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I slide it to the back of the stack and study the next one.
“What’s ridiculous?” I drawl with as little concern as humanly possible. It’s easy, because I truly do not care.
She stomps into the room, her heels clicking across the hardwood floor. “I told you when I’d be here.”
I glance at the clock hanging on the wall. “You did. You’re very punctual. Good for you.”
I don’t need to look at her to feel the heat of her glare searing into the side of my face.
The second Save the Date template looks like it’s for a destination wedding. Too much blue and gold. Cora and I have never been to a beach together and we wouldn’t get married on one. I slide it to the bottom of the stack.
“I told you when I’d be here,” she repeats, the words practically vibrating out of her. “But no one met me at the door. Your butler left my bags—”
“House manager.”
An exhale hisses between her teeth. “What?”
“Niles is the house manager.” He already hates Francia, so he might turn homicidal if she refers to him as my “butler.”
“Well, your house manager hasn’t managed a fucking thing since I’ve been here! He left my bags in the driveway and showed me to a broom closet instead of a bedroom. It was barely big enough for a twin-sized mattress! This is absurd.”
I bite back a smile. Niles really is a gutsy son of a bitch. I know exactly which room she’s talking about. It actually was a broom closet, at one point. The thought of Francia sleeping with the spiders and cleaning product is exactly the kind of mood boost I needed today.
Then Francia snatches the stack of Save the Dates out of my hand.
“Your staff is treating me like trash and you can’t even look at me. What are you going to do about this?”
Any whisper of a smile is gone from my face now. I turn towards her slowly, looking at her for the first time since she barged into my office. And my blood is fuckingboiling.
The fact that sometime in the last hour Francia decided to dress in a full evening gown, diamond earrings and an up-do included, is not helping matters. Does she think we’re heading to our wedding today or does she dress like the Queen of England every afternoon?
“I told you you’d be sleeping in another wing of my house. You agreed to—”
“I didn’t know you expected me to squeeze myself into a fucking shoebox! I saw Cora’s room,” she snaps. “Iknowthere are bigger rooms here. I want to stay in one of those.”
The last time Francia was inside my house was when she was lying to all of our faces. If only I’d known who she really was then, I would have killed her on sight. No hesitation.
“All of the main bedrooms are in the West wing of the house. You are staying in the East wing.”
“Then put me on the West side,” she grits out. “I’m not sleeping on a twin mattress like some peasant brat at summer camp.”
“Then don’t sleep.”
Hang upside down like the life-sucking vampire you clearly are.
She inhales sharply. “Despite this morning, I wanted today to be pleasant.”
And I want Cora to be standing in front of me, whole and unharmed, while Francia’s head is mounted on a spike in my front lawn.
“We don’t always get what we want.”
She leans forward, eyes wide. “Ido. And I want the room Cora had.”
“No.”
The air between us ripples with tension, but neither of us break eye contact. “All it takes is one phone call,” she whispers. “One text. And Cora is gone.”
I fucking hate that Francia’s threat tempers the rage boiling inside of me, but how can it not? Cora is in danger. I have to act to keep her safe. That means denying myself what I want more than anything—to have Francia’s hot blood dripping down my hands while she gasps for her last breath—and sticking to the plan.
