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“Yeah, maybe keep your phone on. Thanks.” I hung up and blinked at the rack. “That can’t be all mine?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“But it’s Hale’s too, right?”
“No, madam. Mr. Davenport’s wardrobe has been pressed and hung in the guest closet. And Lady Elara’s dresses are in the au pair’s suite.”
“Well shit.” This was going to take much longer than twenty minutes.
It took an hour to unbox and hang everything. Our wardrobe for the wedding was the equivalent of a down payment on a house. In some states, it might have been the entire loan.
Such affluence was sometimes hard to process. No wonder so many people assumed the wealthy had money to burn, but it was still their wealth. Theirs to spend and theirs to withhold. It was not there for the taking by morally bankrupt, degenerate, deadbeat dads.
I’d clearly moved onto the angry stage of grief and had some rage to work through.
I sneezed and reached for another tissue. If these allergies didn’t clear up I was going to look like Rudolf the red nosed reindeer coming down the aisle—alone.
“You’re not sick. It’s obviously the dust from the clothes.”
“Pardon?” Percy appeared, never more than a few feet away even when he was out of sight.
“Sorry. Just talking to myself.”
The butler nodded and disappeared.
I returned to the closet to organize my shoes and bags.
As I organized, my thoughts returned to my father and my jaw tightened. The worst part was that my dad’s deceit touched Hale. That was where I drew the line. These were my Davenports. They were more of a family to me than my father could ever be. I would never let anyone take advantage of them or hurt them.
The doorbell rang and I looked down at my disheveled appearance. I still hadn’t showered and I was already getting visitors?
Percy reappeared. “Your mother has arrived.” I could hear her voice before he finished his announcement.
“Oh, Mylanta, will you look at this place,” my mother’s squawky voice ricocheted off the porcelain tile as she entered the penthouse. “Have you ever seen anything like it?”
Who was she talking to?
“Gorgeous,” said a male voice in an approving tone.
My head perked up. “Tyler?”
“Ray? Where are you, girl?”
I scrambled off the floor where I’d been trying to sort out which shoes went with which outfit and sprinted to greet them.
As soon as I hit the landing, he held open his hands and yelled, “Calamity Bride!”
I squealed and raced down the stairs not stopping until I flung myself into his arms.
He grunted at my not so soft landing. “I see you still have the grace of an inebriated gazelle.”
“They tried charm school. It didn’t take.”
He laughed and stepped back, holding me by the shoulders as he looked me up and down. “Wow, I like the high lights.”
“And the lashes?” I fluttered my extensions.
“You clean up pretty nice. Where’s Elle?”
