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The Penmayne woman snaps her fingers, and a servant comes running out of the mansion to stand next to her, summoned. And that’s all the Penmayne woman needs from us, apparently. As soon as the servant reaches her, she spins around and glides back into the main building – gone in a flash.
Seen and not heard, huh? Message received.
“Come with me,” the servant says to Mom and me. “I’ll take you to the maid’s quarters and show you around the main building where your duties will be.”
We follow her inside the Penmayne mansion.
“Who was that woman?” I ask Mom, whispering so as not to be picked up by any of the endless members of this billionaire family who might be prowling about.
She glares back at me. “That’s Alda Penmayne. Or Mrs. Penmayne to you and me. She’s the matriarch of the Penmayne family – the one married to Waylen Penmayne.”
“So, she’s the boss?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Well, she was pretty damn scary.”
“No more cursing, Emma.”
“Sorry.”
The main foyer of the mansion has an impossibly large staircase that sweeps up to the higher levels. There are so many pieces of expensive-looking artwork on the walls and fancy furniture placed everywhere. This place was designed to intimidate guests, and it’s working its terrifying charm on me already.
What have we gotten ourselves into?
The bag I’m still wheeling behind me is getting heavier by the second, and so I start to drop back behind Mom and the servant summoned to guide us. I’m really starting to struggle here as we head down some impossibly long hallway. The carpet beneath my feet makes me feel like I’m slowly sinking into the ground with every step I take. Sweat is rapidly building on my cheeks. I’m even beginning to grunt with effort like an old man in a mine.
And then, I trip over.
Crap.
I fall face-flat on the carpet. Mom and the servant are too far ahead now to even notice my collapse.
Great. I’m on my own.
And I notice the fairy tale book I was holding onto has slipped out of my hand and it slides across the floor.
I hear a footstep.
I look up. Someone is standing over me, and they’re picking up the book.
Okay, I’m not on my own.
It’s the boy from the window - the one I’m betting is a Penmayne brother.
Now that he’s close up, I can see him more clearly. He’s got steel-blue eyes, just like his mother. Whiskey brown, parted hair that has the perfect amount of wave coursing through it. Square, sharp cheekbones. Arched eyebrows. Square jaw. Broad shoulders. He would be the perfect specimen for a promising football star if it weren’t for the glasses he’s wearing. They fit him well – better than any other teenage boy my age - making him look very intelligent and sophisticated and academicallycool.
He glances down at the cover of the book and smiles in recognition at the title, then he looks at me lying sprawled on his family’s rug.
“I know this one,” he says to me, nodding at the book cover. His voice is slow and melodic, oozing with a quiet confidence. “It’s the story of a girl who cleans and is noticed by a prince at a ball.”
I just nod in response.
“She loses a slipper on the stairs but is found by the rich prince,” the boy continues, “who has meticulously searched the entire kingdom just for her...”
Even though I’m in such an embarrassing and cringe-worthy position, I can’t help but recall what his stern mother laid down to Mom and me outside.Seen and not heard.And that’s why I don’t dare utter a comeback to this heir of a billionaire.
He offers his hand to me. I grab it, and he easily lifts me back to my feet. I sense the physical strength and power in him right away. He hands the book back to me. I snatch it in an awkward hurry and hide it by my side.
