Page 98 of Provocation
He shakes his head. ‘He’s in Europe on business again.’
Pulling me into his arms, he breathes in deep, as if he’s trying to memorize the way my hair smells. ‘And don't let Joe get you alone.’
I pull away and give Shade an incredulous look.
‘In a house full of Bandervilles,’ I mutter, ‘it's not going to matter much, is it? Even in your dad’s house, no one came to help. Their staff certainty won’t say anything no matter what happens. No one will intervene.’
I regret my words as soon as I say them. Their expressions turn stricken.
‘I'll be fine,’ I say, trying to muster up a smile, but I think it looks more like a grimace.
I give them each a hug, and then I go downstairs and out the door.
Waiting for me is a black car with a driver in a black suit. He opens the door for me without a word, and I get in.
He drives us slowly away from the KIP house and I try to keep my hands from shaking. I look out the window the entire time, trying not to think about where we’re going and who will be there.
I'm not quite sure where the Banderville estate is, but I know it’s close to my stepfather's house, so when we pass his estate, I steel myself to a hellish afternoon. It's not long before we reach a large wrought iron gate.
It opens automatically as we approach and then the car travels slowly up a long, winding driveway. I know it's almost winter, but everything here looks somehow extra desolate. The trees are bare. The grass grows in thin patches. Even the winter flowers seem muted and subdued, like all the goodness has been sucked up by generations of their terrible family.
We arrive at the house, and the car stops. The driver gets out and opens the door for me.
I put my pleasant smile on my face, pretending that I'm at The Heath.
Yep, that'll do it.
I walk up the stairs to the wide doors slowly. Before I can ring the bell, a portly butler opens the door.
He lets me in, also without a word. It’s like none of them are allowed to speak to me. The large foyer is old-fashioned, and everything is encased in wood paneling. The floor is black and white checkered tiles, and I errantly wonder if they ever play giant chess in here.
The stuffy butler leads me to what Ms. Tramaine would have called a drawing room. There are a couple of elegant cream couches with feet, books along the walls, and a Persian rug in the center of the room with a 1950’s style bar on wheels, which I ignore because I won’t be getting anything fromthat. There's no music and no laughter.
It actually reminds me of the Novelle house, which oddly makes me feel a little calmer because I know where I stand there.
I hear males talking in low voices close by and the butler asks me to please wait a moment.
He goes to the threshold of the next room and announces me.
‘Miss Marguerite Novelle.’
I want to tell him that it's Evans, but I don't.
My game face is well and truly on as I step forward. My mind is quiet.
Joseph Banderville stands, looking every inch the king of his tiny hill, as do his two sons. They’re both here.
Goodie.
I notice two other women as well. They're sitting on the couch close together. Their dresses resemble mine.
‘I see you got my little gift,’ Joe says as he comes forward, his eyes dipping down to my chest.
His smile doesn't reach his eyes. He takes my hand and kisses it. I resist the urge to pull it away, in case he bites me or gives me a disease.
‘It's lovely,’ I demure, the lie tasting like ash on my tongue.
I hate it!I want to scream.You don't know anything about me!
