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She pauses as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her. “I have no idea, but I’ll reach out to Leland and ask to see it.”
I crest the top of the hill and pull around the fountain, parking in one of the few open spaces. “I’m out front.”
“Almost ready. Be down in a sec.”
She ends the call and I get out of the truck, surveying the 1914 stone mansion that was here long before the school. I did some research today and learned that there had been a massive renovation thirty years ago, but, for the life of me, I can’t tell the old from the new.
The mansion is three stories of finely crafted cornices, arches, and long, elegant windows that fit together seamlessly—proof positive that with enough money, you can hide anything, even a secret society of spies. As I near the front steps, a lean, sixtyish woman with military-straight posture, shiny silver hair, pale-blue eyes, paler-white skin, black suit, and a jagged scar across her nose approaches.
She holds out her hand. “Welcome, Mr. Ross. My name is Martha. I’m head of Home Security. I’m here to show you to the dining room.”
Okay, another term to add to my growing Parish family lexicon. Head of Home Security. So, if I have it right, there’s Home Security for the house, Internal Security for underground ops, and External Security for the grounds and the school. It’s pretty damn secure.
Martha silently and briskly leads me through the maze-of-a-house to the doorway of a large banquet hall. We stand at the entrance.
Justice didn’t steer me wrong with her comment about dressing for dinner. In many ways, going to dinner at the Parish residence is like going to a dance at an all-girls’ school—lots of beautiful dresses and not a lot of guys. Girls of varying ages and one out-of-place teen boy slip past us like we’re rocks in a stream.
Martha gestures toward a thick-legged wooden beast of a table that dominates the huge room. “Would you like me to show you to your seat or would you prefer to wait for Justice?”
“I’ll wait.”
With a nod, she moves away, and I stand there, hands in pockets, taking in the enormous dining hall. Above the goliath table are a series of beautiful, mismatched crystal chandeliers suspended from a fifty-foot vaulted ceiling. Thick, hand-carved chairs, crystal glasses, yellow roses, gold silverware, gold-edged plates and napkins. It is lavish. Multiple smaller side tables with seating for two or four or six flank the walls. Not sure if those seats are for staff or nannies.
I spot Mukta and Leland walking around the table, addressing children here and there, directing others to seats. They make their way around and finally take two seats at the head of the table.
Now that I know a little about how things work, thanks to Justice’s tutelage, I can pick out the groups called units. Kids around the same age, within five years or so, automatically sit together.
A warm hand slips around my waist. I turn toward her and heat shoots through me. She wears an apple-red, juicy-as-sin, off-the-shoulder, like-a-second-skin dress. Damn, memory is so inadequate when it comes to this woman. I draw her closer to my side.
She rises up and whispers hotly into my ear, “Hungry?”
The message delivered within the waves of heat in her voice have nothing to do with food and everything to do with the feeding of my lips against her skin.
Yes. Starved. My eyes feast on the pert, juicy curves of her body, swallow. “Where do I sit?”
She winks with lashes so lush they seem made of silk and sleep. Looking into her eyes reminds me of the dark—of the dark covering bodies. Of the dark covering our intertwined bodies. And I am all about that.
Grabbing my hand, she pulls me after her. “Keep looking at me like that and we’ll never make it through dinner.”
36
JUSTICE
Itry not to show my nerves as I tug Sandesh, in that yummy blue suit, through the dining hall. Knowing how overwhelming being introduced to our large family and unique culture can be, I explain seating as we go.
“We have five units here tonight. Mine.” I point toward the head of the table near Momma and Leland, then whisper, “We’ll sit up there. Concentrate on Bridget.”
He nods. I jolt to a halt as a child races by, nearly squashing my toes. “That would be Bella. For now, she’s one of three members of the Lollipop Guild.”
“You think more will be added?”
“Oh, definitely. And unfortunately, the youngest unit always sits near Momma—gives the nannies or what we call care staff a break—so you’ll get plenty of time to become acquainted with Bella.”
We continue on. The Troublemakers’ Guild, capitalTfor Trouble, catches my attention. They’ve already scored some vino. I stop and introduce them to Sandesh. They wave hello, almost like normal people, but, as we walk away, I spot them eyeing Sandesh’s fine ass appreciatively. Well, they have good taste.
Mid-table, I introduced the teens of Vampire Academy and then the tweens ofLost in Translation.
“Lost in translation?”
