Page 83 of The Rose (The Godwicks 2)

That was why.

August was standing by her fireplace mantel again, staring at her statue of Aphrodite, which seemed to fascinate him.

“August? Time to go,” Lia reminded.

“This statue,” he said. “Was it always kept in your bedroom?”

“I think. But I’ve seen old photographs where it was on the mantel in the music room before I was born. Then again, I was born in the music room—long story.”

“You were born under a statue of Aphrodite?”

“Big storm,” Lia explained. “Power went out. Roads were flooding. Daddy had to deliver me himself. Music room had a gas fireplace. Daddy needed the light.” She paused. This was an odd topic of conversation. “Why do you ask?”

“Your father bought you the Rose Kylix—”

“Because I love mythology,” she said.

“There are hundreds of kylikes on the market. He bought that one because he was told it was part of Aphrodite’s cult.”

“I suppose...”

“I need to ask your father a few questions.”

“Write them down and I’ll ask him for you.”

Lia dressed quickly in jeans and a red knit jumper. She threw her hair up in a messy bun, and when they were both reasonably presentable she stuck her head out of her suite door.

She looked left, looked right.

“The coast is clear,” she told August. “Just go down to the end of the hall. You’ll see a set of old servants’ stairs. Down those and out the door to the back patio.”

“Where are you going?”

“To breakfast.”

“Right,” August said.

“I’ll see you tonight at nine,” she said.

“If not sooner.” Before she could ask him what he meant by that, he kissed her on the lips and started down the hall.

Lia called for Gogo. He bounded out to her and she had to wrestle with him for a moment or two before she could get him to relinquish August’s shirt. She let him outside for his morning constitutional while she headed down to the family breakfast room.

She entered the breakfast room and stopped in the doorway. August stood at the sideboard, with a plate in his hand as he examined the various foods on offer.

“August,” Lia hissed.

“I was hungry,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

She grabbed the plate out of his hand and pointed at the door.

“Go,” she said in a rasping angry whisper when what she wanted to do was scream.

“I need to talk to your father, remember?”

“I told you I’ll talk to him. Go. Go.”

“Are you telling me to leave or calling your dog?”

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