Page 7 of Wicked Prince

"I'm… going to go check on her," she says, standing up and casting a nervous glance my way before she disappears since Dad doesn't try to stop her.

Once we're alone, all I can hear is my heart pounding in my ears. It takes a moment before I'm calm enough to look back at him, but rather than the anger I'm expecting to find, there's only resignation.

"This is why I didn't want you to come here."

Those words are like a knife in my chest, and they cut so much deeper than Natalie ever could.

I refuse to let him see it, though. I keep my head up and my shoulders square, holding eye contact with him even though I know just enough about this world to know that counts as a challenge.

"Whydidyou bring me here at all, then?" I ask, finally voicing the question that's been plaguing me since his invitation. It's all out on the table now, literally and figuratively.

Another heavy sigh as he leans back in his chair. "You're my daughter, whether you like it or not, and now that your mother is gone, I'm all you have. Since you're going to be part of this world, it's time for you to learn your place in it."

"Right," I say through my teeth. "As your 'niece.'"

"The Carillo name comes with its privileges, but it's also a target," he says in a sharp tone. "Why do you think I bought your mother that house all the way across the country?"

"Because you were ashamed," I answer without hesitation. "Don't try to turn this into some bullshit story about how you were protecting us. You were ashamed of her, and you're ashamed of me, so just cut the crap and tell me what my cover story is. It's not like it'll be the first time I ever lied about who my father is."

He narrows his eyes. "Don't," he says in a warning tone. "Just stop before you say something you're going to regret."

"The only thing I regret is that you're my father," I spit. "I've never been ashamed of Mom. Not once. You're the only thing she ever did worth regretting, and when I got old enough to understand that, I told everyone who asked that you were dead. And you know what? I wish you were. I wish it were you instead of her, and I wish I'd never come to this fucking place and met your perfect fucking family, because guess what? You're not the only one who doesn't want me to be a part of it."

He listens the entire time, his face a mask of stone, but he doesn't lash out. Hell, I wouldn't have been surprised if he hit me after that. He never gave me the impression of someone who would as a kid, but it's not like I saw him enough to know for sure. When he finally does speak, his voice is steady and unaffected, and I think that bothers me more than anything.

"Are you finished?"

Rage blossoms in my chest, and I dig my nails into my palms hard enough that I feel blood coming to the surface. "Yeah," I say, wiping the fresh tears off my cheeks. "I am."

"In that case, you're going to listen, and you’re going to listen carefully," he says, leaning in to stare me down. It occurs to me this is probably the last thing more than a few men have seen before they ended up going for a long swim. "You can think whatever you like about me. Believe whatever lies your mother put in your head to poison you against me, or don't. It doesn't matter, because at the end of the day, youaremy daughter. You're blood, and that makes you my responsibility."

"Mom never spoke a bad word about you, but she didn't have to. You painted the picture clearly enough yourself," I say, sounding far more collected than I am. "Blood never meant a damn thing to you back then, so excuse me if it doesn't mean anything to me now. And what if I don't want to be your responsibility?"

Just another creative way of saying I’m a burden. Another lesson I learned early on.

Dad frowns slightly, and there's another long pause before he answers. I have no hope of knowing what's going on in those cold, dark eyes, but I'm sure it's not good. "It doesn't matter. You're here, and that's not going to change, but the academy? Attendance is a privilege, and it's one I'm more than happy to take away if you give me reason."

I can't help the disbelieving laugh that escapes me. "Is that a threat? What, you're going to keep me locked up in a tower somewhere if I embarrass you?"

The fact that his expression doesn't change gives me reason to be concerned that's more than just a wild theory.

"I don't make threats, Amelia. And I don't make a habit of giving the same warning twice. Tomorrow, you have a chance to start over," he says, standing from the table and setting his napkin down. It's a common gesture he manages to turn menacing. "I suggest you take it. Francis will drive you back to the hotel."

With that, he leaves me to mull over his words—and his "warning." I don't know exactly what he plans on doing to me if I don't heed it, but there's one thing of which I have no doubt.

He means every word of it.

ChapterFour

AMELIA

Islept all of two hours last night, torn between bouts of anger and ugly crying after everything that happened at dinner. It wasn'tjustdinner, it was the cumulative effect of everything that has happened since coming to New York. Since Mom's death, if I'm being honest with myself.

Pushing things down and pretending like it's all fine has become my go-to coping mechanism. It was the only way I could make sure Mom didn't add worrying about me to her long list of concerns during those last couple of years. She didn't need to know about the bullying at school, or all the nights I lay awake combing the Internet for journal articles on the latest cancer research, desperately searching for some little shred of hope to grasp onto.

Now that she's gone and the only person I have to worry about protecting is myself, I'm still not sure how to get out of that mode. All these feelings have been bubbling to the surface now that I'm back in Dad's world, even if we've never been further apart, and now I have my anxiety about starting at the academy to compound it.

I tell myself it's not permanent. That I'm not giving in by going through with moving onto campus, but rather biding my time and figuring out the most reasonable course of action. I never imagined my biggest issue would be escaping the man who couldn't be bothered to interact with me most of my life, but I know better than to think it's because he actually cares.

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