Phoebe blinked. “Does Patch know this is here?”
Nick shook his head. “It’s not really something we talk about. God, that memorial marker-I haven’t thought about that in years. If you mention to Patch about us being here, I’d rather you didn’t say anything-not that you would, but it just… well, it might upset him.”
Phoebe nodded. “I understand. Though you do know he’s trying to figure out what happened to his mother, right?”
“I know.”
“Do you remember her?” Phoebe asked.
“No, not really,” Nick said. “We were so young when she was taken away.”
They were still standing in front of the memorial marker. “Patchfield Morgan Evans,” he said. “I guess they left off the ‘Jr.’ Sort of hard to do that in initials.”
“Why initials? Why not his full name?”
Nick shrugged and smiled sadly. “You’ve been around my family enough by now, haven’t you? Everything’s a secret, everything’s encoded. Like they’re afraid for anyone to know the real story about them.”
Phoebe touched his shoulder. “Do you feel like you’re the first one to start asking all these questions?”
“Sort of. I know my brothers have, over the years. But they always get shut down. And they’re so ambitious-they care more about success than about knowing the truth about the Society or the Trust. They’re not screwups, like me.”
“I don’t think you’re a screwup,” Phoebe said. “And I guess, if you are, then maybe I’m in love with a screwup.” She smiled shyly, as if embarrassed at her revelation.
Nick tried not to look surprised, but he felt his heart beating more quickly. He had felt this way for so long and had been afraid to say anything. Ever since the night last semester on the rooftop after Phoebe’s gallery show, when they had almost kissed. Before they had gotten together, before they had started dating. She had always been the girl he thought he could never have.
Phoebe looked so beautiful, her reddish-brown hair whipping in the wind. He pulled her toward him and kissed her. “Then I’m in love with someone who’s going to be a superstar someday. We’re going to leave all this behind, right? Soon?”
She nodded. Her eyes were damp.
Nick felt tears coming as well. “I’m so sorry, Phoebe. I feel like all this is my fault. My family. The Society. Everything they’ve caused. You should have never met me. Your life would be so much better.”
“Hey-I was asked to be part of this before I even knew you. You had no way of telling,” she said.
“I know-but still, it’s hard. It’s hard not to feel like I’m partially responsible.”
She shook her head. “I don’t want you to feel that way.”
He wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his sweater. “I don’t think we should mention the memorial to Patch. I’ll show it to him sometime in the summer. After things are more settled, you know?”
“You really think things will be settled?” Phoebe smiled. “You’re certainly the optimist now.”
“Yes,” Nick said. “I do.”
PART III
THE SCARAB OF ISIS
Chapter Thirty-Three
Over the past few weeks, Lauren had rushed through the prototype and manufacturing of the Scarab of Isis necklace. Now that she was finally walking up the plush black carpeted stairs of the Metropolitan Museum on February 13, the night of the Dendur Ball, she was happy about it. The fourteen girls on the Junior Committee-seven from her class and seven from the class above her-all looked stunning wearing the piece. Crowds gathered around the museum, hoping for a glimpse of the guests, and klieg lights had been set up on Fifth Avenue, swooping through the sky, movie premiere-style. A team of police officers manned the barricades as limousines, taxicabs, and town cars pulled up, one by one, and photographers swarmed anyone notable who hit the much-discussed black carpet, an innovation that the event designer felt was much more chic than red, and more in keeping with the Dendur Balls of years past.
Inside, the girls were photographed next to the actual Scarab of Isis, which was displayed in a glass case to one side of the Temple of Dendur. Everyone marveled at how similar the two versions looked. Lauren felt she couldn’t take any credit for it-it was a copy, nothing more-but still, she was pleased that it had worked out.
She had been so busy lately, she hadn’t even had time to think about finding a date for the ball. Thankfully, Thad had volunteered to take her. She was grateful to him, once again, for coming to her rescue.
A photographer stopped Lauren and Thad and took their picture. He looked handsome in his Ralph Lauren tux, and she wore a dress that Sebastian Giroux had designed for her, a simple sea-foam green strapless gown that was a perfect backdrop to the vivid colors of the scarab pendant.
The museum was breathtaking, with its classical columns lit up and the entire staircase of the Great Hall decorated with candles that made up the shape of an ankh. It frightened Lauren a bit, this symbol that had dominated their lives, but she admitted that its representation in light was beautiful. The central information desk in the Great Hall had been transformed into a bar, with a twelve-foot-tall floral arrangement of birds-of-paradise and other lush foliage. Champagne was poured by waiters in black tie, and hors d’oeuvres were served, all vaguely Egyptian-inspired: pickled cucumbers and smoked salmon on toast points, hummus and black olive tapenade wrapped in phyllo, and batarekh, or Egyptian caviar. Dancers worked their way through the crowd, dressed in skintight outfits, their faces painted with hieroglyphics and silver and gold markings, with jewels affixed to their features. Their glittering eyes, eyebrows, and cheekbones made them sparkle like otherworldly creatures.
Lauren and Thad followed the crowds to the right, into the Sackler Wing, where round tables of ten had been set up to seat people for dinner. Some chose to find their tables and sit down, while most milled around the entryway, awed by the stunning transformation of the room. The sandstone temple was lit up with a wash of oranges, blues, and lavenders, and the body of water in front of the temple was surrounded by hundreds of votives, reflecting everything going on around it. Tables were arranged with jewel-toned linens of turquoise, chartreuse, and magenta, classic gold Chiavari ballroom chairs, orchids combined with succulents, and tabletop lanterns lit with votive candles. A platformed DJ booth and a dance floor were set up in front of the temple.
Lauren made her way through the crowd, as she overheard all the praise the renovations to the galleries were garnering. In the galleries surrounding the temple, the lighting had been improved, the carpets had been replaced, and the placards had been updated and enlarged to improve readability. Lauren noticed Parker Bell holding court with his wife, Gigi, at a prime table near the front of the temple.
She and Thad spotted Phoebe and Nick. Phoebe was wearing a 1920s flapper dress that she had found in a vintage shop; it was burgundy with gold beadwork and fit perfectly for the evening, as the Egyptian Revival-style was popular after the 1922 discovery of King Tutankhamen’s tomb. The red of Phoebe’s dress and the sea-foam of Lauren’s were beautiful together, and photographers took several more pictures of them. Even though they had been drinking champagne, they were careful to put their glasses to the side for any photographs.
Patch arrived with Lia. She looked adorable in a Marlene Dietrich-style vintage suit made of blue shantung silk, and she had done her hair in a Bettie Page cut, with straight black bangs framing her face. She looked stunning and had the most amazing shimmering burgundy lipstick: it looked like red glitter itself.