“Oh, hey!” Clapping my hands together, I do a little skip to catch up. Lilian’s heels drum against the tiles:left, right, left, right.Marching to war. “Do you think the doctors will be dreamy?”
There it is! Victory. One angry huff to me.
“I think they will be strict.” The look the housekeeper throws me is withering, and I’m rattled enough by everything that I can’t hold her gaze, so I glance over her shoulder instead. Framed paintings line the walls of this corridor—all modern artworks. All priceless originals, naturally. “Lord knows you need some discipline, Miss Lennox. Perhaps with the right medication, you’ll prove a worthy daughter.”
Ouch.
That one lands exactly where she aimed it: right in the squishy bit between my ribs.
It’s no use showing weakness, though. I’ve lived in this mansion my whole life; I know the drill. And Lilian’s so far up my father’s ass she probably never sees daylight anymore, so which of us really needs sympathy here?
“I bet there’s a hot doctor.” I jostle her pointy elbow, ignoring her harsh words altogether. Behind us, the bodyguard curses when the suitcase skids against his heel. “Guaranteed. Hey, maybe he’ll take my temperature, Lilian. You know: theFrenchway.”
Is that a myth? Probably. Either way, Lilian flushes an angry red beneath her powdered cheeks.
“The Honey Cove Institute is aprofessionalorganization, Miss Lennox. The doctors there will have far better things to do than indulge your bad behavior.”
I hum loudly. “Sounds fake, but okay.”
And this is fun and all, tormenting Lilian, but I can’t hide the way my stomach drops when we file out through the front door, squinting through the sunshine at the black car already idling on the driveway.
Dear old Dad moves fast.
“Safe travels,” Lilian sing-songs, all victorious spite.
I stomp to the car and yank the rear door open. And if I werewell-behavedlike they all want me to be, I’d probably have waited for a staff member to open it for me. I’d be dressed in a crisp designer dress, not these frayed old jeans and a tight red t-shirt.
Is a secret summer trip truly such a crime? Is it really a reason tohateme?
I can’t wait to never see any of these bitches again. When I throw myself into the backseat, the air con is freezing against my heated cheeks.
“The journey will be five hours, Miss Lennox,” the driver says, his tone bored. The partition closes with a slow whir, leaving me in silence.
Guess we won’t be chatting, then. What would he say, anyway?Sorry your father is locking you away and I’m an accessory to his evil plans. Want to stop for a drive-thru coffee?
The trunk dips down behind me, settling under the weight of my suitcase, then slams shut. The echoing thump is so final. The bodyguard prowls back across the driveway, one hand to his ear as he gives an update, and I’m left all alone.
Fine by me. I stare out of the tinted window at the ivy climbing the front of my father’s mansion, pointedly ignoring the smugness radiating from Lilian as she waves us off.
There’s no time to be sad. No time to mourn my beloved bedroom, or the rest of my belongings, or the fact that my father didn’t even bother to say goodbye. No time to think about Oslo, and the whale watching tour I had planned.
I don’t want to chat with the driver anyway.
Vengeance is on my mind.