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Holy shit.
I stumble to a halt.
What’s weirder is, I’ve never seen this man in town at all, and I’ve been around long enough that I’m starting to recognize people by faces, if not by names.
I wonder if there’s a whole village up at that massive manor, house staff who exist solely to make the Arrendells’ lives easier with no roots in Redhaven at all.
I’m hesitant as I draw closer to the gate and push it open.
Part of me thinks this can’t possibly be meant for a girl like me, growing up and getting passed around like a worn hand-me-down. Now here I am climbing into a limo in a dress that probably costs more than my annual salary.
The man even bows.
“Miss Clarendon,” he says, opening the car door for me, leaving no mistake.
I’m almost expecting Ulysses to be inside, but it’s empty.
The interior is a plush, deep, velvety grey with seats like butter.
I settle inside, making sure to gather my skirts, and smile at the driver.
He just nods respectfully and shuts the door before rounding to the driver’s side.
The last thing I see as the car pulls out is Janelle. She’s standing in the gold-lit open door of The Rookery, waving to me like my very own fairy godmother.
It’s a strange feeling, gliding into Redhaven in a limousine.
It’s already late, so most people are tucked away at home. But there are enough families still milling around on the sidewalk.
I catch a few quick double takes before the limousine turns onto the winding paved lane that climbs up the hill to the Arrendell house.
From a distance, I knew the house was massive, but up close?
It’s imposing.
An enormous baroque beast of stone at least five stories tall, all narrow glowing windows and climbing pillars with a cobblestone courtyard.
A fountain centers the circular space, turning it into a roundabout.
Shimmering lights in crystal fixtures illuminate steps at least a hundred feet wide, climbing at least a full flight up to the arched doorway.
As we draw closer, I realize there are a few more limos on the lane ahead of us, and pulling up to those steps—my stomach flips over as I realize I’m looking at the star of the latest big superhero action film.
Her blonde hair glows in the night as her driver helps her out at the foot of the steps before driving her limousine away.
I am so hopelessly out of my depth here.
I watch a few more movie starlets and a couple of well-known tech industry billionaires exit their limousines before it’s my turn.
I feel like an insect with this giant house looming over me like a living thing.
Easily crushed.
Effortlessly erased.
My chest caves in, but I gather my courage and look down at the bracelet on my wrist.
Emma, give me courage.
I wrap my fingers around it, pressing it against my skin until the rose gold warms, hot as flesh.
I can do this.
For Emma.
So I put on my best smile as the driver ushers me out of the car, gesturing to the base of those steps.
The night feels warm after being in the limo’s cool interior. It heightens the chills running down my spine.
I tell myself it’s just the temperature change—not the man who appears at the head of the stairs like he’s been waiting for me and counting down the seconds.
Ulysses Arrendell.
For a moment, I think it’s Montero.
It’s the way they carry themselves, I think, their similar builds. Something equally arrogant and knowing in their body language. The confidence of wealthy men that strides across generations, I guess.
With his face shadowed, it’s only the glint of the crystal lights off his blond hair that tells me I’m dealing with the younger one.
I want to shake him.
I want to scream in his face and ask, how much do you know?
Are you just as complicit, or are you nothing but your father’s patsy?
But the words stick in the back of my throat as he struts down the stairs like the peacock he is, obviously presenting himself for my approval.
He’s wearing some strange hybrid tuxedo-suit, precisely tailored to his frame.
Objectively, he looks nice.
I’m just not interested.
“Delilah.” He nearly purrs my name as he draws into reach, holding out both hands. “You are a vision tonight. I’m glad as hell you decided to come.”
“I thought I could use a stress-free night. A little champagne never hurt a girl,” I answer, hoping my reluctance doesn’t show as I slip my hands into his. “Thank you again for inviting me.”
“You’ll have to thank my father. It was his idea. I am infinitely grateful to him, though.” Jeez. There’s something a little too intimate about the way his eyes flash over me, lingering on the bracelet as he clasps my hands, then lets go to offer me his arm. His eyes glitter with warmth. “Come. Let me introduce you to a few movie executives. Just as long as you promise not to let them steal you away from me for their next blockbuster.”
