Eve’s pace naturally slowed as Daphne spoke her hesitations, giving them her full attention. But her eyes widened at the whisper placed softly in her ear, and for that she paused entirely, keen to give the moment room to breathe. She could not claim to know what passed beneath the marble of Daphne’s expression. She was always so tightly contained as to be impenetrable, though Eve was never really sure if it was herself she kept in, or the world she kept out. Either way it did not ever feel like a choice so much as a necessity, and it was one of the reasons Eve had always felt affection.
She shifted, her hands subtly offered palm up for Daphne to take for support if she wished to. With her Eve never crossed the boundary of touch without permission, instinctively respectful, but her compassion was the sort of unceasing warmth which would never refrain from making the offer either. Not relentlessly, not pushily, but with the unspoken assurance of I am always here.
Minty had never talked about children, and Eve knew she had never married, so she could offer no other information – nothing that might either ease Daphne’s fears, or gently let her hopes down. Clearly Eve had had no inkling of the possibility though, even when Daphne had mentioned she was here concerning the details of her adoption. She could not fathom why Araminta would have ever kept something like that secret.
“You would not have come all this way if it were an answer you could live with never knowing,” she said quietly, certainly. Not to push, but to support what she suspected fear simply made unclear in the moment. Eve would not interfere, nor press the decision should Daphne decide she simply could not face it. If that were the case, the secret would remain utterly safe – Eve would never speak it to another soul. But neither did she wish for the opportunity to pass her friend by.
“Do you see the woman over there? In the blue dress? That is Araminta.”
A few people asked for refills on their champagne or other drinks, but things were winding down. Grace had seen Eve go by with another woman she didn't recognize. They both seemed on a mission of sorts. The other woman felt nervous Grace hadn't wanted to be rude or interrupt them even if she felt the desire to run and help this stranger deal with what she was feeling. Eve looked like she had it in hand, and Grace would be here awhile if she was wanted in that capacity.
Amongst the mirth of the party goers, she felt the general relief and frustrations of the serving staff were all tired and ready to go home. In times of turmoil, there was something exceedingly calming about that. It felt decidedly normal. Grace felt relieved and was glad she decided to take this shift. Within the normal emotions, one person stood out from the rest. Grace found her quickly. Not only did her gift make it easier, but the woman, one of the servers in a uniform just like hers, had a slumped posture.
Grace moved towards her. She hadn't wanted to interrupt Eve and her friend out of politeness. Avoiding one that was needed comfort was hard, and avoiding a second was nearly impossible. Grace recognized the woman. They had worked together several times and got along well. "Macy," she said approaching the woman. "Is everything okay?"
As she did, she braced herself and took Macy by the hand. It always hit suddenly when she did this, but with the anticipation of it, Grace handled it well. Macy's anger and grief flowed into Grace, but with practice, she had learned to keep these off of her face. The two emotions vied for control within Macy. Grace recognized this particular pattern. Someone she cared about had done something to hurt her - likely a boyfriend. Grace knew that Macy had one, but she doubted that was the case anymore.
Macy shook her head. She was barely holding together - likely because she was at work. "Let's go this way - talk." Grace kept her hand and led her into a more private area. Eve and her friend had gone this way, but they were deeper into the building now. Grace and Macy took a seat in the hall, Grace keeping hold of Macy's hand. "Tell me what's wrong."
Macy composed herself and Grace let this happen. She could have pushed Macy to be calmer, but it was better when people did this on their own. She would do so later - giving her a slight push to reach an acceptance of what she felt, but for now Grace needed to listen and feel. Macy told her story. Last week she and her boyfriend had broken up. For a long time, Macy had felt that the relationship was stagnating. They ended things when she found out he had been cheating on her. It had hurt, but she was doing okay until tonight. Her ex had been here tonight with his new girlfriend. That had been enough to reopen a wound that hadn't fully healed yet. Grace knew what she needed. She just needed someone to know how upset she was. Someone to listen without judgement and to empathize. Still the anger and grief swirled like a vortex within her. That was stopping acceptance. As long as both were trying to gain control, she couldn't process them.
Grace took Macy's hand into both of hers, keeping the anger and grief she felt out of her voice. That was the hardest part about dealing with rough emotions. Macy had started to cry, and Grace felt like she wanted to as well. She felt everything her friend felt, but that's why she understood it so well. "That has to be difficult," she said, her voice calm despite the torrent inside. "It's okay to feel angry and sad. You're allowed to hurt. He knew you were going to be working here tonight?" she nodded. Grace scoffed a bit, letting the anger take control. She pushed Macy's anger lightly, giving it an edge. "What an ass." Macy smiled at that. A little humor could go a long way. "It will be okay. Don't hold things in. Let yourself be angry. Let yourself be sad and cry. You'll find someone who loves you for the amazing person you are."
Grace pushed calm with a delicate hand. By getting her to focus on one first, she was able to delicately separate the anger and grief. Now that they weren't fighting for control, Macy would process them. Macy thanked her and wrapped Grace in a hug. Grace returned it, making sure one hand touched the skin or her neck near the shirt collar. She wanted to monitor and make sure Macy was actually beginning to work through things. She held on, and would until Macy decided to let go.
There she was.
Araminta.
The woman in the blue dress stood near the heart of the room, beneath the glow of soft track lighting that made her hair shimmer like honey spun through pale silk. She was surrounded, yet separate: a quiet center of gravity. Guests passed through her orbit like petals caught in slow wind, drawn by ease, by instinct. She smiled with her whole face, relaxed in a way that only people without old wounds ever managed to be. She held herself loosely, with no armor at all. She looked like someone who had never needed to survive anything. Daphne slowed her steps.
That first glimpse twisted something in her small and sharp. Not disappointment alone. Displacement. As if whatever fragile image of a mother she’d held unknowingly had just shattered without ceremony. There was no resemblance. No echo in the jawline, the eyes, the hair. No reflection in the way Araminta stood, or smiled, or held the space around her with warmth instead of caution. Daphne, all fine edges and elegant silence, felt suddenly like a marble statue gliding through candlelight. She had spent her life smoothing the edges of pain, disciplining her posture, learning to survive every room as a weapon rather than a welcome.
And this woman… looked like she belonged. Still, Daphne approached. She always had the discipline to approach. She stepped within polite conversational range and waited, her presence as poised as the curve of her gown. No invitation was asked for.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, her voice smooth, low, pitched to fold gently into the space without announcing itself.
It was a politeness, of course. A formal dance-step offered because she knew it was expected of her. Eve’s presence beside her was quiet and steady, but Daphne’s posture remained solitary. Still and unshaken.
Araminta turned at the sound of her voice, a gentle surprise lighting her features as she registered the newcomer. She was just as warm up close. Light spilled across her collarbones where the blue satin dipped, catching in the soft waves of her gold-streaked hair. Her smile was instant and easy, and it spread like dawn.
“Oh, not at all,” Araminta said, glancing fondly to Eve as she greeted her in the same breath, a familiarity in her tone that Daphne could feel more than hear.
She waited until the social nicety resolved, then offered her own thread of gratitude. “Your party was quite festive,” she said simply, tone clipped but not cold. A peace offering, folded into etiquette.
Araminta laughed lightly. “Thank you! I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Araminta Rosewood.”
Daphne inclined her head, no smile, but perfectly polite. Her reply came with exact clarity, her accent drawn clean across each syllable: “Daphne Du Cadeau de Volthström.”
There. She felt the change immediately.
The smile froze, if only for half a breath. Surprise bloomed behind Araminta’s eyes like a lantern lit too quickly, followed by a flicker of uncertainty, curiosity, and beneath it something else. Something soft and sour. The kind of feeling people got when they were trying very hard to remember something they didn’t want to.
Araminta’s gaze shifted to Eve for just a second. She recovered with grace, but not speed. Her energy wobbled like a top near the end of its spin.
“A pleasure to meet you, Daphne,” she said. “Are you a friend of Eve’s?”
“Yes,” Daphne said without hesitation, though her eyes never left Araminta. “We go far back.” She lifted her chin slightly, calm but deliberate. “I’m sorry for intruding on your party, but I had a question to ask you.”
There was a gravity in her now that didn’t belong in social conversation. A shift in tone that weighed against the music and laughter surrounding them. But Araminta, to her credit, didn’t flinch. Her openness, like the blue silk she wore, held fast.
Daphne leaned in slightly. “Why did Tobias Volthström sell this building to you?”
She saw Araminta’s eyes flicking sharper, the air around her suddenly tense in the way champagne is just before it foams over the rim. The pleasantness didn’t vanish, but it cracked. Her expression faltered for a moment, and there it was.
Worry. Not fear. Not guilt. But something caught in her that made her hands shift too quickly and her thoughts start to stammer beneath the surface.
Daphne’s voice came softer. “You need not be nervous.” It was not said cruelly. But it was said without escape.
She felt Eve’s awareness shift beside her. Subtle. The way someone who knew her would recognize what she was doing, but chose not to stop it. Not yet.
Araminta’s eyes widened just enough to register the pressure. Her mouth parted slightly as if to answer then closed again. Her hand pulled gently back, but not in alarm. More like someone stepping back from heat they didn’t expect to feel.
“This isn’t really the time to talk about… ancient history,” she said finally, her tone still warm but now measured.
Daphne studied her. Felt the tangle of things beneath the surface: old confusion, half-truths, doors shut quietly and long ago. Araminta turned her smile back up, but Daphne could feel the difference now. It was a practiced smile. A hostess smile. The kind that meant someone had been caught off guard and was trying to manage the story before it unraveled.
“If you’re free tomorrow,” she said, “why don’t you come back? You and Eve both. We can talk properly then.”
Daphne watched Araminta retreat into the tide of guests, her smile already reabsorbed by the warmth and music that coated the room like candlewax. The scent of citrus and champagne lingered faintly in her wake, but Daphne tasted only copper at the back of her tongue.
Daphne wasn’t sure she could speak for Eve, but she agreed to meet Araminta the next day.
As soon as Araminta moved out of range, Daphne pivoted, her heels whispering against the concrete floor. She stepped in closer to Eve, her voice dropping low, the way one might speak before setting fire to a letter they weren’t supposed to read.
“I promised my mother I’d be on a plane before morning. She says the borders are going to close at six.” Her words came fast, too fast for her usual rhythm as if she were already calculating the breach of it in her mind.
Her look was one of pleading for Eve. The only person here who would understand the implications of what she was about to ask.
“Do you think your father could get us a jet if we stay?”
Ancient history? Eve’s curiosity blossomed, though it remained unintrusive. She hadn’t even known Minty had connections to the Volthstroms, and the revelation opened up her expression in faint surprise. She’d spoken to her about Gui in the past, when the feelings were raw and her journey through America had been tightly tied to her flight from Moscow. Though she supposed it was possible she’d never actually mentioned his surname, or his family; discretion was ingrained in Eve from the cradle. Her confidences had been feelings, not facts. Intimacy not information.
Daphne’s poise never faltered. In the quiet of their personal bubble amidst the shallows of the celebration, she had Eve’s full attention. Whether she should accompany her in the morning was never a question she asked herself – her support was foundational, and she was hardly about to abandon Daphne in America, let alone with the questions she clearly had to ask about her past.
“I already have arrangements,” she said. “I’m supposed to be leaving tomorrow, though I haven’t told anyone here that yet. I’ll make a call. It won’t be a problem. My father’s just pleased I’m finally coming home.”
Grace hadn't meant to over here Eve and her friends conversation. She just happened to be cleaning up nearby. Eve was leaving. Grace had known it would be the case sometime, but not so soon. Her first intuition was to interrupt and say her goodbyes, but Grace was leaving too. She actually had a flight to catch. She was getting out of the United States and all the fear that was here now and starting over in the CCD. It had become more important since the announced border closure. If she didn't make it out, Grace would be locked in. Grace could touch base with Eve later. She was with a friend right now, and she was technically still working.
JFK was as insane as it always was. Grace made it though all the TSA bullshit and then headed to her gate and was promptly informed that the flight was overbooked. Frustration, anger, and sadness filled the people there, Grace included. They asked for volunteers. Everyone on this flight was keen to get out before the border closed. No one volunteered. So they began to bump people from the flight. Grace's heart sank when she heard her name. Of course she'd be getting a refund (and more). They had no more outgoing flights. She'd rather have the flight than the money. She was stuck here.
Grace left the airport feeling scared. The joy of the New Year was wearing off, and she was beginning to feel the oppressive nature of the fear of uncertainty in the city again. Her mind went back to Eve. Eve was leaving on a private plane. Maybe Eve could help. Grace felt bad about that. She didn't want to use her friend. She knew deep down asking her friend for help wouldn't be that. It would just be asking for help, but it didn't stop the thought from coming.
She sat down on a bench and pulled out her wallet. She could just send a text and ask, but no - Eve was her friend and deserved a face to face request. She composed a message.
Eve. I need to talk to you - in person. I need help. Can you meet me at Amarinta's Gallery later. Please.
The text would show some of her desperation. She had nowhere to go, so she just went to a 24 hour cafe near the gallery and waited. Later she would go to the gallery to wait for Eve's arrival. She hoped Eve would help. This was her only chance to get out, and for her own sanity, she needed to.
The gallery looked different in daylight without the thrum of music and the aroma of festivities, it felt hollow. Snow lingered along the curb outside, pressed gray by passing cars. Inside, the air carried the faint scent of coffee and fresh paper rather than celebration.
A jet waited at Teterboro. Daphne knew the exact time the borders would tighten. Thanks to Eve, they knew the route, the clearance codes, and the name of the pilot. They knew that if she stepped into that car by four-thirty, she would be home in Paris before dawn, and her mother’s concern would dissolve into relief and quiet admonishment. The jet waited. Still, she stood here.
Eve walked beside her, easy and steady as ever. Daphne’s silvery coat fell cleanly along her shoulders, gloves exchanged for fine leather this morning, her hair pinned back with careful, tight loops. She felt more herself in daylight.
The gallery door unlocked before they reached it. Araminta stood inside, dressed simply now in wintery creams and pale blues, her hair loose around her shoulders. There was no party glow about her. Only a woman who had not entirely slept. Or maybe a little hungover.
Araminta’s smile was washed by an emotion behind it: Apprehension.
“Thank you for seeing us,” Daphne said, stepping inside.
“Of course,” Araminta replied warmly. “The gallery’s closed for the holiday, but that gives us privacy.”
They were shown toward a small seating area near the rear windows where the light filtered in nicely. A tray had been set with coffee, tea, and porcelain cups. Daphne selected tea when it was offered.
She studied Araminta as they all got settled in. The woman’s beauty was gentler in daylight. She was still looking for signs of resemblance to herself, but they seemed to elude her.
Araminta settled into her chair, fingers brushing lightly along the rim of her cup. “I understand you have some questions about my gallery.” There it was again that same guarded openness.
Daphne inclined her head slightly, gathering her courage. “You knew Tobias back then?”
Araminta’s lips curved faintly. “Everyone knew Tobias. He was a Volthström. He went to the best parties. And he was so handsome.” The emotion beneath the nostalgia shimmered.
“You must have known him well,” she said evenly, “that he sold you this fabulous property.”
Araminta looked down into her coffee as though answers might surface there. “Well… he knew I wanted to be an artist. Running my own gallery would give me that.” There was caution in her voice. She was choosing her words carefully.
“You were not yet established,” Daphne continued, her tone gentle as she glanced at Eve for confirmation. “A building of this scale, and in Manhattan… it would have required considerable capital.”
Araminta’s fingers tightened around her cup. “Well, you’re not wrong. It was… an arrangement,” she said.
Daphne did not blink. She leaned back slightly, as though this were mere curiosity. “I know it is rude to speak so plainly,” she said, and her voice softened just enough to sound almost apologetic. “But your family did not come from money. And Tobias… he was not known for charity.”
Araminta took a drink of her coffee, but her senses were already snug with worry. Daphne just had to press further.
“I’m not accusing you of anything,” Daphne continued quickly, “I am only trying to understand.”
Araminta set her cup down. Her composure shifted, not broken but rearranged. It was clear that they weren’t going to drop this.
“It wasn’t a gift,” she said quietly. “Not exactly.”
Daphne felt protectiveness and reluctance before the words finished forming.
“We had… a fling,” Araminta admitted, her mouth curving in a rueful half-smile. She was lying, at least partly. “Nothing serious. I wasn’t looking to settle down in those days. I still don’t want to settle down.” The warmth of memory flickered again, but beneath it lay something that kept Daphne on the edge of her seat.
“Araminta, I came to ask you something. I have to know. For my own sake. My own past.” Daphne was tempted to lean forward and rest a hand on her shoulder to try and encourage her, but she resisted the physical touch.
“There are details I can’t discuss,” she said softly.
“You can. I just need to know, please.” she repeated softly.
“You swear this cannot leave this room.” She looked pointedly at both girls. Daphne nodded emphatically. “Alright… We had a son.”
The words struck like cold water splashed on her face. So shocking that she couldn’t even process the emotion swirling around her.
“A son,” she echoed.
Araminta nodded, eyes distant now, looking somewhere far behind the gallery walls.
“Tobias wanted to raise him away from me. He said that he could give him things I never could.”
“You have to understand. I was so young and full of dreams. I couldn’t fathom being a struggling artist with a baby, and Tobias offered him a life of privilege, education, and power. Even if…” She swallowed. “Even if he didn’t know me. And that was clearly for the best for him.”
It was a swirl of emotions flooding the room. Nostalgia, curiosity, hurt, regret, but pride also, and hope. Araminta wondered about her son. “When you said you were a Volthström, I knew it had to be about him. Please, can you tell me something. Is he happy?”
Daphne sat very still. She couldn’t process what she was hearing. Araminta had a son. Not a daughter.
There was no deception in Araminta’s grief. No flicker of hidden motherhood withheld from her. The emotion rang clear and unmistakable.
The fragile image Daphne had constructed in the quiet corners of her mind dissolved without ceremony. She had not been searching for the right woman. She had been searching for the right wound.
Daphne inclined her head once. And somewhere, in the vast machinery of the Volthström legacy, there existed a son no one had mentioned. She had no idea who he might be. But she knew one thing, she was not Araminta’s daughter.
She glanced at Eve, utterly speechless.
Eve found the information shocking, though of course the emotion never showed on her face. Carter had a brother? She resisted the urge to look at Daphne, and leaned instead to take Araminta’s hands in her own. Her expression was warm, visibly moved by the human nature of the confession. Distress called to her more loudly than fear of a scandal ever would, and the single question made her heart constrict. Tobias had lied, or at least allowed Araminta to believe something untrue. Their son had not been raised in the seat of privilege and power – he had not been raised a Volthström at all. Of course he had not, illegitimate child that he was. He had been tidied away where he could not disrupt a dynasty.
“You do not have to explain why. We are not here to judge you, Minty,” she said. The words were kind, her tone soft. Araminta had been as both mother and sister to her since she had left the Custody, and her affections were forged deeply. Though it was more than that; something ancient and primal stirred too. No mother should remain ignorant of a child’s fate. “Sometimes the best thing we can do for those we love is to let them go. But what a terrible burden to have carried alone.” Her hands squeezed in solidarity. She wished she could offer more in the moment, but neither would she lie woman to woman, friend to friend. Was the child happy? A man now, she supposed. Did he have a family? Was Araminta a grandmother? None of it was Eve’s business but for the thread of compassion which fuelled her. She could not answer, because there was none to give. But the silence felt like a cruel cut for how earnestly Araminta had asked the question: is he happy?
“We came for Daphne,” she added carefully. The woman herself was still and silent, processing the disappointment she must be feeling, especially after having girded herself for such a moment. Eve’s thumbs moved gently over Araminta’s knuckles, keeping her attention. Daphne did not need the scrutiny, nor the weight of pity sure to follow. That truth had already been revealed: Daphne had spoken it herself, when she said she was here for the sake of her own past. When Araminta’s eyes met her own, Eve gave a subtle shake of her head to dissuade her from asking more.
“There’s something else I need to tell you,” she said then, guiding them gently away from the topic.
The goodbye was more difficult than she’d anticipated. The life Eve had lived here was unlike any previous experience in all her travels, and she would cherish it with the fullness of her heart. It was doubtful she could return, at least not whilst the borders remained closed, though of course she would stay in touch. That was a given. Eve had no mother, and while she would never phrase it quite so – especially in the wake of Araminta’s confession – the woman had nonetheless touched something of that void with her luminous presence. Not because she was maternal, not because she had mothered, but because she had been so open and welcoming at a moment when Eve had simply needed it, and asked for nothing in return.
The sincere exchange of words was brief despite all that the moment encompassed for Eve, in part because she was aware of Daphne, and in part because she could not bear to string it out. When they hugged there was a brief sparking of tears in the back of her eyes, quickly managed. “I will enquire,” she whispered to her before they parted. Not quite sure she should make such a promise, nor sure she should add weight to the reason neither she or Daphne had been able to answer Araminta’s question, but unable to stop herself in the moment.
Afterwards, when they were alone outside the gallery doors, she finally turned her attention to her friend, a delay only out of respect for Daphne’s composure and privacy. “I’m so sorry, Daph,” she said softly. There was little hint of emotion in the other woman’s facade, but Eve was not so blind as to believe it meant there was none beneath the surface. Daphne had fallen so silent after Araminta had revealed a son, not the daughter expected; it was why Eve had so gently taken the reins of the conversation, and continued to steer it to conclusion. She couldn’t fathom how painful the revelation must have been: that crush of hope, and on today of all days. “We will keep looking,” she said. A simple promise, sincerely made, and one she thought might be better appreciated as comfort than a squeeze of the hand or embrace.
“Grace should be here soon. And then we had better get to Teterboro,” she added.
“Thank you,” Daphne said. The words were sincere, but it was the clasp of hands which both surprised Eve and meant more. She grasped them warmly back. "If it's okay, I'll wait in the car."
[[Daphne moded with permission]]
Grace was feeling uneasy. Asking for help was something she was not used to. Grace was used to helping other people figure things out. Eve had agreed to meet and had sent a time for them to meet. Grace had planned to leave, but had been blocked out. She had very little, having sold a lot to get herself moved to the CCD. Possessions didn't matter to her so much. They never had, but already she could feel the weight of uncertainty closing in on her. The border closure had been a big part of that.
She had breakfast at a cafe along with coffee. Grace hadn't intended to annoy the waitress, but Grace stayed awhile and some waitresses found that annoying, but right now, she had nowhere else to go. At the right time, Grace left, leaving a good tip for the waitress. It was the least she could do.
She saw Eve leave the gallery with her friend, and it didn't take her abilities to see that her friend was upset. Grace waited until she left to approach Eve. "Evie," she said, her suitcase rolling behind her and her carry on bag around her shoulder. She wrapped Eve in a hug and held on. "Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice."
Grace released the hug and gave her friend a smile. She was glad to see Eve, but still felt a little weird asking for help. She hoped Eve wouldn't think she was trying to take advantage. "Evie...I was all set to leave the States and go to Moscow. I've been working on it for awhile. They...overbooked my flight and I got bumped. I'm stuck here. Evie..." Grace looked away for a moment before bringing her eyes back. Eve was a citizen of the CCD and her father was someone high up. Maybe she could help. Grace had never asked her for help before, but she was desperate. "I have to get out of here. Is there anything I can do? Can you help me...please?"