Rebecca and Julian comes back to her mind. Going by him, it's Julian who's better fit either way. She's the cheap one, going by Rebecca. "Oh, shut up!" she snaps.
Daphne freezes; who knows how she feels about being snapped at by her daughter. Great. Now, mum's angry too. Thanks, Noah. Maybe she should apologise? Not to Noah, of course, but to Daphne? Doesn't she understand she can't just apologise like that?
"So," Anna starts the obvious topic change, "what are you wearing for the Bachelor's Brunch?"
"I—" Right. The Bachelor's Brunch. She'll need an outfit and all. She needs to look decent if she wants to get her grandmother's spot on the committee. She has to. She is Gemma Maeve Schreave. I mean, obviously, she will get it, but she should look the part.
"… Yes?" Anna asks. "You?"
"I haven't decided yet." Maeve smiles a bit too much.
"We could go shopping again!" Anna suggests too enthustiastic.
Maeve frowns. "We spent enough money last time."
"Don't you want to impress the boys?" Anna teases. "You've been thinking about them more than enough," she huffs.
She rolls her eyes. "I'm not. Maybe I should ask out a girl?"
There are more than enough. Rina Klydeworth is beautiful. Poppy Astor was fun, even if a bit odd, and charming too. Sia de Rossi was one amazing and beautiful at that and—
Daphne shakes her head. "Gemma, that doesn't work." Ah, good old traditions. "Unless, of course, you want to make a political statement, but I would prefer if you spoke to the PR department first."
Yikes. "That was a joke," Maeve corrects. "I might check on Sia and Gabby for their outfits. Maybe we can even coordinate something."
"Did you make friends?" Daphne asks, cordial. "Sia—you are referring to Alessia de Rossi, aren't you?"
"I met her on Noah's party."
Daphne sighs. Yes, maybe she left the party without even saying hi to Noah, and maybe she ignored his request for people to help clean up, and yes, maybe Alex "Asshole" Langston wasn't the best company she could have indulged in, but does that matter?
"She's lovely, as for what I've heard. Too bad that she couldn't come."
"Yes, very unfortunate." Maeve hadn't even checked on that. Not that she would have known (given the short amount of time she spent at her cousin's place) but hey! At least she knows that Gabby is still somewhere in Asia for the Spring collection of some fancy brand. "She's lovely. Very welcoming."
"I'm glad you're making friends," Daphne admitted. "Have you tried reconnecting with your old friends from school?"
"I spoke with Perci in the Casino, if you remember."
"Oh, did he beat you?" Anna asks amused. "I heard the Elysian Tech boy lost a lot the other night."
Maeve frowns. "Griffin Vael?"
"Not Griff," Anna shakes her head, "the Elysian Tech heir. Griffin is the middle child. The more interesting one, I'd say, but the oldest kid is Leander Vael. He is the Elysian Tech boy." Just like she is the Schreave Real Estate girl.
"We met him briefly. He did lose."
"How much?" Anna grins.
"We don't discuss that. You know that," Daphne kindly reminds her.
Anna's not amused. "Where the fun, then? I spoke with Taliyah the other day, and—"
"Who's that?" Maeve asks, curious. Anna isn't that involved in the Illéan high society (obviously) but given her job, she probably has more than enough contacts? Maybe Taliyah is another one of the executive assistants of Illéa's elite?
"One of Titus' girls. She's his private secretary—so just the same as I do."
"And Titus is…?" Maeve asked. How in the world was she meant to know all these names? Sure, it rung a bell, but for all she knew, that could have been someone living in England or Fiji.
She isn't sure if Daphne's sigh is out of disappointment, or out of relief. It could be both, and Maeve isn't sure which is better. Maybe he's someone she should be considering for the Boyfriend Selection™, but Daphne isn't that well connected in Illéa. If Maeve wants to know who is who, she has to ask Noah or Mary.
(She also despises both. Figures.)
"Titus Langston is the owner of LaTV. I hope I don't need to remind you of what that is?"
Maeve curls her lips. "I know that much." And it's a long-established thing, so no way someone in their twenties runs it. Maeve isn't looking for a sugar daddy. She could be one. Anna rises her eyebrows, daring. Duh, Maeve knows that. "Largest television network in Illéa." Time to take revenge, Maeve naively decides. "Is that Taliyah your girlfriend?" she teases.
She is unphased. "No, but the LaTV heir is yours, isn't he?"
"What."
"Alex Langston, Maevy."
"Fuck you."
"Language, Gemma!" Daphne warns.
That summarises her lunch break at work. Maeve maybe chose to avoid Anna (and Daphne, as result) for the rest of the day. When you work closely with your mother, that's not very much a thing, but at least Daphne maintains the decency not to bring up Alex Langston at work.
(Work is a good distraction from the anxiety that is the Bachelor's Brunch.)
The Bachelor's Brunch is held at Fancy Illéan Restaurant Number Twelve, meaning it's expensive, build into a penthouse and, of course, booked fully for this beautiful event. Maeve remembers seeing the blueprints for the skyscraper, so her family was probably involved in its building somehow. She passes Jared Kim who stands outside for no reason (except, hey, maybe he's got a crush on someone?) and ignores him purposefully. Not after Noah's birthday. She's not talking to him.
Jackass, she still thinks.
There's no denial, though, that Illéa's Bachelor Brunch is something else. She's not been to many society season events, so Maeve can't compare, but the skyscraper restaurant doesn't only offer a breath-taking view of the skyline of the megacity that is Illéa, but the people inside bring out the same untouchable feeling of 'this is where the world is ruled from'.
(Little did she know.)
Maeve pushes the invitation into the page's hand, missing twice. Priceless pearls and shining diamonds, tailored suits and champagne older than her grandmother fill the room behind him. These people aren't rich, they were wealthy. Maeve can't spot more than three Chanel brand names, or Prada or all these 'expensive' brands that she and Tessa and Celeste wore when they were twelve…
To these people, Prada and Chanel is middle class.
Great, because Maeve wears that.
"Maeve, hello." Alessia de Rossi, accompanied by an elderly woman whom Maeve recognises as Rowena Carlisle. They met at tea, once, after all. "How are you?" Her light blue eyes are as piercing as they were when they last met. A cold shiver runs down her spine.
"Good, thank you. It's nice to see you again, Mrs Carlisle."
"The pleasure is mine, Gemma. Have you greeted your grandmother yet?"
"No, I just arrived."
Her response is kind but firm. "You should. She's outdone herself again."
Rowena Carlisle is, too, on the Rose Cotillion committee. She gently pushes her to Rebecca Schreave who sits with parents of the debutantes of the Rose Cotillion, a cup of tea and the elegance of the British Queen. She wears no pearls or diamonds, no designer velvet or cashmere. She needs no such things. Her grey blouse and pencil skirt could have come from H&M, and it wouldn't have mattered. It's that aura, that subtle reminder that makes her the empress ruling over the circular table. That is what Gemma Maeve Schreave aspires to be, isn't it?
(Time to suck up to dying relatives.)
"Grandma, hey," Maeve greets her softly.
"Gemma, you've come." Rebecca rises, without a single hint of her ageing figure and brooding illness. She keeps that illusion going, at least. "You look pretty. I like what you've done with your hair." A subtle comment of displeasure in her choice of outfit. "But more importantly, your mother has said that you're settling in well at work?"
"I am," Gemma Maeve Schreave beams. That's the one thing she's doing well, at least. She's got her priorities right, doesn't she?
"And Alessia. Rowena, you were right. That necklace looks perfect on her," Rebecca continues. Sia wears a necklace whose three strands of crème-coloured pearls intertwine with another.
"Alessia is, as always, top of her classes at university. It was the least I could give her as congratulations."
Sia's smile tenses, and with her sweet Oxford accent adds, "It's nothing, really."
"Oh, don't downplay yourself, love. You've done more than most of these kids here in your life. Simeon, too. Where is he, by the way?"
Out of the nowhere, Simeon Adler popped up behind them. Maybe she should call him ninja. "Here. Good evening, Mrs Schreave. Hello, Maeve." His mistake is forgotten, maybe because he's not Rowena Carlisle's grandson and without his step-sister, would be nothing but a confident law student and handsome model.
Rowena takes a seat by Rebecca's side, once more. "Well, do go out. You did promise me to socialise, Alessia."
Sia nods. "Yes, grandma." She turns to Maeve. "We should go and look for Gabby. She should be here too, with her brother."
Maeve agrees and turns around herself, to look for the curly brown hair of Gabby Santiago. In preparation for this afternoon, she learned a total of three sentences in sign language.
(In her defence, if you also run a worldwide real estate empire, you don't have that much time. She's still proud.)
There's no need to a large-scale search operation; the Santiago siblings attract enough attention on their own. Enough girls turn to the door when Juan Santiago, the A-list actor and thief of a whole generation of teenage girls' hearts, enters with Gabby Santiago in tow. Or, rather, Gabby enters with Juan as protective bodyguard. Maeve doesn't need to listen in to know that heaps of girls already talk about going to the Rose Cotillion with Juan Santiago.
(As much as she'd love to do that too, Juan Santiago is new rich.)
"Ah, that Santiago boy," Rebecca chuckles.
"Do you know him?" Maeve asks.
"We had a few chats. He's a lovely one. Not as well-mannered and versed in society as others, but that's just my humble opinion." Also she's Rebecca Schreave and Maeve would be stupid not to consider her 'humble' opinion.
"Gabby," Sia waves her over, "we're here!"
"She can't hear you," Maeve reminds her, but before saying anything more, realises that Sia's 'wave' is sign language. Juan, as helpful as he's handsome, nudges her into their direction. Maeve pulls out her phone, to greet Gabby after she gently hugs her.
How are you? ^ _ ^
Gabby with a smile, takes the phone. Great! Ready for today?
Sia speaks as she signs, "You look really pretty." She's right; it's not a miracle that Gabby is a model. Juan, following her, could do the same, though. His bowtie resembles a butterfly that compliments his sister's hair colour and dress. Talk about outfit coordination. "Shall we get something to drink before we mix with the others?" At that suggestion, Simi frowns.
"Maybe you should go to the Cotillion with Juan, and Gabby with Simi," she laughs. "No evil boys for both of you."
Sia interprets for Gabby. "That's not a bad idea," Sia speaks as Gabby signs.
Simeon eyes Juan, who returns the cold, wary glance. Maeve chuckles, and so do Sia and Gabby. Boys. Or, rather, brothers. Maeve raises her eyebrows at Sia and Gabby, all giggling, and they head out on Maeve's boyfriend hunt. Juan and Simeon, unfortunately, do a great job at scaring away any cute, somewhat rich boys, leaving Maeve, Sia and Gabby mainly among themselves. Turns out, if Simeon and Juan don't want their respective sisters in the hand of the evil gender, I also affects poor Maeve.
"I think, I'll go and get something to drink," Sia remarks eventually, signing it for Gabby, and Maeve cannot hide that she's quite happy about it. Sia leaving means Simeon leaving. Hopefully, Juan and Gabby will follow the motion and she can go and meet boys.
(It's not like she's got no shot with Juan and Simeon right now, as hot as they are. Sucks to be Maeve.)
Her plan succeeds, and Gabby and Sia disappear as fast as they appeared. She loves these two, they're cute, nice and caring, but Juan and Simeon suck at, you know, not scaring away the boys she wants to meet.
So, without the brother-bodyguards, Gemma Maeve Schreave scans the room. She's got enough of an eye to recognise a few, including Alex "Asshole" Langston and Griffin "I will beat you up" Vael. Obviously, Maeve avoids them. What else would she do—talk to them?
There is, apparently, a traditional moment for the debutantes to meet the eligible bachelors, but Maeve is surrounded by giggling girls, charming and/or awkward men and she's pretty sure that nobody really cares about that anymore. She's fond of that; her company to the last debutante ball she had been at wasn't very pleasing.
(Then again, the real deal about social season are the after-parties.)
She takes a seat next to one particular, currently lonely male. Every single other is taken (or too far away for her to bother), and it's not like she doesn't think that the young man, with black hair and pale skin, doesn't look good. In fact, similar to Griffin Vael, he is athletic and could probably lift her—but he has an air of grace to him that Griffin Vael cannot claim. Even though he merely sits on one of the couches, with a glass of water in his hand, she can see that graceful aura. It reminds her of an angel.
Not the rich boy vibe, but the wealthy gentleman. How wrong she is.
"Do you mind if I sit here?" she asks, kindly. She dubs him Angel, for his graceful and somewhat mature, kind aura. It's an irony.
"Of course," he says, and immediately straightens a little more. "It is a pleasure to meet you."
"I'm Maeve," she introduces herself. Then, a memory of Noah's birthday comes back. "Gemma Maeve Schreave," she adds on.
Angel is unimpressed. "Angel Cassidy would be my name," he replies. Of course, Gemma Maeve Schreave giggles. "Pardon me?"
"It's just—" She breaks off, and chuckles once more, "I tend to give people nicknames if I don't know their names. I named you 'Angel'. You've got the aura of one."
Angel smiles. "How come you know how angels look like?"
"Fell from the sky, yes it did hurt," Maeve plays and laughs once more. More serious, she adds, "It's just a feeling."
"Ah, I see. Good to know I'm not talking to a ghost," he jokes.
Maeve twirls a string of her hair. "No, you're not." Her smile does freeze though. Rebecca will be a ghost soon. A cold shiver runs down her back. "What are you doing? How come, you are here?"
"A friend of mine asked me to go, to watch after another," Angel admits. "Have you seen Juan Santiago anywhere?"
"Yeah, just now. I'm here with his sister, Gabby. Do you know him?"
Angel nods. Even his nod has the grace of an angel. Maeve should ask him for tips. "He's the best friend with Mariposa Cellavos. She's a good friend of mine, and Harry."
Ah, yes, the butterfly that's friends with Harry Potter. Maeve totally has an idea of what he's talking about. "Are you looking for a date for the Cotillion too?" she asks, bluntly. Harry Potter can wait.
"Ah, no," Angel laughs out. "I've got a kid. Harry's fans would jump at me again if they heard I went to the Cotillion with someone else?"
Maeve doesn't (or, well, tries—god knows how good she's at acting) react to that, but damn, all hot guys in Illéa are either sluts, unobtainable A-list actors or already taken and gay! Unfair! How is she meant to settle down? With one of the girls? There are enough hot girls…
"Harry's fans?" she repeats, partwise because leaving Angel now would be mean, and partwise because she's interested.
He looks a bit surprised, but explains, "Her fans. She's a model." Wait—what? Is this Harry transgender and continues to use her birth name? Not that Maeve minds, but she's confused. "Wait, I can show you her Instagram."
Maeve can't help but notice the many Instagram messages that Angel hasn't read yet, but the Instagram account (named HarryPotterGenderswapped) features a beautiful brunette.
(At least Angel isn't gay.)
"Oh, so, she's a girl," Maeve realises. "Harry is an odd name for a girl."
Angel shrugs. "She gets that a lot," he chuckles. "When we went public with our relationship, a few of her fans didn't take it very well." He puts his phone back into his pocket. "That kind of stuff."
Maeve nods, even if she feels super awkward. "How come you know Juan?" She only met him by chance at a fashion designer, after all. Or Anna set it up. Also possible, and knowing Anna, likely.
"I know Mariposa, partwise through work, and partwise through Harry. She's Juan's best friend. We hang out a lot, so I've met him a few times. I don't like to say 'we are friends' because the number of co-workers that wanted his number is… weird. But yeah. She asked me to make sure he doesn't get overrun by girls but also socializes. I'm pretty sure she wants to set him up with someone…"
Maeve visibly brightens up. "Oh, really? Anyone in particular?"
"Not sure. Knowing Mariposa, she knows far more people than I do. She's probably tried a few, too."
"Ah." Too bad that Maeve doesn't know this Mariposa. She wouldn't mind being set up with said unobtainable A-list actor. "How come she isn't here? Or did I miss her?"
Angel shakes his head. "She's probably working. The whole social season is an influx of high profile clients. She's a make-up artist."
"Oh." Maeve understands. A make-up artist, by all means, would probably not be the type to be admitted to the Bachelor's Brunch of the Rose Cotillion. To one of the few other debutante balls, she could probably buy a ticket, but the Schreaves don't even bother attending those. Obviously, Gemma Maeve Schreave doesn't either. "I'm sorry. I'm still out of the loop. I just came back home."
"Always happy to help," Angel replies. He asks about where she came from, and of course, Maeve being Maeve, she's more than happy to go on and talk about Hong Kong and New Zealand and Spain and when she's already on talking about Europe, she might as well bring up Paris and her visits to Germany.
"You've been around a lot," Angel realizes.
"I do like travelling," Maeve agrees. "Have you been around?"
Angel laughs. "You talk like the world is your neighbourhood."
"It kind of is. Travelling. It's kind of my only hobby unless you count languages."
"The only times I've been out of Illéa, on a scholarship to watch La Bayadère in St. Petersburg."
"The city is beautiful!"
"I wish we had the time to see it," Angel admits. "The scholarship I went on meant that I was totally clustered in with workshops and performances to watch."
A scholarship? Maeve thinks, confused. How do you get into the Rose Cotillion Bachelor's Brunch, but need a scholarship to attend anything? How odd.
Angel Cassidy is charming, looks good and all, but if he's taken, then Maeve isn't going to waste any more time on him. He's taken and has something to do with a scholarship (Please, she thinks, make him be the sponsor.) They do exchange contacts (because obviously, she wants to meet this Mariposa) and she says that she'll head on, to her friends.
On her way, she googles Angel Cassidy. Because here, you can google everyone. If it wasn't for the Estelle Mun drama, she'd google herself. Angel, though, is a ballerina at the Royal Illéan Ballet; more interesting is his father. James Cassidy is an investor, known as Mister Luck, who won the lottery jackpot more than once and unlike so many other winners, he didn't spend his money and became rotten poor, but made clever investments and is known as a lucky charm in the world of Illéan wealth. Because all of his money came from luck. Unlike Rebecca's hard-earned work. Yikes. New-rich of the worst kind.
But he's also handsome, Maeve thinks, and kind and nice. Langston is worse.
(So, yes, in summary, despite experience, new rich can be nice.)
She walks on, vaguely around because she's not actually just yet heading for Gabby and Sia—one boy who could be the boy, she has to meet!—and looks pretty dumb while doing so. But she's Gemma Maeve Schreave. She's too rich to be dumb.
(Or so she thinks.)
Apparently, though, she's not rich enough to overheard good old Alex Langston who is, of course, day drinking with his father. Or rather, as Maeve realises when she steps close enough, fighting with his father. The two Langstons stand away from the crowd, in a corner where nobody pays them attention. Fortunately, as Maeve soon realises.
"I am not going to take some entitled rich girl to your stupid ball, just because you tell me to!" Alex calls out. The bottle in his hand is empty.
Titus Langston maintains perfect composure. "You will take Gemma Schreave to the Rose Cotillion."
"Why the fuck would I? She's—I just slept with her a few days ago. That's enough.."
"Good," Titus decrees. "I hope you forgot protection."
What. The. Fuck. Maeve doesn't even think more; she just freezes within the movement. Yes, she's on the pill. That is good, but still. Besides, she did talk Langston into condoms. She's pretty sure of that. She maybe was dumb by getting into his pants, but not that dumb. She's done sex ed. In more than one country.
"I did not!" Alex cries out, almost desperate. Compared to Titus, suddenly, his son doesn't seem that bad. Is that his tactic? Does he know she's listening in? Are they working together? No—Alex doesn't seem smart enough for that.
Titus ignores him. "Establish a relationship with the Schreaves. Gemma is new and has no idea of anything here. Be kind to her."
There could be question marks above Alex' head, and he'd look less confused. "Why would I do that?"
"I need it."
"OK Boomer, you need to come up with a better reason than 'I need it'. Don't you have enough money?"
Yes, and I do too. Maeve steps a bit to the side, just to make perfectly sure he won't hear her.
"Unfortunately, the Schreaves have something that money cannot acquire," he mutters grim, "as history has shown…"
Of course, they do. Human dignity, unlike Titus, an asshole.
"What—the capability of naming their children decently?" Alex spits.
Not when Gemma's mother's Cantonese name is Meihua—meaning beautiful flower—and her own is Anni—meaning girl—but that's another story and involves her dad. So nothing she intends to discuss.
"No," Titus curtly replies.
"But…?"
"That is none of your concern."
"Excuse me?"
"I—"
"No, fuck you." With that, Alexander Langston walks away (and Maeve quickly pulls out her phone to be the screen-addicted millennial she is) from his father, whom she expects to shout profanities anytime soon. Like father, like son, amirite?
(He doesn't, but details.)
She quickly (well, as quick as you can when you don't want anyone to notice you) moves through the room, past Griffin Vael getting stares from society, and only stops nearby the elevator. I might as well go and get some air. Partwise, because she really needs to call Anna, partwise because she doesn't want to run into any Langston right now.
She takes the elevator down, into the foyer of the skyscraper where she waves away a photographer. Of course, he takes a photo either way, but Gemma doesn't have the time to deal with them. She's seen a pretty café nearby.
(She can't, of course, ask Rebecca or her mum on this.)
Even before she leaves the lobby, something—someone—else catches her attention, though. Rina Klydeworth, the girl she met at Noah's party and that talked about good old Tessa Tamble, stands in front of the security guard. She's impossible to miss, in that bright yellow off-shoulder cocktail dress. Maeve has seen it before—at one of the designers Anna dragged her to. Of course, Marina Klydeworth also wears sunglasses.
(Fuck, she looks hot, Maeve thinks.)
"Excuse me, miss, but I need an invite to let you in," the security guard says, struggling to keep his composure.
"I invited myself," she replies as nonchalant as if she was Rebecca Schreave herself. "Parties are my job."
"That—I'm sorry, miss, that's not possible."
Rina sighs theatrically and pulls out a notebook. She scribbles something into it. "Here. I've got an invitation."
He shifts uncomfortably. "Let's see, then." He takes the notebook. Gosh, he is naive. "I can do whatever the fuck I want," he reads out, and looks up to her. Rina doesn't move an inch. "Ma'am, I'm going to need you to leave if you—"
That's enough, Gemma decides and walks towards them (putting on as much confidence as she can, of course). "She's with me." Better make friends, better make allies, better get IOUs.
"And you are?"
Fortunately, Gemma has her invitation. "Gemma Maeve Schreave. My grandmother is hosting this event. This is Marina Klydeworth. If she's not on the guest list, then it's a mistake." Before he can say any more, she walks back to the elevator; Rina follows her with a big grin.
(She forgets Anna and telling her about the Langstons.)
In the elevator, Rina chuckles, "Thanks for letting me in."
"No worries," Maeve replies. "Always happy to help friends." Because Rina—even with her connection to Alex Langston—is worth befriending. She's pretty.
They exit the elevator and rejoin the Bachelor's Brunch that looks like nothing happened in their absence (except that Alex Langston's bottle is full again, and he's with Griff, being avoided by everyone), but some eyes obviously turn to them.
One of these eyes belongs to a young blonde who approaches (and hugs Rina) them once they've entered the brunch again. She, too, looks pretty, but something about her is odd. She reminds Maeve of California, and her friends there. Tessa and Celeste, to be exact.
"Hi there!" she greets them with a smile. "It's great to see you again, Rina. You look great."
"Thanks," Rina hums back. "Nice to see you too, Vienna. Known for your natural beauty, I see. I see why you are known for it."
"Mariposa did great, I know. I wish she wasn't booked for the Cotillion; it's such a shame," she beams, and turns to Maeve. "You must be Gemma Schreave. I've heard a lot about you. Strange what happened with Estelle, wasn't it?"
Rina draws in air. Yeah, Maeve would too. Bringing up such a sore topic in the open is impolite. Even Maeve knows that, and she's not spent all her life in high society. "That," she replies with her head held high, "That would be me, yes. I feel terribly sorry for Estelle, and of course, I support her with everything I can do."
"I know, I heard it from Noah. I'm Vienna, it's nice to finally meet you."
Right, Vienna van Well. The Prime Minister's daughter. Noah's ex-girlfriend. The one that has a peacock named after her. "The pleasure is mine," Maeve replies. Time to take revenge. "What happened between you and Noah? I've been away so long, I haven't heard anything."
Vienna freezes. "Oh, it's a long story."
Rina laughs. "Oh, that one. I'll leave you to tell it. See you two!"
She definitely doesn't want to be present at it. Therefore, Maeve deduces, it was ugly, and all the better, she gets her revenge. Maeve gestures for Vienna to sit down, before she can pull a Rina too. "Do tell."
(As mean as bringing up Estelle was, if Vienna and Noah broke up, surely she holds hard feelings for him too?)
"It's—" Vienna waves it off. "Really, nothing. Don't worry about it. I'm just glad Kenzie isn't here."
"Kenzie? Kenzie Choi?" Maeve asks, "the eighteen years old kid?"
"She's twenty-six," Vienna replies, "even if she behaves like eighteen years old. To be honest, her advances onto Noah are overly obvious and ridiculous. It's like from a movie."
"Then I was right when I thought she was his girlfriend."
Vienna huffs. "Yet, no. They aren't a couple yet."
"I see," Maeve said with emphasis.
Vienna nodded. "Yeah." She paused. "That reminds me; is this your first Rose Cotillion?"
"I haven't been in Illéa for longer than a few weeks in the past decade, so, yeah. It is."
"Ah, then you probably haven't heard about the committee, have you?"
"Of course I have," Maeve deadpans. "My grandmother is the chairwoman."
"Yeah, she's done amazing work." Vienna's emphasis on amazing makes her seem like a clickbait vlogger, but okay. "As much as I adore Rowena Carlisle, I doubt she'll do as well as chairwoman. However," insert obviously dramatic pause, "I hope to be able to make up that difference. You see, I have a lot of experience with organizing these events through my father. My mother doesn't really do a lot of 'first lady' work, so it falls to me all the time. I was wondering, could you mention that to your grandmother?"
Ah, there we are.
"I don't know, she's been so busy with organizing it," Maeve avoids.
She doesn't give in. "I think it'd be really good. I'm happy to help her with it, to show my abilities."
"I wouldn't want to stop you from doing your best for Illéa."
(Okay, maybe Vienna is just a new-rich nobody.)
Vienna briefly frowns a little bit, but apparently gives in. Fortunately—Maeve is not interested to deal with this. "That's—I see. Oh, look, there—Orianna. Have you met her yet? She's lovely. We should go and say hello, or whatever the chat says."
(There's this mysterious chat again; infuriating!)
Before Maeve can even think 'hi, new city, who dis', Vienna grabs her hand and pulls her towards the bar (where Maeve can't spot Sia or Gabby, oops), heading towards yet another blonde—one that she recognizes: the Barbie.
"Ori! Hey, we haven't seen each other in ages!" Vienna white girl-greets Orianna. "Gemma, this is Orianna Vasilieva."
Ori smiles. "Hello, nice to meet you." Insert generic greeting.
Orianna Vasilieva is blonde, with blue eyes and porcelain skin. Her eyes are large, her lips are pink and honestly, Maeve wouldn't put it past her to pull a hot pink outfit. She doesn't (instead, it's leggings and a blue top which despite the fact that she could be in a gym, looks damn elegant and Maeve is jealous) but that doesn't mean she couldn't.
It's an… interesting appearance, to say the least.
"She's an influencer—one of Illéa's best, actually."
Orianna waves it off. "I just do some photography and lifestyle, it's nothing, Vienna."
I'm a CEO-in-training, beat that. "If it's what you enjoy, then it's enough." Totally not stolen from Pinterest, but whatever.
"Seriously, though, she's amazing. A real socialite."
"There are lots of socialites, Vienna. You are one. Rina Klydeworth, too. Even Poppy, in some ways."
That reminds Maeve. "Do you know what happened to Rina's invitation? I was out for fresh air, and she didn't have one, but tried to get in…"
"Easy," Vienna replies, and she laughs, "she probably forgot it, again. She's at every single party, so most security guards know her and let her in. How did she end up getting in?"
"I let her in," Maeve explains. "I told the guard that if she wasn't on the guest list, it had to be a mistake."
"That would be. The Bachelor's Brunch isn't a real Bachelor's Brunch without Rina Klydeworth," Orianna agrees.
"It's not a real 'Bachelor's Brunch' by definition anymore, though," Vienna remembers. "The Vienna Opera Ball handles it so different."
"It's Illéa's unique charm," Orianna insists. "How was Vienna, by the way?"
"Lovely as always," Vienna replies.
"Is your family from Austria?" Maeve wonders.
Vienna shakes her head, "No. My mother just really loves the city, hence my name, and she has many friends there, so we both visit a lot."
"Travelling is very nice," Maeve agrees.
"Oh, no! Nonono! Il y a—there is nothing as pretty as Paris de nuit." Orianna laughs, "I'm sorry. My grandfather was French, so I go there all the time to meet family. And my father Russian, so I understand you, Gemma."
Maeve chuckles, "Ah, yes, the family visits. I'm glad I spend a year in Hong Kong, or my grandmother would be onto me again…"
"Rebecca?" Vienna asks, confused.
"No. On my mother's side." That should be obvious; the Schreaves have been a household name in Illéa since its foundation.
Orianna nods, almost as if she knows. Maybe, even with that face that almost certainly has been plastic surgery-ed, she's got a brain for society workings. Of course, she can't say that. There are enough scandals attached to her name. Ridiculous.
"I do agree," Orianna remarks, "it's a little sad that the Bachelor's Brunch has become nothing more than another glorified party. It takes away the focus of the debutantes, and this is meant to be their big day."
(Maybe Maeve likes her after all.)
"Are the guests not relatives of the debutantes?"
Orianna looks around. "There are a few that aren't. I am not. Vienna isn't. Rina isn't. Poppy isn't either. I suppose Perci, Angel, and Alex and Griff, have a reason to be here, but the latter, I can't imagine agreeing to being someone's date."
"To be fair," Vienna remarks, "Alex probably is here because his father insists, and Griff came by as support."
"That's true. Is Noah here?" Orianna wonders, "Have you seen him, Gemma?"
Maeve frowns. Vienna does too—probably because she hasn't been asked about him. "No," she replies, "I can't really imagine him to be here, to be honest." He always despised balls and the events his family required him to attend.
"You'd expect Julian to drag him here," Orianna points out.
Vienna huffs, "To be fair, he has been in a relationship—"
"You broke up a while ago, didn't you?" Maeve bluntly reminds her, "before I came back, at least."
"Yes, but—would you want a date that just recently broke up with someone?"
"Unless you have an acceptable boyfriend, isn't this more networking than actual courting? We're in the twenty-first century." That, at least, was the deal with the debutante balls in America she had been to.
Orianna gives her just a little more of a smile, and laughs, "That's true. Plus, Noah was very kind when we went to the Rose Cotillion together. He even survived my dad!"
If looks could kill, Vienna would have a full floor of witnesses for Orianna's death. Given the girls' age, the typical debutante age for girls of good standing and the fact that she hadn't heard of Noah and Vienna until now makes Maeve assume that they hadn't been dating then.
"He was, yes," Vienna bitterly agrees.
"When did you make your debut?" Maeve wonders.
"At twenty, five years ago," Orianna replies, "I wanted to before, but my father… He was a bit concerned."
"Aren't they all?" Vienna laughs.
Obviously, Maeve doesn't. She isn't going to talk about this though—out of all things possible, she will never ever bring up this topic. Instead, she turns to Orianna whom she still cannot place. Is she a brainless daughter of a new-rich investor whose appearance didn't calculate the consequences? Or does she come from good family and good upbringing, and she is missing something?
(Not that Maeve isn't exactly that.)
"What does your father do?" Maeve wonders out loud.
"Ah, just boring business," Orianna replies, "I've never really been involved into it."
"How about your mother?"
"She's a politician, the Minister of Foreign Affairs in my father's cabinet," Vienna replies for her. "Cecilia Vasilieva-Sinclair, you must have heard about her? She was the daughter of a former French ambassador, whose family can be traced back to French nobility."
Ah, then she must be of good family.
Orianna blushes again, and she could come straight from a movie with it. "You're extravagating, with the way you talk."
"It's the truth," Vienna reminds her, "I suppose, I'm just amazed by the family history of some of my friends. Talking about friends—do you know why Kenzie isn't here, today?"
Orianna shifts uncomfortably. "Oh uhm, I believe she has work…? I wouldn't know."
"Oh, come on. You're her best friend!"
"Even if she doesn't, she probably wouldn't be at the Bachelor's Brunch, because she's made her debut long ago."
"So did we, and still, we are here."
She looks even more uncomfortable. "Yes, but Kenzie isn't very fond of society gatherings…"
"She's the heiress of one of the largest holiday empires in the world. It's a bit her duty, isn't it?" Vienna points out. She's got a point. "She has to represent her family, especially when her father isn't in Illéa."
"Illéa isn't the world!" Orianna insists, "and nobody is forcing Kenzie to be here, if she doesn't want to be here. You didn't attend the Cotillion immediately when you were old enough."
Vienna huffs, "That was politics. Just admit it, she's with her peasant friends because she thinks they are better than we. Her real friends."
Yikes, Maeve thinks—totally not because she has enough friends whom she should classify as 'peasants' but because it sounds like Kenzie is playing favourites.
"You were a 'peasant' until your dad was elected," Orianna defends, "and if you'd like to continue to insult Kenzie, you're free to do that elsewhere. She's my friend, and I know that she's not here because she doesn't want to. That is fine. Now, if you excuse me, I have other people to talk to—who appreciate me and my friends." With that, Orianna turns around on her heels, and marches off.
(She's got balls, to say the least.)
Maeve isn't staying in this awkwardness, "I think I gotta head on too. Still need to find a date, don't I?" she says with an uncomfortable laugh.
She moves away, as fast as she can, away into the crowd of strangers and faces she technically should know but doesn't. She doesn't stop moving until she's sure that Vienna didn't follow her (for which she checks carefully).
"Oh, Maeve! Hey!" Poppy, the redhead from Noah's birthday, calls out. She stands at one of the windows with a young gentleman whom Maeve recognises to be Perci Santos, the odd casino guy. "How are you doing?"
"Great," Maeve lies, "how are you doing?"
"Awesome. Thank you. Do you a date yet?"
"I barely even talked to any of the guys here."
"Why that?" Perci wonders. He smiles to her. "If I were them, I would have spoken to you immediately."
"You had the chance," Maeve teases, "where have you been?"
"I think, that's my fault," Poppy laughs, "I've been keeping him away. We've been talking about how he's trying to get his hands on the destroyed Darth Vader helmet from Star Wars. He collects that stuff. Such a nerd."
"Your YouTube channel is half-dedicated to being a nerd!"
"Yes, and yet, I don't spend god-knows-how-much-money on Darth Vader helmets."
"Must I remind you of the countless amount of make-up in your house? Oh, and the life-sized Iron Man replica?"
"It's my brand?" Poppy laughs, "You have casinos, I have a YouTube channel. Nobody is reprimanding you for your blackjack table."
"Are you two a couple?" Maeve asks out-of-the-blue. Is this friendly bullying or flirting?
"No," Poppy replies, laughing, "never. Just childhood friends, met when we lived in Britain." Oh, that's new. Someone from Abroad, too? "Sorry. We do this a lot."
"When we have time," Perci adds on. "Some of us have jobs."
"Yeah, let's not talk about Langston."
Good to know. "Right, you were in that chat too."
"Bad life choices," Poppy agrees, "either way. Perci, you should go with Maeve to the Cotillion."
"No!" he cries out.
"Excuse me?!" Maeve spits out, laughing. Inside, she's hurt. He wouldn't need to straight cry out a 'no'.
"Oh, wait, it's not like that—I didn't mean to—I'm—Poppy!"
"He doesn't mean it bad," Poppy translates, "he just gets awkward whenever anyone brings up that. Bad parenting, or something."
"Grandma wasn't a bad—"
Poppy raises her eyebrow, and silences him with that. She pulls her hair around. Just like the last time, Maeve met them, she looks beautiful. Not as 'new rich blonde' as Vienna does, but still modern and fashionable.
"I mean, I wouldn't mind but—" Perci breaks off. Maeve wouldn't either—if he stopped being that odd and awkward. If he stopped being shy around her, he'd be a great date.
"But?" Maeve finds herself asking.
"I mean, I wouldn't mind."
She smiles. He's kind, has good contacts and sweet. Definitely needs to get over that issue with his shyness, but maybe she can work on him. "Then why not? Would you like to be my date for the Cotillion?"
Maeve notices a proud smile on Poppy's face. She's matchmaking them, isn't she? Either way, whatever she's planning, Perci nods. "It'd be a pleasure to be in the company of such a lovely lady."
Of course, Maeve has to blush. Maybe even her heart flutters a bit—who wouldn't feel like this if you had someone like Perci call you that? That grin on her face grows. It's good to be appreciated. "Great!"
"Are you here alone?" Poppy wonders. "With your grandmother, maybe?"
"No—" Maeve half-smiles, "I came with Gabby Santiago and Sia de Rossi, but I kind of lost them. I can text them though; I kind of lost them."
"Definitely do," Poppy encourages her, "we can spend the rest of the day together! I haven't seen Gabby in ages, too."
Maeve nods and pulls out her phone, and maybe—just maybe—makes an effort to stay by Perci's side for the rest of the day. She's here to find a boyfriend, after all, and he is definitely a contender.
(Gemma Maeve Schreave enjoys that afternoon, at least.)
[ - - - ]
/ Rose Cotillion Support Group
Maeve (gemmaeve): i am SO sorry for losing you guys, I just got pulled between so many people. where are you?
Gabby (GabbyCantHearYou): It's fine! We're on the rooftop terrace!
Gabby (GabbyCantHearYou): We actually tried to leave you on purpose, because Juan/Simi kept scaring off boys. Did you find someone?
Maeve (gemmaeve): yup, perci santos
Gabby (GabbyCantHearYou): Awesome! Bring him here! Sia and I ended up agreeing that I'll go with Simi since we know another from some work + he knows sign language, and she'll go with Juan, because she's not comfy with going with a de facto stranger, so TIME TO DRESS HUNT! :D :D
Maeve (gemmaeve): that's great! i'm so glad you both found someone you're happy with! poppy astor is with us too, will bring her too
Gabby (GabbyCantHearYou): Ooh, yes! I have to say hi to her! Need her advice on my outfit
[ - - - ]
Chapter Summary: Daphne is displeased by Maeve's behaviour at Noah's party, and Anna continues her friendly bullying of Maeve. She attends the Cotillion Brunch with Gabby and Sia, though, suggesting that they should go with the respective other's brother when Juan and Simeon scare away all possible partners. She meets Angel, a ballet dancer dating a model, and while liking him, struggles with judging him by his looks. After overhearing Alex fight with his father, who wants him to ask out Maeve for ominous reasons, she leaves for a moment, meeting Rina. Rina leads her to meet Vienna van Well, Noah's ex-girlfriend, who is quite pushy in terms of trying to use Maeve to get into Rebecca's graces. Orianna, Kenzie's and Noah's Barbie-esque friend, joins them and when Vienna begins to backmouth Kenzie, defends her. Maeve leaves and meets Poppy, who suggests that she should go to the Cotillion with Perci. After a moment of shyness, he agrees.
Next Chapter: Perci is a darling Maeve doesn't deserve.
[ - - - ]
Author's Note
Rina's scene came from the Discord (from French…? Sounds like a French thing? It's been ages), and I loved it, so it had to be included. I love you all for giving me these crazy ideas. This chapter, I'm quite proud of, although I couldn't pinpoint why. We're nearly done with introducing all Selected (three left, I believe?), and they'll come soon (sorry Moon I love u).
Who do you think will join the committee? What do you think of Angel and his child? Vienna and her personality? Orianna? What do you think will happen at the Cotillion?
Sorry for the delay; the uni year literally started today and I got winded up in study and what not. Someone PLEASE give me a chapter name, I can't come up with anything and I need sleep.
Edit: Thanks to Soph for helping me with the chapter title! It's officially "Debutante and (almost) Disasters"; she suggested it without the (almost) bit, which I added. :)
