Page 4 of Wicked Prince

"Evening, Ms. Donovan."

"Hi, Francis," I say, slipping into the back seat. I know he's not one for casual chatter, but maybe tonight will be different. Either way, I'm too nervous not to try.

Once we've been on the road a bit, I venture to ask, "So, you know Natalie?"

Not the subtlety I was going for. Oh, well.

He gives me a glance in the rearview mirror and raises an eyebrow. "I've worked for your father and Mrs. Carillo for many years, yes."

"What's she like?"

It seems like a normal enough question, but nothing is normal in the mob world. Everything has to be viewed through a lens of suspicion and the arbitrary yet unflinching rules of etiquette that govern it.

"She's a very sophisticated woman," he says carefully.

That's just about the vaguest answer I could have received, but I guess I'll take it. "On a scale of one toMeet the Fockers, how awkward is tonight going to be?"

To my amazement, there's actually a hint of amusement in his dark eyes before he turns his focus back on the road. "Somewhere in between."

"Good to know," I sigh, sinking back into my seat for the rest of the ride.

Even though I've never actually been to the mansion, I know it the moment we approach the stately white stone structure. There are two turrets on either side of the mansion and a wraparound deck. Given the transplanted palm trees in the back of the lot, I'm guessing there's a pool, too.

The twinge of bitterness I feel is downright petty in comparison to everything else I could be upset about. Still, I can't help but remember all the times Mom drove me thirty minutes to the nearest crowded town pool for swim lessons even when she felt like shit from chemo.

Meanwhile, my father has been living like an urban sheikh.

Francis comes around for my door, which I'm still not used to. I've been driving myself since I was old enough to get my permit at fifteen, but I guess that's not something I have to worry about in the city anyway. He walks me past the wall of tall shrubs that surround the property and up to the front door. He rings the bell before he steps back and waits with his hands folded in front of him. It's the standard stance for mob muscle, I've realized.

A moment later, a housekeeper answers the door. She's a pretty woman in her seventies or thereabouts, and she has kind eyes as she looks at me over the threshold. Guess Natalie learned her lesson about hiring busty young "help" around my father.

"You must be little Amelia," she says in a warm voice, reaching out to take my hands.

"I'm not sure about the little part, but I'm definitely Amelia," I say with a nervous laugh.

"Come, come, it's cold and you must be freezing," she says, ushering me into the great hall.

I glance over my shoulder at Francis and give him an awkward wave. He doesn't return it, but he smirks a little, which I decide is pretty good coming from him.

The main entryway is so huge my steps echo, and I feel a wave of vertigo as I turn to look around me and take in the winding stairway that wraps up through the atrium in the center of the house, giving a glimpse at the three floors above.

"Wow," I murmur.

"It's quite the sight to take in at first," the housekeeper says in a knowing tone. When I look back at her, I realize she's studying me with a nostalgic gaze. "Good heavens, those eyes. You really are the spitting image of Vivian."

My eyes widen in surprise. Not just because I expected the staff to be cold toward me as well, but also because I'm surprised anyone remembers Mom here. "You worked together?"

"We certainly did. She wasn't much older than you when she came here," she says, smoothing down a few strands of silver hair that have come loose from her bun. "It may come as a shock with my girlish figure, but I was in my fifties even then."

I can't help but smile. "What's your name?"

"Oh! Look at me. Forgetting my manners," she says with a chuckle. "I'm Linda, but everyone calls me Lindy. And I know you won’t remember this, but we met when you were just a tiny little thing."

"Linda," I murmur. "Mom used to talk about you all the time. I should have guessed."

"She was a real sweet girl, your mother," she says with a wistful sigh, touching my arm. "For what it's worth, I'm so sorry. We all were."

Something tells me she's talking about the staff rather than the family, but I nod. "Thanks. Me, too."

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