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Not ever.
It's not happening if her uncle's around to have a say in it.
"See that you do... take care of it." my brother answers after a long moment of my intense thoughts, which was polite of him to wait for me to finish thinking before speaking. I'll send him a thank you card.
That thought makes me snort and I muffle it by sliding my thumb over the receiver microphone.
"Alright, well, nice chat," I say, and hang up on him before he can say anything else.
I'm halfway up the hill and starting to break a mild sweat from the strain. Our house, the King house, is built on the top of a hill that's on top of a hill. Vineyards sprawl in every direction, and when I turn around to survey the land, it almost takes my breath away.
It's beautiful here.
I close my eyes and let the feelings take me away. The sun slides over me, and I tilt my head toward it. I have my own small estate in Hollywood, of course, being marquis means that I have property, but it's not the same.
This is where I was born. My blood pumps thick with the water that runs through the land, and I wake up sometimes imagining I'm here. King of everything. My brother, nowhere to be seen.
It'll all be mine. The sooner, the better.
I open my eyes and let out the long breath I've been holding in. If the universe wills it, something terrible will befall my brother before the year is out. If the fates are fair. I'll be rewarded for all the shit I've been through and the pain I've suffered.
It doesn't have to be death for him.
My eyes are drawn to the long fence line to my left.
There's an ATV kicking up dust along the edge of the property, and I watch it silently.
What takes him down could be a disgrace. A scandal so great that he has to step aside. Leave me in charge. There are multiple options for how it'll happen, some already in the works. Not even by my hand, which I'm slightly ashamed to admit. My brother is not a nice man and has made himself his own share of enemies. Whatever happens to him, it might be so bad that he disappears.That'd be neat and tidy.
That thought makes me smile, my grin matching the strength of the sun, and I turn back to the great house. The corners of my mouth rise to challenge the sky, like I'm going to step up and challenge my brother.
Soon Miss Evangeline Bell is going to be under our roof. There's so much to look forward to in the coming months, but she's one spark of joy that I can enjoy right now. Who says that I need to be duke before I take everything our house has to offer? I can accept for myself what I want.
My brother can't, and won't, say anything about it. Especially not if he wants to keep his place. I know too much, after all.
I can feel it, the future, humming in the background of my thoughts, waiting for me to discover it. Everything is possible, even if for now I need to stay focused and act as I always do: like the foolhardy marquis, interested only in the women I have and pursuing the women I don't. My reputation precedes me, and makes my brother even less likely to suspect me in any kind of wrongdoing.
Wining, horseback riding, gambling, and chasing skirts. It's a hard job, but somebody's got to do it. And it starts today with Evangeline Bell. My brother can stay focused on all his troubles instead of me if I chase another one of Madeline's nannies off. He'll regret ever discounting me, and I intend to fully enjoy watching him realize that the person with the knife in his back has been me all along.
6
Eva
Half a week after that fateful interview, a car rolls up outside my building.
Erica is waiting at my window, and she turns to me, eyes wide.
"It's here," she hisses, "oh my god, they sent a limo!" My stomach turns over with nerves, and I race to stand beside her at the window. There's a long black limousine down in the parking lot. I have no idea what the driver thinks about my run-down apartment complex. But I'm the domestic help. It's not like I'm supposed to come from money.
"OK," I say, "OK, this is it, this is really—"
I feel like I've got some PTSD burning in my chest. Am I making a mistake? Going here again? I promised myself that I would leave this kind of life behind.
"Hey, you OK?" Erica puts an arm around my shoulders. "You look like you're about to pass out."
I'm not OK. This is a huge risk, knowing that my past could come rushing up to greet me again at any moment and pull my worlddown around me. But living here is a dead-end, and I'll be out on my ass either way as soon as my rent-increase kicks in. The bar job isn't keeping me afloat, and I don't have the education or the connections to fall back on like Erica.
"It's just nerves," I say, giving her a brief smile. She squeezes me tight.
