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The gate opens, and we step through. I ignore his comment, and he shuts the fuck up for once in his life. Thepreside, i.e., the headmaster, greets us on the other side. Her smile wavers as she spots us, but she politely guides us in. As soon as we get to her office, I see the girl, sitting in a chair, a bag at her feet, and her knees shaking anxiously.
I wonder if she realizes her sister does the same thing.
Abigail’s eyes flick to us and go wide. She stands and glances around the room.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, stepping over and offering her my hand. She takes it, albeit hesitantly, and I lean down and kiss her hand. She sucks in a breath at the contact, her eyes still locked on me.
“I know who you are.”
I look over my shoulder to thepreside.“Give us a moment.” She opens her mouth to argue, but Lucas holds the door open for her.
“You speak English?” I ask.
“Fluently.” She smirks, then pulls back her hand. “How can I help you, Mr. Rossi?”
“Clever girl.”
“I am my father’s daughter, after all.”
“You are…” I don’t bother mentioning her sister is as well. “How old are you?” I inquire.
She seems to straighten her shoulders before she speaks, “Eighteen.”
“I’m going to ask you to pack your things, Abigail. We have places to be.”
Her arms cross over her chest at the demand. “You want my sister?” she asks, her eyes giving nothing away.
“I do.” I smile.
She shrugs. “Whatever.” Then she opens the door and walks out as Lucas steps back and watches her go.
“Maybe we should follow her to make sure she doesn’t run.”
“She won’t run,” I tell him.
“So sure of yourself.”
I ignore him as we walk out of the office and out the front door to wait near the gate. After ten minutes, Abigail comes out dragging a suitcase and a backpack.
“Perfect timing. I was about to bounce out of that place anyway.”
“You know you aren’t coming back here, right?” Lucas tells her. She rolls her eyes at him as we get into the car, but she doesn’t answer.
“So, what did sister dearest do?” she asks me.
“You seem to not like her,” Lucas remarks, watching her intently. Then, sitting in the limo, she crosses her legs and leans forward toward him.
“I despise her.”
“Why?” he asks.
“She killed our father and thought it was the right thing to do.”
“Did you ask her why?” I interject. Her arms cross over her chest again as she sends a glare my way.
“No, I didn’t have to. I saw her with Scott. I know why she did it.”
“They’re married,” I say, watching as she grows more irritated.
