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"Rachel has been waiting for you to return home, sir. She told me to inform her as soon as you arrive home." Gregory is not like your regular chauffeur. He doesn't bend awkwardly when he speaks. He doesn't wear a suit and a fucking bow tie either. He is just like every other person in the residence; he can dress as he pleases, do as he pleases, but still maintain a formality when he addresses anyone. He is just about getting to his late 30s, much older than I am. "What does she need me for?" I drop into a seat facing the window and watch the isolated landscape below us.
"Shesays it's about the will. Mr. Ivan had—"
"Ivan was here today?" I cut him off and spin the chair to face him. If there is anything I do not like about Gregory, it's his habit to grow dramatically stricken when I give him my full attention. Everyone sees me as the fucking devil. Not just the ladies but the men too. I never even have to put in extra effort to make them freeze. As much as this gets my nerves ticking, it also gives me some satisfaction knowing that it has an influence on my siblings, who vastly need monitoring, or at least something to act as a brick wall.
"Yes, he was. He wished to go over some documents relating to the restaurant with you." The restaurant? That is one property owned by myFather that no one has ever looked into. Everyone has their eyes on the residence and the estates.Well, not exactly everybody.
"Send a call to Ivan. Let him know I'll speak with him tomorrow. I'm much too tired to entertain him tonight. Stop by Rachel's room. Tell her that whatever she wishes to say can be done the usual way. Inform all of them to stay away from my space. I see no reason why we can't keep communicating as we have." As I say these words, Gregory is opening his mouth and closing it, making a move to leave and turning toward me again. I admire Gregory's loyalty,but what the fuck is he afraid of?
When he leaves the room, I stroll to the wardrobe, toss my clothes aside and head straight into the bathroom, but I don't use the shower. I have one of the maids on night duty prepare me a hot bath. She steps into the room while I am wrapped in a towel, and her face heats up as she goes about her work.
I don't even see her. My mind is in another place. I am surprised that Ivan talks about the restaurant. Somehow, I regret not asking Gregory to just send Rachel to my room.
But I'll be patient. I'll be delighted to figure out what present my little sister has cooked up for me.
I'll figure out her next move even before she places her hands on the piece.
8:35 am, and I am having my morning coffee when Rachel walks down a flight of curved stairs to join me at the table. It feels like years since I have seen her up close. I am immediately reminded of the similarities between us. The dark hair, and the heavy brows, whichnever appear to be in disarray. The firmly set nose, the jaw—she is a feminine version of me. The only difference is the color of our eyes. Where hers are hazel and warm, mine are like the color of a storm gathering in the clouds.
Her lips pucker and she settles into the chair with grace and poise. She is tall, athletic in build, which aids her in looking down on people. She has this air ofunapproachablenessaround her. I guess that is another family trait.
"How do you do, brother?" she asks with mockery evident in her voice.
I groan. "What do you want, Rachel?"
She pretends to be in shock and gasps, "He speaks."
"Would you prefer Braille?" I add an extra cube of sugar to my coffee, then I turn with a teaspoon, watching the dark brown mix with the deeper shades of black—an espresso, my favorite.
She watches the action, and for a moment I know she forgets why she is here.
Rachel should be the smartest among us, but for some reason, she has failed to meet my expectations. I can read her easily.
"You look as charming as ever," she continues.
Tasha had mentioned that too. I guess women have an attraction to a man who looks diabolical.
"I can say the same for you." I drop the teaspoon on a saucer and take a sip.
"You haven't even looked at me." She sounds less velvety now. There is a chill in her tone. I take a look at the fucking princess of the Romano family and realize that she has been crying. There are dark lines outlining her lower lids, and her lips look dry and cracked. Her cheeks have been stained with tears, and I can see the line that demarcates her powder from her pale skin. This is the fucking thing I can't stand—a woman in tears, but as for Rachel, I know it’s just a trap. She is about emotionally blackmail me.
"I can't stop thinking about him, Carl," she says, and her lips turn downward.
I maintain eye contact with her as I take my coffee. She is a good actress, but she needs to lessen the sharpness in her voice, so she will sound more believable. "Who?" I play along.
"Father."
"Pay him a visit then."
"No, I can't…Yet."
"Why not?"
"I feel ashamed to be under this roof."Liar, you want this roof.
"Then, leave?" I suggest, and she chuckles manically, forgetting that she is supposed to be sad. "It doesn't work that way, Carl."
"Then what is keeping you?" I set the cup on the table and give her my full attention. There is tension between us. Her eyes areablaze with anger. She curses beneath her breath and cries out, "We are supposed to be a family, Carl! Why not put our heads together and do this!"
