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“Yes, someone is down there! Call security.”
“Relax, it must be the cleaning staff or something,” I said, walking down the stairs.
However, just as I came around the bend, a man with curly bronze hair, dressed in a white double-breasted jacket with red and gold accents on the shoulder and red dress pants approached. He held a phone in his hand and had an earpiece. I couldn’t tell who he was. He was angrily saying something to whoever was on the other line while tugging on the sash he was wearing.
My heart dropped into the pit of my stomach as I stared at that costume.
She wouldn’t. She really wouldn’t. That would make her crazy.
“Who is that?” Augusta spoke.
“I’m going to have to call you back,” I replied, ending the call before she could speak.
Still frozen in place, I could only stare. But I guess I was staring or frozen for too long because he finally looked to his left, and when he saw me, he jumped slightly. We just stood there, staring at each other. I knew that face. She had only just shown me that face. There in my living room, dressed as Prince Charming, was, in fact, a real freaking prince. I watched as he glanced at my whole outfit, and then because he was a man first and prince second, his gaze stopped at my chest for far too long.
“Mom!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, and he flinched.
No answer.
Grabbing the bottom of my dress, I marched down the rest of the stairs, feeling my blood boil over. “Mother! Where are you? I know you’re here.”
“She said she’d be right back.”
I glanced over my shoulder at him, willing my brain to stop processing the fact that he could speak English and that he was actually here. Turning away again, I stomped up to the doors, the only doors into the penthouse, and yanked on the handle, but the doorknob wouldn’t open. I pulled again, then one more time.
“Are you freakin’ kidding?” I screamed, yanking on it like a madwoman until my phone rang. Letting go of the knob and looking to my phone, sure enough, I found the Wicked Witch of the West was calling.
“Hello—”
“Wilhelmina Wyntor-Smith, have you lost your mind?”
“Excuse you! Watch your tone! You’re speaking to your mother!” she yelled back into the phone.
I stared at my cell in amazement. “So you know you’re my mom! I thought you’d forgotten since you trapped me in here with a stranger! Who does that?”
“He’s not stranger. He’s—”
“I don’t care! I don’t know him, and he’s in my home! He could be a murderer!”
“I’m not,” his deep voice chimed in behind me.
“He could be a rapist—”
“I’m most definitely not,” he spoke again.
Whipping my head back, I glared at him. However, he just leaned on the couch, watching me carefully. “Hi. Please, do me a favor and shut up while I try to get you out of here. Thank you.”
He nodded and gave me a thumbs-up.
“Odette Rochelle Wyntor, I did not raise you to be rude.”
“No, but apparently you raised me to be insane,” I snapped back. “What happened to everything you said this morning, huh? What happened to not rushing? To planning to strike when I no longer suspected you?”
“I did.”
I inhaled and exhaled hard, and I prayed a bit before speaking again. “Mom.” I was really trying to be calm. “Please, come undo whatever you did to the door. This is entrapment. You are currently breaking the law. If you don’t care about my well-being, please remember you are also holding a prince of some nation—”
“Ersovia.”
