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PROLOGUE
ABIGAIL AGE 16
Ican tell my mother is nervous. She has a nervous habit of twisting her wedding band that sits beneath the largest solitaire diamond when she’s anxious.
Her manicured nails gleam with fresh polish and her perfectly styled hair is cemented in place by a can of spray. Her clothes are fresh off the designer’s drawing board and the Hermes purse on her lap isn’t even on sale yet. To anyone looking in from the outside, she has it all.
As she sits straight-backed and rigid, her emotions firmly disguised, she glances out of the window at the passing scenery as if that’s all she needs to think about.
My attention shifts to the man sitting beside her, his attention dominated by his phone. Fresh texts flash up on repeat, and he appears engrossed in them.
Jared Kensington. Washington billionaire. A man who desires control and is always searching for the next investment to toss on the ever-growing pile of wealth this family enjoys.
I glance down and note how neatly folded my hands are in my lap. Like my mother, my back is straight and rigid, my legs crossed at my ankles and my own Chanel suit crease free, having only just been liberated from the store. The matching purse rests on the plush leather seat by my side, holding nothing more than a lipstick and my cell. I am expected to sit in silence and yet many questions are begging to be heard because there must be a good reason why we are attending the party of mom’s childhood friend, Claire Bachini.
We made the flight in my father’s private jet and are now heading toward the home of a woman who mom lost touch with years ago. I believe it was only due to a chance encounter in Washington that we are here at all, and that is why the questions won’t go away.
Mom hates reminding of her past. The one when daddy wasn’t in it and the fact he’s accompanying us also raises questions because in my entire life, my father has never attended any event that doesn’t benefit his business in some way.
I’m curious what Mr. Bachini does for a living and the only information I have is what I discovered online, and that raises more questions than answers.
I would ask them, any normal person would, but I know better than that. Don’t ask, just wait to be told. That’s always been the case in my relationship with my parents and so I glance out of the window, much like my mother, and wait for the truth to reveal itself.
I’m still waiting as the car pulls through large iron gates and heads up a sweeping drive before coming to a stop outside a huge red brick house. Unlike our own white marbled palace, this one appears small, crowded and stuck in the past.
Then again, not many homes measure up to ours, and I hate myself for even comparing them. We live a life many never imagine, and I’m guessing to most people, the Bachinis are doing extremely well for themselves.
Mom’s sigh escapes before she can check it and my father snaps, “One hour should be enough. I’m sure you can manage that.”
Mom nods, a pained expression on her face, and glances sharply in my direction.
“Sit up, Abigail, your posture is appalling these days. Don’t they teach you anything at that insanely expensive school we send you to?”
Her mouth tightens in disapproval and I loathe that I sit more upright, holding my breath, yearning for the tiniest bit of approval in those sparkling green eyes.
My father flicks an irritated glance my way and then lowers his voice, addressing me directly.
“They have a son. Mario.”
My heart thumps at the distaste on his face as he says with a sigh. “Keep away from him.”
Mom snaps. “I told you we should have left Abigail at home.”
He rolls his eyes. “They specifically asked her to be here.”
Mom shakes her head. “Since when did you care what other people think?”
For some reason, my father lowers his eyes and I note the pulse throbbing in his jaw indicating he’s uncomfortable. I’ve seen that look before, recently in fact. It struck me as curious then and for some reason I’m uneasy as he peers up and regards me with a guilty expression.
“One hour.” He almost mumbles and then the conversation stops as the car grinds to a halt on the gravel path and the door is opened by a man who looks as if he eats humans for breakfast.
He says nothing and as we exit the car, I gaze around me at a place that makes me shiver. There is something sinister about this house. I can’t put my finger on it, but Ifeelit. It’s surrounding me and sets my heart thumping, and not in a good way.
The bear like man guides us toward the open front door and I hear laughter coming from inside.
It’s obviously a party, because there is music accompanied by the general hum of conversation provided by several voices. I stare in amazement at the uniformed servers weaving their way in and out of the guests with silver platters laden with champagne and canapés.
Before we can make it a few feet inside, a woman swoops down on my mother with her arms outstretched.
