Page 61

Right.

There is never good news when Stevie uses that tone. There is only information I should have been told earlier and decisions I will inevitably regret.

“What now?”

“The transportation is already arranged.”

I pause.

“I was informed.”

“Oh.”

She blinks at me.

I blink back.

We are both exceptionally good at this.

“Where exactly is it taking me?” I ask.

“To the artist’s estate.”

I frown.

“Estate?”

“Yes!”

“Why am I going to a stranger’s estate? Is he a musician or a Victorian ghost?”

Mika makes a suspicious choking sound beside me.

I ignore her.

“His campaign team requested it, and your mother agreed,” Stevie explains, far too casually.

Of course she did.

My mother would agree to marry me off to a man with three divorces, a suspiciously large yacht, and a family history of tax evasion if she thought it would make a good society headline.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Why did no one tell me?”

Stevie waves a hand dismissively.

“It was a last-minute thing, and you were in the air.”

Sure, it was.

Because apparently, being thirty thousand feet above the ground means I lose all rights to information concerning my own life.

I stare at her through the screen.

She smiles.

I stare harder.