Page 57 of The Princess and the Fraud

“Just coffee, dear.”

It was strange that he came all the way to the tearoom for coffee—especially when coffee was free in the country club’s lobby—but I nodded. “You can sit here.” I gestured to the table I’d just wiped down. “And I’ll be right back with that coffee.”

“Take your time.”

The carafe sat behind the breakfast bar, but I uncapped it and topped it off to ensure it was still hot. Or, if I was being honest, I was buying time. I tried to hide behind the coffee machine, eyeing Mr. Holland. He sat patiently, peering out the window that looked over the golf course, drumming his fingers on the tabletop like he had all the time in the world. Not the impatient tap of a man who needed caffeine—no, he was waiting for something.

Or was that my paranoia talking?

“Here’s that coffee for you, Mr. Holland.” I gingerly placed the teal mug in front of him; I’d rather die than let it spill. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything?—”

“Do you have a few minutes to spare?” he asked, hooking a finger around his mug’s arm, but not lifting it. “Sit with me.”

I definitely wasn’t paranoid. “Oh, I—I’ve got a few other tables?—”

“I’m the only one in here.”

“To clean,” I rushed to finish.

“Sit down until service picks up.” The way Mr. Holland spoke didn’t leave much room for interpretation—he wasn’t asking. “It works out that it’s a quieter morning. I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Red flags, alarm bells, bad signs—they were all throwing up left and right. He knew. He knew I was in the music hall yesterday, that Aaron and I had overheard The Wallet’s conversation of dooming the charity. He had to know. We had been caught.

Excuse, excuse, excuserang through my mind in a desperate sprint, but I couldn’t come up with one. All rational fled my brain, and I sank into the seat across from Mr. Holland as if I were sinking into my grave.

It was the first time that I noticed his expression was soflat. Neutral should’ve been a good sign, but there was no hint of warmth.

I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop, I practiced in my head, frantic.I was just—getting a head-start on cleaning after lunch. Why didn’t I come out when you first started talking? Why was Aaron Astor with me? Well, uh—well, you see?—

“Lovisa,” Mr. Holland began, picking up his coffee. He stared into the black depths. “Did Caroline tell you that my son is coming home this weekend?”

My son. This wasn’t about the music hall?Wait. This was aboutGrant? “T-This weekend?” My voice was a weak squawk. “I thought he was coming home for the fundraiser… next weekend.”

“He’s arriving a week early to spend time with his mother.” He took a sip of his coffee, slow, unbothered. “He’ll be staying at the hotel for the week he’s here.”

He would be staying at the hotel… right next door. “I see.”

“With his girlfriend.”

Each time I thought the carpet was being pulled out from underneath me, there was another tug. I refocused on Mr. Holland, but he wasn’t even looking at me. He sipped his coffee again, looking out the window I’d placed him beside. I didn’t know what the appropriate response should’ve been. “How… lovely.”

He replaced his coffee to the table, hard enough for the black depths to nearly jostle over the rim. “I don’t have to worry about you, do I, Lovisa?”

And there it was—the ultimate tug. My stomach dropped with it, and it felt like I was freefalling into open space instead of sitting in the chair. Thank God I had taken the seat when he told me, because had I been standing when he spoke, I would’ve collapsed anyway. My words were a breathless whisper. “I… Excuse me?”

“Let’s skip the pretending, hmm? I know about your history with Grant.”

For the entire duration of my relationship with Grant, we’d kept it a complete secret from almost everyone. Everyone but Caroline and Annalise. No one else knew. Not even the friends Grant had outside of the club. Grant never brought me to his house, maintained boundaries at the club. Despite our relationship lasting four years, since Grant had been away to college for over half of it, it hadn’t been too hard to keep under wraps.

It’d been a secret we’d kept so well that no one ever suspected. Except, apparently, his father.

I should’ve run when I had the chance.

“I haven’t brought up my concerns with anyone. Not Mr. Roberts, not my wife, and not my daughter. I’d rather discuss it with you first and decide if I need to bring others into this.”

My chest tightened, like a balloon trapped inside pumped larger and larger with every single word out of his mouth. As it inflated, the air pushed my lungs to the side, crushing out the oxygen from them.Mr. Roberts—your boss, he said without saying.My wife—who is on the board of directors, he said without saying.

I could have your job in a second, he said without saying.

---