Chapter Text
Episode One: The Golden Lie
➳
Nancy Drew is a creature of touch. She knows herself well, is familiar with her own quirks and preferences, her pet peeves and vices- and she knows that sometimes, she’s clingy past what is considered socially acceptable.
She’s toned it down in recent years, kept the urge to touch under wraps, but now and then she slips up.
The first time it had happened, she’d been eight.
Nancy sits in the principal's office in a chair built for adults, sweaty fingers twisting the fabric of her blue dress.
“Nancy,” Principal Rowan starts, eyes round and unblinking behind her cats-eye glasses. “Do you know why I've called you here?”
Nancy shakes her head once: No .
Principal Rowan leans back in her chair and looks out the window. Her stance is loose, relaxed. Nancy finds herself mirroring the adult’s posture. “Your friend Amanda told her mother that you hug her too much.”
“What?” Nancy cries, hurt welling up in her chest. “Amanda never said it was bad! She never told me!”
“I know, Nancy,” Principal Rowan says softly, voice calm. “I know you wouldn’t do something if you knew somebody didn’t like it. Sometimes, people like hugging and holding hands. Sometimes they don’t.”
Nancy grits her teeth and tries not to let her lower lip wobble. “Am I in trouble?”
Principal Rowan blinks, owl-like. “Goodness, no. I just wanted to give you a few tools that might help.”
Nancy walks out of the room with three new pieces of information- three new facts:
- Some people don’t hug and touch and brush hair to tell others that they’re cared for
- Not everyone likes being hugged or brushed and held, even a little,
- Nancy needs to ask, or not touch at all.
This isn’t exactly what Principal Rowan says, but even at ten, Nancy has a talent for reading between the lines, so she looks up the word boundaries in the dictionary on the bus ride home, finger to page, lips carefully shaping out the vowels.
Boun-da- ries. Ten letters, three syllables: a word to describe Nancy Drew’s adult life.
Can I hug you? Can we hold hands? Can I kiss your cheek?
"You don’t need to ask every time,” a high school friend had said once, amusement softening the bluntness of his words. “I don’t mind. You can just, like, go for it. We’re friends.”
Boundaries: a series of lines, seen and unseen. More often than not, Nancy finds herself self-imposed with too many or offered too little in return. In her head, the lines twist like the contours on a map: a book of state lines, crisscrossing and overlapping in a confusing tangle.
The years pass; her hair grows long. People who love her go into the ground and don’t come back. Eventually, Nancy ceases her gestures of affectionate touch altogether, and builds a wall instead.
➳
boundary
(noun)
plural noun: boundaries
- a line that marks the limits of an area; a dividing line.
- a limit of a subject or sphere of activity.
Today, Nancy sits outside on the restaurant’s patio, breath misting with every exhale. It’s nearly midsummer in Horseshoe Bay, but the mornings are still chilly, grass still tinged blue with frost- a sure promise of a hot day ahead.
She had been in the same spot the other night; had witnessed Ace and Amanda making their way to the parking lot, his arm slung around her shoulder. It had seemed easy. They had looked right- and it bothers Nancy now, for reasons she doesn’t understand.
Ace is her friend- maybe even a best friend. She hasn’t always held him with such distinction in her mind, but that’s half the fun. Discovering new things about people, learning about their quirks… It's what makes friendships worth investing in.
Across the bay, the first ferry blares its horn, the sound rolling low and brassy over the water. Nancy sighs, drains the rest of her coffee, and goes inside to start setting up for opening. Saturdays are always so busy.
The inside of The Claw is sun-soaked, warm, and in need of a good dusting. Nancy walks through a cloud of gently floating dust motes on the way to the kitchen and fails to bite back a sneeze.
“Bless you.”
Nancy makes a grumbling noise and sets her coffee mug down on the table. “Thanks.” She stares down at the sink for a long moment before turning around, brain rebooting. “Oh! Ace. Good morning.”
Ace gives her a knowing look as he passes by, arms wrapped around a bucket of ice. “Still on your first cup?”
Nancy grins sheepishly. “That bad, huh?”
“No comment,” Ace calls, voice floating into the kitchen. His footsteps pause, and then resume; Nancy watches with bemusement as his head pops back around the corner. “I just put a fresh pot on, by the way. You really need to stop drinking leftover sludge.”
“You’re the best,” Nancy announces. She holds her mug up to the ceiling. “I’ll drink this next cup in your honor.”
A lopsided smile spreads across Ace’s face. With a nod, he ducks back into the walk-in cooler.
Nancy makes her way to the coffee machines with a similar smile on her face. The faint scent of cedar and sandalwood around lingers in the air- Ace’s aftershave. A familiar smell.
She pours herself a cup of hot, fresh coffee and takes a sip. Not too bitter, not too sweet. Perfect.
The warm sensation in her chest must be because of the coffee.
➳
“Okay,” George announces during the lunch rush, hands planted firmly on her hips. “That's it. It’s vacation week.”
Bess bites down on a tortilla chip. Crunch. “We’re literally working.”
“ We’re working,” Nick corrects, swooping in to grab two plates from the cook and disappearing just as quickly, “You’re just eating all the guacamole!”
“I’m taste-testing,” Bess sniffs, and daintily dips another chip into the dip. Nancy and George exchange a look. Ace reaches over very slowly and pulls the dip away from Bess. She shoots him a wounded look, to which he simply shrugs.
“Va-ca-tion,” George reiterates. “I think we all need a proper break from our second job. It’s been six months of constant, oh, how will I almost die today? and I need. A. Break.” She slams her palm against the stainless steel table, making the dishes rattle. “Also, I want a mimosa.”
“You want a break from sleuthing,” Nancy sums up. George wrinkles her nose. “It’s more of a ghostcation, honestly. I like solving mysteries! It’s fun. But a little time off would be nice.”
“It would be nice,” Bess muses. “I haven’t gotten a manicure in such a long time, because my acrylics keep breaking off when we’re crawling through the woods.”
“I have to do...things,” Ace says vaguely. Nobody questions him.
Nancy wonders, though, what he gets up to in his spare time. Probably spends it with his girlfriend.
(Obviously. That’s cool.)
“So?” George folds her arms. “What do you think?”
With a start, Nancy realizes that they’re all staring at her, waiting for a response. “I…yeah,” she says finally, locking and unlocking her fingers. “That’s fine with me.”
“Are you sure?” George asks. There’s a hint of genuine concern in her eyes. “I don’t want you to start getting, like, the shakes from adrenaline withdrawal.”
“I’m not that bad,” Nancy says, exasperated. Her friends all look in different directions. She throws her hands up in the air. “Come on! It’s not a big deal. It’s a week: it’s not like I’ll die of boredom.”
“Okay,” Bess says slowly, clearly unconvinced.
“There are… a few events that my grandmother wants me to attend,” Nancy says, her distaste clear in her voice. “I’m sure they’ll be more than enough to keep me occupied.”
“What are they?” Ace asks. Maybe it’s the light, but a shadow passes over his face, hardens his eyes. When Nancy blinks, it’s gone.
Nancy ticks them off on her fingers. “Networking… a dinner...a hunting competition… and a ball.” All things that Nancy has pushed off for as long as possible- but she does owe Celia a handful of favors. If her grandmother wants to cash them in on this, so be it.
George makes a face. “Hunting competitions are so… gross. Maybe they’ll make you hunt people.”
“Wouldn’t put it past them,” Ace mutters. The words are murmured and nearly drowned out by the rattling of the kitchen fans- but Nancy hears it.
“Ooh,” Bess whispers, eyes sparkling. “A ball. Maybe you’ll meet a prince.”
“Everyone that the Hudson's associate with are probably more than a little inbred,” Nancy says flatly. “I’d rather not.”
“Ooh,” Nick says, sliding in to give George a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Maybe you’ll meet an aristocrat with a third ear. Or arm.”
“Please,” Nancy moans. She allows her head to drop into her hands. “Stepping foot in Hudson territory is painful enough without throwing mutated royalty into the mix. You're freaking me out.”
Bess reaches over and wraps her hand around Nancy’s. “Don’t worry,” she chirps, squeezing once. Nancy leans into the unprompted touch, catlike. “We can get our nails done together! Ooh, how about a spa day!” She looks over at George, practically vibrating with excitement. “Spa day?”
George raises an eyebrow in contemplation. She shrugs and flips her hands outwards. “Why not?”
“Yay,” Bess says, giving Nancy’s hand one final squeeze before pulling away and clapping her own together. “Vacation week!”
Nancy stares at the hand Bess had held, skin tingling and eyes half-lidded. I need more coffee, she decides.
There’s a burning sensation on the side of her face, heavy and tingling. When Nancy looks up, she catches Ace looking away. Embarrassed, she shoves her hands into the pockets of her apron and puts some space between herself and Bess.
A vacation. A week free of ghosts, murder, and breaking-and-entering.
Oh, man, Nancy thinks mournfully. I really might die.
➳
After work, she phones Celia. Her grandmother picks up on the third ring, voice clipped and curt.
“Celia Hudson speaking. I’m currently at a very important business luncheon, so please consider-,”
“It’s me,” Nancy interrupts. Celia’s tone switches immediately into something warmer, more genuine. The ice is still there, but it’s thawed somewhat.
“Nancy! How are you? Do you need something?”
“Er-hi,” Nancy says, tapping her index finger against the rubber backing of her phone. She starts to walk circles in the parking lot. “Turns out I have the week off after all. You mentioned something about me attending a few events…?”
“Oh, yes,” Celia says, clearly delighted. “They’ll be very important for making connections, and meeting your more distant family members. You’ll be coming to all of them?”
Nancy pauses to weighs the pros and cons. If she goes, there will be a plethora of things to investigate-no, experience . If she goes, she’ll also have to spend time with her… blood relatives, who have proven to be a massive headache time and time again. “Will Ryan be there?”
“Yes,” is Celia’s prompt reply, “As well as myself. My husband will be present, but he won’t be spending time with us. He has… negotiating to do.”
“Of course,” Nancy says, nonplussed. “Well… I’ll go. What’s the dress code?”
“Don’t you worry about that,” her grandmother says, a note of excitement working its way into her voice. “I’ll be sending a proper stylist over to your house. Don’t worry about the cost,” she adds. “You’re a Hudson. I’ll handle everything.”
Nancy bites her lip so hard that her teeth draw blood. “Fine,” she mumbles. “See you tomorrow.”
“See you tomorrow!” Celia sing-songs, clearly more enthused for the week than her granddaughter is. “My stylist will be there at seven AM, sharp.”
The line goes dead. With a sigh, Nancy licks iron from her lips, slides her phone into her pocket. She brings her fingers to her stinging mouth- “Heading home?” Nancy stiffens.
Ace ambles down the stairs, shoulders relaxed. He’s wearing a black t-shirt and jeans: it’s simple, nondescript. Nancy finds her eyes drawn to the line of his neck, the curve of his biceps.
Pretty .
She takes that thought and hurls it violently into the very back of her brain.
“Ye-s,” she says, fumbling her way through the word. “Yes. Early day tomorrow.” She pastes a smile on her face.
Ace blinks at her, unconvinced. It’s pointless to lie to Ace; he can read bullshit and body cues almost as well as she can. “Are you going to be okay?”
Nancy exhales a long, slow breath. “I always manage,” she says, and it’s as honest as she’ll get with anybody. It’s more real than she’ll ever let on. “I have Hudson blood,” she mutters, bitterness saturating the words. “We’re hard to kill. Like weeds.”
“No,” Ace says quietly. He pauses as he passes by, reaches out with a careful hand. His fingers ghost over her shoulder. “You’re Nancy. You never go down without a fight.”
“Yeah,” Nancy says quietly, bringing her hand up to touch her shoulder. “Thanks.”
Ace doesn’t look back. “Text me if you need anything.”
The offer is stringless, open. Clear lines, simple and straight. Nancy knows that he won’t ask for anything in return. That’s just how Ace operates, because he’s Ace.
Because they’re friends.
“Okay,” she says again, but Ace has already started his car, already pulled out of the lot and onto the quiet road. She watches his headlights recede into the twilight.
Nancy exhales shakily. She stands there for a while, one hand pressed against her mouth, the other resting on her shoulder.
The moon and the sun hang above her on opposite sides of the horizon. The last ferry crawls by, white and silent as it passes through the waves. There’s no horn this time.
Nancy unlocks her car and drives home.
➳
The first day of her George-imposed ‘ghostcation’ starts at six-fifteen in the morning.
Her alarm goes off, loud and insistent.
“Hngh,” Nancy groans. She reaches out with a wobbly hand, fingers blindly searching for the snooze button. “Ten more minutes.”
The realization that it’s the doorbell that’s going off has her staggering down the stairs, cardigan wrapped haphazardly around her shoulders. “Okay! I’m coming!” Nancy calls, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “God.”
She pulls open the door very slowly. There’s an extremely beautiful man standing on her doorstep. He gives her a very long, very judgmental once-over. Nancy pulls her cardigan more tightly around herself. There’s a piercing in his lip, and his hair is braided neatly down his back.
“Nancy Drew?”
"That would be me,” Nancy replies neutrally. “How can I help you?”
The man smiles. There’s a diamond inlaid on one of his canines. “I think I should be asking you that, Miss Drew.” He reaches into his forest-green blazer, pulls out a black card and hands it to her. “Bronwyn Fen. Pleased to meet you.”
BRONWYN FEN, the font of the card announces in spartan, gold script. DESIGNER, MODEL, STYLIST. 4994.COM.
“Oh,” Nancy says. She looks up. “I thought you were coming at seven.”
Bronwyn clucks his tongue. “Beauty always blooms early, Miss Drew.” He snaps his fingers, and two young women in suits materialize next to him, each holding a handful of clothes. “May we come in?”
One of the women smiles. “You have excellent cheekbones.”
“We’ll have to thread those eyebrows, though,” the other whispers. Bronwyn shoots her a look. She balks. “Sorry.”
This is a terrible idea, Nancy thinks. This might be the most frightening thing I’ve ever done. Aglaeca? Whatever. Being haunted by your own mother? Traumatizing. But this… Nancy pressed her mouth into a flat line and reluctantly steps to the side. “Come in. Please.” This is going to be a whole different kind of horror story.
“Basically,” Bronwyn says, when they’re inside, and Nancy is seated in a chair, “We’re going to give you a makeover. You’ve seen the Princess Diaries, right?”
Nancy stares up at him blankly. She started watching Forensic Files at the age of seven.
“Jesus,” Bronwyn says. “That’s so-okay, don’t worry about it. We’re going to polish you up a bit. I’m going to take your measurements- is that alright?” He squints at her, measuring tape dangling from one hand. “Also, I’m gay.”
“That’s fine,” Nancy says, and then, with a little bit of hesitation: “Congratulations?”
One of the assistants- the one with green eyes and curtain bangs- giggles. “Don’t mind him. He’s just trying to figure out if you’re one of the good Hudson's.”
“Some of them are a bit… ancient,” the other girl adds, rummaging through a bag and pulling out a pair of small, silver scissors. “In age, and mindset.”
“Oh,” Nancy realizes. She balls her fingers up into fists. “No. I have friends who are… I’m not like that at all. I’m really only a Hudson by blood.” She gives Bronwyn a tired smile. “Nothing more.”
Understanding passes over the man’s face. He clears his throat, reaches out, dusts off one of her shoulders. “I think something long would look good on you. Cut low in the back, maybe. Tight around the waist?”
“I don’t really know anything about high fashion,” Nancy admits, feeling rather lost. “Just go with whatever you think is best.”
Bronwyn beams and pats her on the arm. “That’s what your grandmother hired me for, love.”
And then they get to work. It’s terrifying. It’s painful . Nancy is measured, exfoliated, tousled, and threaded within an inch of her life- the entire time, she’s wishing that she were anywhere else.
It’s either this or dying of boredom. Nancy imagines sitting in the house all day, directionless, and shivers. At least she has a spa day to look forward to- and her three shifts at the Claw later in the week.
Text me if you need anything, Ace had said. Nancy yelps as a chunk of her hair is violently yanked upwards.
“Sorry,” Bronwyn says. “You have such nice hair, but it does not want to be tamed.”
Nancy hesitates briefly before sending a text off. They’re going to kill me.
The reply comes almost immediately:
Ace: are you serious?Nancy: no. but this stylist is pulling my hair out
Ace: ahh. princess diaries moment?
Nancy: what the hell is a princess diaries??
Ace: don’t worry about it. we can watch it sometime.
Nancy smiles.
“Aww,” Bronwyn says, peering over her shoulder. “Boyfriend? Cute.”
“No,” Nancy replies immediately. She shoves the phone beneath her leg. “He’s my friend. We’re not like that.” Bronwyn gives her a pitying look. Irritation prickles at her chest, sharp and thorny. “I’m serious. It’s not like that.”
“I believe you,” Bronwyn soothes. He reaches out and pats down one of her curls. “Okay. I think we’re done. Thoughts?” He helps her up, ushers her to the mirror in the hallway.
“Hm,” Nancy manages. “I look…,”
She looks very good. They’ve done something to her eyes and lips, and her skin is smooth and glossy. Her curls are half up, half down: her cheekbones are sharp. She looks both like Nancy and also not like Nancy. The woman in the mirror is all ice and angles. She looks like she could kill.
She turns to Bronwyn, lips slack. He beams at her, pleased. “Battle armor, darling. That’s all it is.” He rubs his hands together, silver rings clanking against one another. “Just wait until we get you into that dress.”
➳
“Oh, yes,” Celia says. She pulls Bronwyn in, ghosts a kiss over both of his cheeks. “You are spectacular.”
“I know,” Bronwyn preens, cheeks flushed a satisfied peach color. “All in a day's work.”
Celia turns to Nancy, gently grabs her by her forearms. “And you are a vision, Nancy.”
“Thank you,” Nancy says quietly. She feels strange, like she’s wearing someone else's skin- and she might as well be. On this property, she’s Nancy Hudson. Nancy Drew has been left behind at the front gates, and it’s where she’ll stay for Nancy’s own peace of mind. Her phone is in her bag, but it’s turned off. “For everything.”
It’s a grey day. The air smells like ozone and wet earth: the perfect recipe for a summer storm. People pull up in sleek black cars, chattering amongst themselves.
Nancy watches them walk over the cobblestones and into the mansion, chest tight. She’s scared that she’ll look like an imposter. She’s terrified that she’ll fit in.
Celia steps ahead, looks back over her shoulder. “It’s fine,” she says, in what Nancy imagines her grandmother believes is a reassuring tone. “You’re one of us.”
Nancy tries not to be sick all over her nice new dress.
“Godspeed,” Bronwyn calls, hands cupped around his mouth. Several people turn to look at him. Nancy smiles. He winks before turning and sliding back into the limo.
Mom, Nancy reaches out, not knowing which one she’s talking to-maybe both. Give me strength.
The doorman nods at her, gaze indifferent. She hands him her coat, and steps through the double oak doors.
It takes approximately ten seconds for Ryan Hudson to swoop in beside her. “Wow,” he says immediately, speaking in that familiar off-beat cadence. “You look great, Nance. Really good.”
“Thanks,” Nancy says, jaw unclenching slightly. Celia has already disappeared into the crowd, her silver hair nowhere to be seen. She’s completely out of her depth, here. There’s a gold chandelier hanging above their heads. What sort of psychopaths buy gold light fixtures? George would lose her mind laughing.
“I’m glad you’re here,” her biological father continues, blissfully ignorant to Nancy’s mental breakdown. “Everyone here is extremely annoying.” He points a finger at an elderly woman wearing a large, feathered hat. “Take Rose Hudson, for example. Avoid her. I’m pretty sure she’s a serial killer.”
Nancy perks up. “Really?”
Ryan groans and smacks a palm against his forehead. “Oh, fu- forget I said that. It was a joke.”
Nancy lets out a non-committal hum. Rose Hudson shuffles over to the drink table. Her steps are surprisingly graceful for someone so frail. Interesting.
Ryan passes a hand over Nancy’s face. “Nance. Nancy. It was a joke.”
“Fine,” Nancy agrees, brushing his hand away, “but you can’t bring me to an event that is objectively full of criminals and then expect me to not do a little investigating.”
Ryan frowns. “Aren’t you on like, a vacation?”
Nancy wrinkles her nose. “How do you know about that?”
Ryan looks off into the distance, eyes hazy. “I have my sources.” Nancy glowers at him. He relents. “Fine. Your other dad told me. He heard it from one of your friends.” Nancy opens her mouth; he raises his hands placatingly. “Don’t ask me which one of them snitched, because I really don’t know.”
Nancy narrows her eyes. I’m willing to be a hundred on Bess. That girl and her borderline- unhealthy obsession with social media…
“What do we have here?”
Ryan stiffens, all warmth draining from his eyes. “Hello, Charity.”
The woman smiles. She’s beautiful- a hungry, ‘mountain lion jumping for your neck’ sort of beautiful. “Ryan.” She turns, focuses her unblinking stare on Nancy. “I take it that this is your elusive daughter?”
“You would be correct,” Nancy says curtly. “And you are…?”
“You have the same eyes,” Charity murmurs, looking between the two. “Very interesting.” She turns slowly, and meanders down the hallway, having ignored Nancy completely.
Nancy watches her go, mouth slightly ajar.
“Don’t worry about her,” Ryan says. She can feel his eyes on her face, trying to read whatever emotions might lie there. “She’s not entirely there, if you get my drift.”
“I’m sensing a pattern here,” Nancy replies, fighting the urge to tug on her hair, “and I don’t like it.” What if she’s inherited some of the Hudson crazy? What if she turns out like Corina, or Rose?
Not all there.
Ryan places a hand on the small of her back and steers her gently through the crowd. “Canap é s.”
Nancy blinks. “What?” Ryan touching her so casually makes her feel odd; it feels almost fatherly. It reminds her of Carson. Something heavy settles in the back of her throat, thick and cold.
“We need canap é s,” Ryan declares. “And wine. In the fancy little glasses.”
“Are you trying to get me drunk?”
“It’s the biggest Hudson secret,” Ryan whispers, bending his head towards hers. “You only walk away sane from family gatherings if you’re a bit tipsy.”
A smile tugs at one corner of Nancy’s mouth despite herself. “That doesn’t sound healthy.”
“We can drink water, too.”
Nancy schools her face into a frown. “In the fancy little glasses?”
Ryan nods sagely. “Obviously. You catch on quick.”
“Well,” Nancy says, “I suppose there’s no other way.”
“Nope.”
➳
Celia finds them sitting on one of the marble staircases. “I’ve been looking for you two for an hour ,” she says, mouth pressed into a flat line. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“Ooh,” Ryan drawls. “How mysterious.”
Celia narrows her eyes. “Are you two drunk?”
“I’m not,” Nancy says immediately. She’s only had two of the tiny glasses of champagne. She is feeling pleasantly buzzed, though. “I’ve been chaperoning.”
“Good lord,” Celia sighs. “Anyone would think that you were the parent here, Nancy.”
Nancy shrugs one shoulder. “Meh. Used to it.”
“Hey,” Ryan says, glaring up at his mother. He’s slurring his vowels. “We were having a father-daughter bonding moment. You wouldn’t understand.”
Nancy turns her snicker into a cough.
“You always were a lightweight.” It might be Nancy’s imagination, but she swears she hears a hint of affection in her grandmother’s voice. “Come on then, Nancy.”
Nancy stands, brushes the crumbs out of the folds in her dress. “Who are we talking to?”
“Oh, someone,” Celia says vaguely. Alarm bells go off inside Nancy’s brain- danger! Danger! Danger! “He’s very nice.”
Run! Nancy’s brain screams. Jump out the window! Nancy does not jump out the window. Instead, she straightens up, expels the nervous tension from her body, and follows Celia through the throng of people.
“Nancy,” Celia says smoothly, “I’d like to introduce you to Antony Babington. A distant relative of the Hudson’s. Extremely distant.”
The canap é s churn dangerously inside Nancy’s stomach.
Antony Babington does not have a third ear, or even a third arm. He is extremely handsome. He has a nice smile. Nancy looks into his eyes and sees no soul whatsoever.
Good lord.
“Hello,” Antony says smoothly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I had no idea that Celia’s granddaughter would be so lovely.”
Nancy forces a smile and shakes his outstretched hand. “Thank you. You have crumbs on your face.”
Something cold flashes across Antony’s face, and is gone just as quickly. “I appreciate that,” the man replies smoothly. He peels off a spotless white glove and brushes away the offending crumb. “Most people don’t bother letting me know about things like this. They’re frightened, I suppose.”
“Oh, I must have forgotten to mention this to you before,” Celia says, eyes calculating. “Antony is the son of a duke. Practically royalty!”
Nancy bites back a round of hysterical laughter. Of course.
Nick was half right, at least. It’s painfully obvious that Celia is trying to set them up.
It was stupid to think that Celia would want to spend time with me. The Hudson's only know the ancient art of give-and-take. Nancy suddenly feels very tired. Antony holds out a hand, face expectant. “Would you like to go on a walk around the gardens?”
Nancy frowns. “Absolutely n-,”
“She would love to,” Celia cuts in, smile wide. “Wouldn’t you, Nancy?” There’s a current of steel under the words: You owe me .
“Yes,” Nancy says slowly, anger twisting bright and red-hot under her skin. She puts her hand in Antony’s. “Why not?” I don’t owe you this much.
Something that sounds suspiciously like a camera’s shutter goes off behind them.
“Well then,” Celia says, checking her watch, “I’ll leave you two to it! Have fun!”
There’s a long, uncomfortable silence.
“I’ve heard that the clematis is blooming wonderfully this time of year,” Anthony says.
Nancy watches Celia’s retreating form and contemplates homicide.
“I can’t believe we’ve never met before,” Antony says for the twelfth consecutive time in a row. “I definitely would have remembered you.”
They’re sitting on a stone bench in the back garden. It’s beautiful, and lush, and green. Antony Babington has been talking her ear off for the past twenty minutes. Nancy deeply, sincerely regrets not drinking more champagne.
Looks like Ryan was right.
“Forgive me if I’m overstepping-,” Antony murmurs, reaching over to touch one of her curls. She freezes as he wraps her hair around his index finger. “-but I’m sensing some real chemistry between us.”
Furious, Nancy whacks his hand away. He stops mid-sentence, mouth agape.
“Listen,” Nancy says lowly, her voice rising in both intensity and volume, “I am not interested in having a relationship with you. Ever.”
She wants to punch him so badly, but that’s a Nancy Drew move- and Nancy Drew was left at the front gates.
Antony stares at her. His eyes are so, so empty. It’s creeping her out. “Why not?”
“Is me not wanting to a good enough excuse for you?”
“Not really, no.”
Nancy is tipsy, and frustrated, and scared. She’s mad at Celia for throwing her to the dogs, mad at herself for agreeing to do this in the first place- but she’s tired most of all. She wants to be at game night at the Claw, playing charades or Clue with her friends. She wants to be anywhere but here, masquerading as a stranger in an alien world.
The words spill out before she can stop them:
“I’m dating someone.”
Antony frowns. “Oh.”
Nancy curls her fingers against the smooth stone of the bench. “Yep! We’re madly in love. It’s pretty romantic. Sorry.”
Antony actually looks confused. He tilts his head and stands, his frown deepening. “I see. Well. My apologies for misunderstanding.”
Nancy’s words are cordial at best. “It’s fine. Thank you for the walk.”
For a moment it seems like Antony is going to do something- try to kiss her maybe, or lunge for her- she’s seen people with eyes like his. Most of them end up behind bars. All he does in the end is nod, bow stiffly in the waist, and disappear back into the row of wisteria bushes.
Nancy waits until he’s gone, waits until the crunch of gravel fades away into silence. It’s only then that she allows a single frustrated tear to slide down her cheek. As if on cue, it starts to rain.
“Great,” Nancy tells the sky, something between a laugh and a sob hiccupping out of her mouth. “Just great. Thanks!”
This ghostcation isn’t going well.
➳
“You’re soaking wet,” Ryan says, brow pinched. He seems to have sobered up considerably- or perhaps he was never that drunk in the first place. “Come here- I’ll lend you my jacket.”
“It’s fine, ” Nancy says, anger burning low and hot inside of her. It’s not directed at him, but it comes out in her words, in the sharp, jerky movements of her fingers as she waves him off. “I think I’m going to go home now.”
Ryan nods wordlessly. He doesn’t ask any questions: Nancy still doesn’t know if she appreciates that or hates it. “I’ll ask one of my drivers to take you back.”
“ Nancy.” Celia’s voice stops the two of them in their tracks. A hush falls over the room. She stalks towards them, mouth pinched. “What on earth happened? Antony just informed me that he was no longer interested in speaking with you, because you apparently have prior engagements.”
“Wait a minute,” Ryan interjects, irritation settling on his face. “Were you trying to hook my daughter up with some guy?”
“He’s a duke,” Celia retorts. Ryan scowls. “And as for you-,” she turns to Nancy, and some of the indignation melts away. “Why on earth didn’t you tell me that you had a boyfriend?”
Ryan’s jaw drops. “ What?”
Come on.
Nancy glares at Celia. “It doesn’t matter. It’s a shitty move on your part to try and force me into whatever the hell that was without asking me first. I’m not a chess piece; I’m your granddaughter, whether I like it or not.” She swallows. “I know I owe you a favor, but I won’t be doing that again- or anything, if you plan to keep using me like that.”
Celia deflates. “I’m sorry,” she says eventually. She’s clearly not used to giving apologies. “I wasn’t trying to use you. I thought you- well. I thought that you might appreciate it.” She sighs. “Antony is very handsome.”
“Yes,” Nancy replies drily. “So I’ve heard.”
“I couldn’t care less about Antony, even if he is a duke,” Ryan says. His voice is too loud. “Who the hell are you going out with?”
Nancy flicks her gaze around the room. There are people eavesdropping, now: they glance over, do their best to pretend like they’re not hanging onto every word being said.
Nancy panics. She doesn’t even think, barely hesitates as the words drop down from her mouth and onto the marble floor.
“Ace. I’m- Ace and I are dating.”
Ryan relaxes. “Oh. From your job?”
“Yes,” Nancy whispers, a deep, heavy sense of horror permeating every bone in her body. “That’s the one.”
Celia looks at Ryan. Ryan shrugs. “He’s a nice enough guy. Had no idea that you two were a thing, though.”
“I like to keep my relationships private,” Nancy manages.
Celia sniffs and pulls out her phone. “Well, that’s surprising. Not to worry- I can pull a few strings with the caterers, add a plus one into the week's events...yes, this will work.”
Nancy freezes, feet rooted to the floor. “What?”
Celia taps at her phone, one brow raised. “I want to meet him, obviously. It would be rude to separate you from your boyfriend all week.”
“That’s fine, really,” Nancy says. She does her best to keep the desperation out of her voice. “He’s really busy with… stuff, and I can manage on my own. It’s only a week.”
Celia smiles. It’s not a nice one. “I insist.”
With a jolt, Nancy understands that Celia doesn’t believe her- thinks that Nancy is bullshitting. (She is.) She’s trying to catch Nancy in the lie, and Nancy can’t let that happen. Not now.
“Sure,” Nancy says. She sucks in a deep, even breath. “Go ahead.”
Nancy is so, so screwed. She’ll figure it out, though: all she has to do is talk to Ace.
Ace, who is very much in a relationship. Ace, who hates the Hudson's. Nancy fights off a shiver and wraps her wet arms around herself. He’ll understand. He always does.
Something tells her that he might be a little less understanding this time around.
➳
Episode Two: The Man with the Sapphire Earring (TBC)