Page 103 of Prince of Masks
I need a break from this reading.
Before I rip the envelope open, I make sure to tuck the book under the seat of the armchair, where it’s safe and hidden.
I read the letter.
My smile spreads as I do.
It’s from Eric.
‘You told me not to respond, and I didn’t, but I worried, and so here is my agreement.’
Takes my mind a moment to chug into place, it’s so bogged down by all the deadblood text, but when I do remember what I wrote to Eric, to meet at the museum on Monday at 11am, I glance up at the clock on the mantle.
It's already 9am.
My hair is a mop, it carries the faintest scent of rain from yesterday’s drizzle, and it will take me more than an hour to get to the museum.
I throw the letter into the fire and scramble for my walk-in-robe, then—after snatching up a bunch of dresses—I race into my ensuite.
19
I’m scrambling halfway across the foyer when Oliver comes striding down the main hall. “Where are you off to?”
I glower over my shoulder at him. “London.”
His stride is cocky and draped in tailored Versace.
Hands in his pockets, he advances. “I’ll come with.”
I make a face. “No.”
He falters. His brow arches. “No?”
“No,” I echo, firm.
“You’re passing up the opportunity to dip into my allowance?”
“I don’t need your money.”
His mouth tilts into a mocking smile. “How much of your allowance have you spent already?”
I don’t answer that.
A lot. I have spent a lot since Father let me come home early. And that’s of course not counting the gifts I bought for New Year. Monte Carlo really took a club to my black card. In the Metropole Boutiques, I managed to splurge on a gold frame, an antique paperweight that looks like a book, a beaded gown and a new swimsuit.
I probably went over my allowance, but Father doesn’t seem to mind much whenever I do. He’s not so fussed about teaching me the value of money, like he does with Oliver.
Guess that’ll make it harder for me to transition into gentry status.
I grimace at the thought.
Oliver makes a face back at me.
“I’m headed into town anyway,” he says and strides across the foyer for the front doors. He looks over his shoulder at my moody scowl. “You’ll have to ride in the car with me if you want to get to the veil.”
I cross my arms. “I’ll take the Royce.”
He backsteps for the doors. “Mother has the Royce.”
