Page 35 of Wicked Prince

I can't help but laugh. "No, just my dad."

A look of understanding crosses his face and he nods. "The worst kind of boy trouble there is."

"No argument there," I say, sighing.

"You want to talk about it?" he offers, sitting back against the headboard and kicking off his loafers before he props his feet up on the bed. "I make one hell of a replacement therapist."

I laugh. "I'm sure you do." I pause, not quite able to believe I'm actually contemplating what I am. "How good are you at keeping a secret?"

His eyes widen slightly. "Are you kidding? Gay son of a mob boss here. Keeping secrets was my primary MO for the first decade and a half of my life."

I chew on my bottom lip, trying to decide how to phrase it best. "My dad wants me to come to dinner to meet my sister's boyfriend and his family."

Anthony listens intently, but I can tell he's confused. "And that's… a bad thing?" he asks warily.

"Not inherently," I answer. "But he prefers to pretend like I don't even exist until it's convenient for him, and for whatever reason, he's decided it is tonight."

"Oh," he says, nodding sympathetically. "So he's one of those. But why would he want to pretend you don't exist?"

I take a deep breath and let it out slow. "Let's just say I am proof that my father isn't the paragon of virtue he pretends to be. Relatively, at least."

Anthony grimaces. "Oh. So he's a manwhore."

"That's certainly one way to put it," I answer.

"Wait… I thought you said your family sent you here?" he asks, and I can see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

I take another breath. "Yeah, I might have left out a few pertinent details about my origin story. Which is where the whole discretion thing comes in."

I can tell he's hanging on my every word as he makes a motion like he's zipping his mouth shut. "I practically have a major in discretion. Scout's honor."

I raise an eyebrow. "You don't really seem like the Boy Scout type."

He flashes me a toothy grin. "My word is good all the same."

I know there's a good chance I'm making a huge mistake, but the truth is, I trust Anthony. At least as much as I'm incapable of trusting anyone, and if I don't tell someone the truth, I'm going to lose my mind. If nothing else, maybe he can give me some perspective on how to handle this whole thing. He's been in this world a lot longer than I have.

"Miceli Carillo isn't just my uncle-in-law or whatever," I say carefully. "He's my father."

I feel like I just dropped a bomb, and when Anthony's jaw literally drops open, it's even worse.

"Holy shit," he finally says after what feels like an hour of silence.

"Thanks, really glad we're having this moment of confidence," I quip.

"Sorry. Just going to take a second to process the shock. Please, continue."

"There's not really that much more to tell," I say with a shrug. "My mom was a maid working for my dad when she had me, and he was pretty quick about shipping us both off to the other end of the country to keep his wife happy."

"Damn, that's cold," he mutters. "Even for this world."

"There's a reason he's at the top, I guess."

It occurs to me that I feel more embarrassment than anything when I say those words, and I hate myself for it. I don't want to be embarrassed of who I am, or where I came from. Not on my mother's side of things, at least. But when you've lived your whole life as a skeleton in someone else's closet, the shame is hard to just shake off.

"So that means Kayleigh…"

"Is my half-sister," I answer. "And she hates my guts, so that's fun."

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