Page 6 of Wicked Prince

"So," Dad says, clearing his throat. Natalie was in the middle of a sentence, but while she narrows her eyes at the interruption, she doesn't say anything. I guess she just takes her anger out on the servants. "You girls will be starting at the academy at the same time. Kayleigh, I trust you'll show Amelia around. Keep an eye out for her."

"Sure, Dad," she says, sounding surprisingly… eager. Now I feel like shit for assuming she was just like her mom. I hate it when people assume I'm anything like our father.

"I still don't know why you'd bother," Natalie says, cutting into her steak with even greater aggression than she showed the kid who dared to brush against her arm. "She's not cut out for Bainbridge."

I stop chewing and look over at Dad, who's blank as ever. It's not like she's saying anything I don't already know, but I guess I was expecting more passivity with her aggression. I'm not even worthy of that.

"Natalie. That's enough."

"It's the truth," she says, looking right at me. She's put back four glasses in the last fifteen minutes, so it looks like what little filter she has is finally slipping off. I wish Dad had just let her keep talking about her socialite bullshit. "Look at her. She can't even dress decently for dinner, and you want her representing the family at Bainbridge."

"I said that's enough," Dad says in a tone that makes the room go dead silent, even though he doesn't actually raise his voice. He pauses, whether for dramatic effect or just to think through his words since I'm pretty sure he's never spoken out of turn in his life. "But it does bring me to what I wanted to talk to you about, Amelia."

I freeze, suddenly finding myself the center of attention. Even the servants lingering in the room in case someone has a whim to attend to are giving me pitying looks. Something about his words unsettle me more than Natalie's attack.

"What do you mean?" I ask, against my better judgment.

If I had any damn sense, I'd get up from the table, walk out of the mansion, and never look back like my mother did nineteen years ago. This place isn't for me, and everyone from the head of the house to the servants to the mice in the walls knows it.

I'm a legal adult. Even if I don't have a clue what else I'd be doing with my life if it wasn't this, Icouldjust walk away, but I don't. Instead, I sit there and wait for the purpose of this evening to come together. For whatever bombshell he's decided to drop on me now.

"You're registered as Amelia Donovan," he begins, his voice stiff like this is a speech he's practiced and never got quite right. The pregnant pause after those words makes it clear I'm supposed to have formed some conclusion from them.

And I have. But I'm not above playing dumb, if only so he has to come out and say it. That, and I'm not sure I can hold back the tears burning my eyes any longer if I speak now.

When he realizes I'm not going to make his dirty work any easier, Dad heaves a weary sigh and continues. "I think it's best for now if you don't go around advertising our relationship."

"Our relationship?" I echo, staring at him in disbelief. When I realize he's not joking, I can't keep the tears back anymore, or the words that will be far more damning. "You make it sound like I'm another one of your mistresses, not your fucking daughter."

"Amelia!" he bellows.

"It's the truth," I snap, throwing my napkin onto my plate as I get up from my chair. "I should have known this was a setup."

"Sit down," he orders before I've taken even a step away from the table.

I freeze in spite of myself, because as much as I don't want to admit it, I’m afraid of him. And that might be part of the reason I'm here in New York to begin with, but not all of it. Deep down, I know there's still part of me that was hoping he had finally decided I was something more to him than a burden he could put away on a shelf and take out whenever it suited him, which is rare enough.

When I look at the door, I realize one of the servants has moved to stand in front of it. He's not as big as Francis or Dad, but he's more than sturdy enough to stop me if I try to leave. And it becomes clear to me that Dad isn't above that.

Fuming, I sit back down because if I don't, I think I'm going to claw someone's eyes out. Maybe I did inherit a few more traits from Dad than I want to believe. I refuse to look at him, though. At any of them.

"This wasn't supposed to be a drama," he says gruffly. "It's for your own good as much as anything."

"Does anyone know?" I ask, still staring down at the patterns on the rim of my plate, my gaze tracing the endless loop of the vines to focus my anger before it leads to something I'm going to regret. Not something I'll feelguiltyfor, but definitely regret.

Dad is silent long enough that I look up to find him frowning. "Does anyone know what?" he asks.

"That I exist," I answer, wiping my eyes before I force myself to hold his gaze.

He clenches his jaw, but his continued silence is answer enough. When he finally speaks, it's not an answer to my question, but rather another I haven't even asked.

"The Headmaster and a few select staff members know who you are. As far as everyone else is concerned, you're my step-niece who's moving here to attend the academy."

"Do I get a fake ID with the cover story?" I ask bitterly. "Should I dye my hair bimbo blonde, too? Maybe fake a Jersey Shore accent?"

"You ungrateful little—" Natalie's hiss cuts off as Dad holds up a hand, but the fire in her eyes makes it clear she's not going to let it die that easily. Instead, she gets up from the table, tosses her half-full wine glass onto her plate so it spills over everything, and storms out of the room.

Kayleigh looks after her mother and seems distressed, but not nearly enough for what just happened, so I assume this is far from the first tantrum that has occurred at the family table. She hesitates, like she's not sure what to do.

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