Page 9 of A Princess, Stolen
“None at all.” I thought of the quiet ride in the limousine. “We entered through the back and came in here through the staff entrance. No press like you said.”
Dad frowned. “Nobody trying to pin a child on me, really? Nobody claiming to be my daughter or son?”
I chuckled. “No inheritance hunters, no. And nobody who called me out for eating one of our employees’ monthly salary for lunch.”
“Well…taunts are the downside of money,” Dad said with a sigh, but it didn’t sound like he truly regretted it.
For the next half hour, I nodded and smiled as I accepted personal congratulations, trying to look excited and happy for Dad’s sake even though I was uncomfortable. Dad had invited the entire upper class. Influential judges, renowned lawyers, members of the House of Representatives, and other politicians; all with their families, of course.
As Dad was chatting briefly with Mr. Strickland, one of his company lawyers, his daughter, Penelope, came running toward me.
“Willa, you ‘Belle de Jour,’ where did you leave theBeast?” She grinned, looking at the yellow dress and hugging me. “All the best, pretty bitch.”
“Thanks!” We both knew which of us was thebitch, so I didn’t mind the flippant words even though such verbal rudeness always shocked me a little. Dad and I never talked like that. “You look beautiful,” I added because I knew she liked to hear it, and I meant it. She was wearing a velvet blue cocktail dress with her long hair flowing softly around her shoulders like shimmering gold seaweed. Her strange handbag, however, looked as if it had once been a boa constrictor.
“The dress is new, from Plazane.” Penelope beamed, which made her green eyes shine. “And I bought the bag there too!” I didn’t say anything about the bag, but she didn’t notice because she immediately carried on talking. “Will, you have to look at Lawrence! He’s wearing Armani and he looks amazing. Did I tell you that he is going to be on the cover ofMister Manhattannext month? And theNew York Timeswants to interview him because he’s the youngest Harvard student ever!” Penelopestarted babbling, but that didn’t bother me. Besides Delilah, she was my only friend, or at least the only one who I was certain didn’t like me simply because of Dad’s billions. Firstly, her family had enough money of their own, and secondly, she put up with too many of my quirks. For example, we were never alone when we met outside the house. When we went out to eat or shopping, Dad and my bodyguards were always there, and I never visited her at home. She had to come to me for movie nights and spa days.
Now she pulled me by the arm to a group of young people who were standing in front of the stage at the other end of the hall. I knew most of them from our parents’ countless charities, and of course, Lawrence had been there too. “We’re going to the new place on Westend Street on Wednesday.”
“What new place?” I didn’t really want to join them.
“Jesus, Willa Rae, you truly are living on the moon! The whole Upper East Side has been talking about Seven Stories for weeks!”
“I haven’t been.” But I wasn’t part of the Upper East Side either. And I didn’t go out.
Penelope shook her head disapprovingly. “I could get you a fake ID and then you could come with me.”
“Thank you, but I’m not interested. Besides, Dad wouldn’t allow it.”
“Can’t you sneak out? Just for once?” Penelope batted her eyelashes and I laughed.
“I can’t slip out without giving our doorman a sleeping pill. Besides, I don’t want to go with you anyway. Especially not with those Upper East Side snobs around.”
“Hey, you’re talking about Lawrence too!”
“Okay, I’m officially excluding Lawrence from the snobs. Still, I don’t want to go.”
Penelope stopped and raised her hands theatrically. “Don’t complain to me if you end up a wrinkled old spinster in Daddy’s tower one day and not even old sack Smith would touch you!”
I had also stopped and looked at her reproachfully. “Now I have terrible images in my head.”
Penelope grinned wickedly, downed her champagne, and immediately grabbed a new flute from the next waitress. “Pretty good stuff! Really, Willa, you and I should…”
“We shouldn’t keep the guests waiting any longer,” Dad interrupted cheerfully. He offered me his arm and I linked arms with him. “I heard Judge Warren is waiting impatiently for the first course.”
Penelope and I laughed. Judge Warren weighed over three hundred pounds. I was also glad that Dad had saved me from Lawrence and the others, who all thought I was odd. Nice, but odd.Stupid idiots! They were just as weird with their constant talk about hedge funds, illicit affairs, and designer shops.
Dad stopped in the middle of the dance floor. “Ladies and gentlemen!”
I pulled my arm back. People crowded around us and it grew church quiet as it always did when Dad raised his voice.
He greeted the guests nonchalantly and, as always, found the right tone between serious and cheerful.Billionaires, he always said,are masters of small talk mixed with depth so that they never seem superficial. When he told the story of how he once gave me a gigantic paint box for my birthday, I blushed but still had to smile. That night, with brushes and tubes of paint, I had conjured up a fresco of green water, morning-red mist, and swamp cypresses on my four walls, which had previously been eggshell-colored. Dad had found me that morning, sleeping on the floor in a puddle of oil paint: “The child was covered in river green, morning red, and silver, just like the walls.” Everyone laughed. Me too.
The fresco still existed. After Dad had recovered from the initial shock, it was allowed to stay, and I had perfected it over the years. My southern room, I called it.
After Dad’s speech, I thanked the guests for coming, for their congratulations, and, above all, for their donations. “Now I’m asking you to take a seat,” I finished stiffly. I had memorized my few sentences by heart because, unlike Dad, I did not enjoy speaking in front of a large audience, but Dad nodded contentedly anyway.
“Everything you’re served is guaranteed to be nut and egg-free, but it’ll look exactly like what the others have on their plates,” he whispered to me as we sat down at a table for five with Penelope and her parents.
