18
Molly
As hours passed, I grew less intrigued and more annoyed by my summons. What was I doing here? I pushed the curtains away from the window and looked at the manicured lawns below. There was a fountain nearby that was illuminated. I was too high up to count the tiers of water that splashed into the pool.
I retied my hair bun for at least the tenth time, stabbing it with the pencil. I crossed my arms and began another lap around the apartment.
I heard the gentle bell of the elevator and stopped in the middle of my track, behind the couch. My heart sped up. My palms tingled. I waited for the doors to open.
“Who are you?”
Her voice was high. She was dressed in a long white gown that shimmered when she moved.
“I-I—who are you?” I retorted. Although, I didn’t know how much power I had to demand answers in this situation.
Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “Princess Isabel.”
Shit. Holy shit.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I cringed.
She placed a hand on her hip. “I take it you know where my brother is?”
“Actually I don’t.” I rounded the couch. “I’m Molly.” I extended my hand.
She looked at it. I didn’t know if I had just made a royal faux paus, but she took it with a mild shake.
“Nice to meet you, Molly.”
I smiled. “You don’t know where he is either?”
“I came straight from Sangreaux. I haven’t even changed. I need to discuss a few domestic matters with him.” She walked to the bar, letting the train on her dress slide across the floor.
I could see traces of Damon’s features. The dark hair and dark eyes. But Isabel had a certain grace, as if she floated on her designer shoes. I had to remind myself not to stare.
“Drink?” she offered.
I nodded. It seemed rude to turn the princess down, especially after I treated her like an i
ntruder in her brother’s home.
“So how long have you been seeing my brother?” She poured both of us a vodka drink.
“It’s not really like that.”
She twirled toward me. “It’s not? Hmm.”
I didn’t know if that meant she was surprised or if I had missed her sarcasm. I felt plain in my yoga pants. I was Cinderella before she met her fairy godmother. Isabel could’ve put any Prince Charming on his knees.
“However, you are here and he is not.” She tipped her glass toward me.
I felt the need to explain, but took a sip of the lemony vodka drink. What explanation would I give the princess? I certainly wasn’t going to tell her how I met her brother. And reliving today’s events didn’t seem any better.
We turned our heads when the elevator bell rang.
Isabel rushed to the doors. “I need to talk to you.”
Damon stepped into the residence. He looked past his sister. His eyes landed on mine.