They Said I Did Not Belong, So I Won Anyway novel · Chapter 2 of 5

Chapter 2: The Toast That Cost Her Face

At the Blackthorn victory supper, Celeste credits herself for Mara's race entry, but Victor denies it and exposes her lie before the owners and riders until a groom arrives with news of another injured horse.

Celeste lifted her champagne glass and asked the room to applaud the woman who had been fortunate enough to be useful.

The owners at the table turned toward me with polite smiles. The riders watched their plates. Victor sat at the head, cutting the fat from a strip of steak.

I still had dust under my nails from the track.

'To Mara Quinn,' Celeste said. 'A lucky substitute who gave Blackthorn a win when we needed one.'

She waited for the applause.

It came from the far end of the table. Two people joined in because the first two had started. Their hands stopped before the sound reached me.

Celeste's smile held.

'We are very proud,' she continued. 'Though I should be honest. Mara would never have had the opportunity without me.'

Julian sat beside her with one hand near his untouched wine. His face gave the table nothing.

Celeste touched his sleeve before she looked at me.

'I spoke to Victor this afternoon,' she said. 'I told him Mara deserved a chance. He agreed because I insisted.'

There it was.

She wanted the room to believe I owed her the saddle, the win, and whatever came after.

The dining room smelled of roast beef, wet wool, and the flowers someone had put beside the silverware. A footman removed the empty plate from my place before asking whether I had finished.

I had not.

He took it anyway.

'Mara has had a difficult day,' Celeste said. 'A proper meal will help her recover from all that attention.'

'I can eat,' I said.

'I'm sure you can.'

The footman placed a new plate in front of Celeste. He served her from the center dish first, then moved around the table. He left mine until last.

By then, the potatoes were cold.

Victor set down his knife. 'You said you persuaded me.'

Celeste turned toward him with a soft laugh. 'I said I encouraged you to be reasonable.'

'You said you got her the ride.'

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her glass.

'Victor, surely we don't need to pick over wording at supper.'

'You picked it.'

The room settled.

A man across from me, one of the visiting owners, leaned toward his wife and whispered, 'That's the girl from the cheap circuit, isn't it?'

His wife glanced at my boots. 'Apparently she rides well enough when someone gives her a chance.'

They had both looked at the race program before dinner.

My name was printed under Blackthorn's colors.

No one used it.

I cut into the cold potatoes and kept my eyes on the plate.

Celeste had seen me do that before. She thought it meant I was grateful.

'Victor has always been generous with talent,' she said. 'I only made sure he noticed it.'

'No,' Victor said.

Celeste's smile moved a little higher. 'No?'

'I noticed Quinn in the paddock. I put her on the horse.'

'You were under pressure.'

'I still chose her.'

A chair shifted near the fireplace. Rory Keane sat there with a cup of tea and a folder on his knee. He watched Celeste instead of Victor.

I filed that away.

Rory had once put his name beneath mine and told Victor I had the cleanest safety record he had reviewed in a decade.

He did not look at me now.

'Well,' Celeste said, 'we all made the same decision in the end.'

'No,' Victor said again.

This time he looked at me.

'Mara Quinn paid the emergency fee. She took the risk. She won the race.'

The room changed without anyone moving.

The visiting owner stopped chewing. His wife lowered her fork. One of the younger riders looked at my boots, then at the black silk runner beneath the plates.

Two hundred dollars had left my riding purse that afternoon.

Celeste had spent none of it.

She set down her glass. 'I never said I paid the fee.'

'You said you got her the opportunity.'

'And I did help create a climate where Victor could make that choice.'

Victor looked at her for a long moment. 'You made a toast.'

'I was being gracious.'

'You were taking credit.'

Her cheeks stayed smooth. Her eyes moved to Julian.

He had been listening with his hands folded beside his plate. He looked at Celeste now.

'You told me Victor refused her first,' he said.

Celeste's expression did not change.

'He was reluctant.'

'He wasn't.'

'Julian, you weren't in the office.'

'Neither were you.'

The woman beside the visiting owner made a small sound and covered it with her napkin.

Celeste turned back to me. 'Mara, you understand how these things work. A stable cannot put every promising rider into a major field. Someone has to make the case.'

'You made one for yourself,' I said.

Her smile thinned.

The words had come out before I could weigh them. That was fine. They were true.

Celeste reached for the serving spoon and placed a slice of bread on Julian's plate. He had not asked for it. She brushed a crumb from his cuff afterward.

Her hand remained there for a second.

He moved his arm away.

She picked up her wine.

'You're being defensive,' she said. 'I understand. Women in your position often mistake assistance for insult.'

'Women in my position pay their own fees.'

The rider at the end of the table looked down quickly.

Victor's mouth shifted. It was not a smile. It was close enough to make the young rider notice.

Celeste saw it.

She had expected me to thank her. She had built the whole toast around that expectation.

'No one is denying your effort,' she said. 'You rode one race. That doesn't make you part of Blackthorn.'

'It makes me the rider who won it.'

'For Blackthorn.'

'Under my name.'

Julian's eyes came to me.

I kept cutting the potatoes. The knife scraped porcelain.

Celeste leaned back. 'Your confidence is impressive.'

'It had to be.'

A quiet laugh came from the younger rider before he caught himself. His father gave him a warning look.

Celeste's gaze settled on him. He stopped smiling.

She turned to Victor. 'You see what I mean. She doesn't understand gratitude.'

'I don't pay riders to be grateful,' Victor said. 'I pay them to ride.'

'And if she wants another mount?' Celeste asked.

Victor reached for his wine. 'She asks Rory.'

Rory lowered the folder onto his knee.

Celeste's eyes went to him. 'Rory, surely you agree that one fortunate result needs to be treated carefully.'

Rory took a sip of tea. 'Every result needs to be treated carefully.'

'You vouched for her.'

'I did.'

'Then you must understand why Victor should not be rushed into making promises.'

'I didn't ask him to make one.'

'You wrote that she was exceptional.'

'I wrote what I reviewed.'

Celeste looked back at me. 'How fortunate that your review survived the pressure of a real race.'

Rory's cup touched the saucer.

He still watched her.

That was the second thing I filed.

A server came behind me with a basket of fresh rolls. He paused when he saw the empty space where my first plate had been.

'Would you like another serving, ma'am?' he asked.

'No, thank you.'

Celeste glanced at the plate. 'She has barely eaten.'

'I said no.'

The server nodded and moved on. His eyes stayed on my jacket, then the place card with my name on it.

He had expected me to be staff.

Nobody corrected him.

Victor put his fork down. 'Quinn stays at Blackthorn through the meet.'

The room looked at him.

Celeste's hand stopped halfway to her glass.

Victor continued. 'Rory gives her the available mounts. She rides what she gets.'

That was more than I had been offered when I arrived.

It was not a contract. It was not enough for Dani. It was a place at the table, though someone had already taken my plate.

I had spent the last of my spare money on the entry fee and the fuel to get here. I had washed my jacket in a motel sink before supper. I had used the small mirror above the tack room basin to pin my hair back.

I had let myself believe this might become steady.

The belief had lasted until Victor finished speaking.

'How generous,' Celeste said.

Victor looked at her. 'Don't make it sound temporary.'

'Everything at Blackthorn is temporary when the numbers turn.'

'You know the numbers?'

Her lips parted.

Julian looked at her before she answered.

She closed her mouth again.

The visiting owner lifted his glass. 'To the new rider, then.'

It was an attempt to repair the meal. Nobody wanted to sit inside Celeste's mistake.

I raised my water.

'I'll drink to the horse,' I said. 'She did most of the work.'

This time, the laugh reached the whole table.

It was short. It was real.

Celeste did not join it.

The horse had been hers to overlook. The race had been mine to finish.

Her smile stayed in place while the room stopped treating her as the person who had given me my chance.

Julian watched me over the rim of his glass. Something had shifted in his attention. He was no longer waiting for me to be grateful.

He was measuring what I would do next.

I gave him nothing to use.

'Mara,' he said.

His voice was low enough that the others had to stop talking to hear it.

'You should eat.'

'I tried.'

'You were interrupted.'

'I'm used to it.'

His gaze went to the cold potatoes, then the empty place setting beside my elbow.

He picked up his own plate and set it in front of me.

The steak was untouched. So were the green beans.

Celeste looked at his hand.

'Julian,' she said, 'that is unnecessary.'

'It is food.'

'You don't know whether she wants it.'

'I asked.'

He had not asked.

That was the point.

I pushed the plate back toward him. 'Keep it.'

His fingers stopped on the edge.

'You need to eat.'

'You need to stop telling me what I need.'

His eyes held mine.

The room went still again, but this silence belonged to us.

Then he drew the plate back. 'Fine.'

Celeste looked pleased for half a second.

Julian picked up his fork and began eating from it.

He did not look at her.

The younger rider failed to hide another laugh. His father kicked him beneath the table.

Victor reached for the roast. 'Rory, have the morning schedule on my desk before six.'

'It will be there.'

'And keep Quinn away from the medicine corridor unless you send her.'

Celeste's gaze moved to me.

The red tag remained fixed to the cabinet latch down the hall. Its number was still in my head.

'Understood,' Rory said.

He looked at Celeste when he said it.

I kept my face blank.

The doors at the far end of the dining room opened hard enough to strike the wall.

A young groom stumbled inside, mud on his boots and straw caught in his hair.

'Rory,' he said. 'Mr. Blackthorne.'

Every fork stopped.

The groom gripped the doorframe, fighting for enough air to speak.

'It's another horse. He can't put weight on the leg.'

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