Page 24 of Deposed

I cast my gaze at Henry’s slacks and polo shirt. “Do I look alright?”

“Relax. They’ll love you.” He opened the door and stepped out. Unlike Edward, he didn’t turn around to offer his hand.

I rolled my eyes and stepped out of the limo. He could be a spoiled, selfish brat at times. Henry stood at the door and stared into what looked like a retina scanner. At the same time, he pressed one of this thumbs onto a fingerprint scanner and spoke a long code of numbers, letters, and words. Eventually, the door clicked open, and we both stepped into a brightly lit corridor with another door at its end.

“This is a lot of security.” I glanced at a camera hanging from the corner of the wall like a bat.

“It’s the family entrance for when the store is closed,” he replied.

We passed through a maze of hallways sectioned by security doors that either required a fingerprint, a retina scan, or a short intercom conversation with the security staff. I wondered if the Whitehouse had this level of security. Then we reached an elevator that took us straight to the fifth floor.

It opened up into what I could only describe as a drawing room, but it was the size of our common room in Elder House. Gold leaf paper covered a wall decorated with pillars of black marble. In each section between the pillars hung oil paintings of women in formal wear. One of them had the same nose and golden hair as Henry. Within the room, about a dozen maroon sofas, edged with gold thread were arranged around walnut low tables, and the whole ensemble was lit by a combination of crystal table lamps and matching chandeliers. My fingers flew over my mouth to cover a gasp. Because of Mom’s marriages, I was no stranger to opulence, but this had a stately flair I’d never seen outside of magazines.

Henry finally took my hand and led me around the edge of the room to another door, which opened into a hallway. “It’s over here.”

“Is this your family’s apartment?” I asked.

“That room is mostly for entertaining. Mum and Dad stay here whenever they’re in London.” At the end of the hallway, he rang a bell. The hand holding mine let go, and his hand snaked around my waist and brought me close. I glanced up at Henry, wondering why he felt the need to put on the show behind closed doors, but he leaned down and gave me a peck on the lips. “Did I mention earlier that you look exceptionally pretty today?”

My throat thickened. “You didn’t.”

A moment later, the door opened, and a middle-aged woman clad in a charcoal-colored pantsuit appeared. She wore her pale, blonde hair off her face, making her features a little severe. After casting me a curious glance, she glared up at Henry.

Butterflies twitched in my stomach. Wasn’t anyone going to make introductions?

“Aunt Idette.” Henry stepped forward.

She raised her palm. “Don’t you Auntie me,” she snapped in a slight German accent. “What a mess you have created for your parents. It is bad enough that you stage your own kidnapping but you are frisking with boys, now?”

“This is Emilia Hobson,” said Henry in a voice accustomed to being scolded. “My girlfriend.”

“More likely someone you paid to fool your poor family.”

“Actually, she’s not.” The woman in the portrait with golden hair the exact shade of Henry’s walked into the room. She wore a pastel pink Chanel suit with black piping and gold buttons. Unlike Henry’s verdant green eyes, hers were an icy blue. “Emilia Hobson is the girl he framed, aren’t you, dear?”

A large man stepped into the room after her with a similar frame as Henry’s but a little softer around the middle. “Emilia, welcome to our home.” Only the tiniest hint of a German accent laced his voice. “I am Oscar, the father of young Henry, and this is my wife, Clara, and my cousin Idette, the International Director of Operations.”

“I’m pleased to meet you.” My gaze darted to Henry, whose nostrils flared at the sight of his father.

Mr. Bourneville held his elbow out. “Come, dinner is getting cold.”

I took the father’s arm and glanced at Henry over his shoulder. His mother grabbed his arm, and murmured something at him in a language that sounded like German, but could have been a dialect. Henry shook his head and kept a stony expression.

The next room we entered was a dining room with a table that seated eight but was set for five. Compared to the drawing room, it was very casual. The only things that stood out were the huge gold mirrors that hung above semicircular console tables and the matching candelabras in front of them. Two paintings, each of Mr. and Mrs. Bourneville, hung beside the mirror opposite the head of the table.

Henry’s father seated me to his left, with Mrs. Bourneville opposite me, and Henry at my side. Henry reached under the table and held my hand. Within seconds, staff entered the room with plates of food.

“How long have you and Henry been together,” asked Mrs. Bourneville.

“Ever since the kidnapping, I suppose.” I sipped from the crystal water glass. “Nine days in that room was enough time for us to get to know each other.”

“And you had sex with him in that room?” asked Aunt Idette.

Henry’s mother pursed her lips, but his father leaned forward.

I gave my head a vigorous shake. “It was filthy!”

Mr. Bourneville narrowed his eyes. “A more relevant question to ask is why the girl who had faced charges for child abduction, that carries a sentence of ten or more, would give Henry another chance.”