Page 6 of Bittersweet Legacy

I couldn’t help the bitter smile settling on my face.Talk about a family reunion, long-lost daughter? yeah, okay, who even cares.

I sighed. He could have just left me here, where I belong.

He turned toward me with a disapproving look on his face. If even a sigh was getting on his nerves, we were in for a flipping ride.

I switched off for the rest of the journey, I couldn't care less about stock and interest rates and all the things that didn’t matter to me at all.

All I cared about was finding out the kind of life that was waiting for me in… hell, I didn’t even know where I was going. All I knew was that Luke would end up in jail for kidnapping if I didn't follow William Forbes to wherever he planned to take me.

I couldn’t help but gasp as the car stopped close to the private jet. I’d seen them on TV except this one had his name ‘Forbes’… my name… printed on the side in golden letters.

When William stepped out of the car, a man rushed down the plane’s steps.

“We’re ready to go, take her luggage, I won't be delayed more.” He turned toward me. “Close your mouth Esmeralda, it’s only our short-haul jet.”

“Short-haul jet?” I asked following him into the plane’s cabin, which was bedecked in white leather, golden embroidering and what looked like real mahogany. “As in ‘we have a long-haul jet too’?”

He sighed, gesturing me to the seat across from his. “I presume you have a lot to learn about your legacy. I’ll ask Sophia to get all the books and information in your bedroom.”

“Sophia?”

“My wife,” he stated before turning back to his phone, ignoring me again.

So I was to move in with my father and the wicked step-mother? Would she hate me? Did I have half-siblings who will hate me just for being there?

I didn’t have any more time to think as the plane started to speed along on the tarmac, causing my heart to speed up in my chest. It was the first time I was taking a plane and the fear and exhilaration were battling in my belly.

Once we took off, and I managed to calm my erratic heart rate enough, I looked out of the window and couldn't help but be in awe, seeing the view down there, everything so minuscule. It was breathtaking.

I wasn’t sure how long I’d been looking out the window but when I turned back, my father was sitting cross-legged, his forefinger against his mouth detailing me with critical eyes.

“We can’t have you dressing like this,” he affirmed with barely veiled contempt. “I’ve asked Sophia to arrange for the personal shopper to come later today to take your measurements. You’ll have your new wardrobe by the end of the week.”

“Do I have any say in this?”

“Absolutely not. The Forbes have a certain standing to uphold, and by taking the name, you are accepting the obligations and responsibilities.”

What if I don't want that name?I thought, but I knew it would be pointless to say so.

“You look a lot like your mother. You’re even more beautiful… which I didn't think was possible.”

It was weird as the statement didn’t sound slimy or complementary. It sounded like a calculation… a scientific assessment.

I knew I looked like my mother, my father – well, uncle Luke – had shown me a couple of photos of her when she was a teenager and we looked very similar, except where she was tall and willowy I was petite and, while quite thin, I had all the womanly curves which I knew were quite attractive to the opposite gender.

“Do I have siblings?” I asked secretly, hoping for a young little sister or brother who I could love and bond with. I didn’t have to lose everything.

He frowned. “What do you know about your life?”

I snorted. That was a stupid question. “Nothing, obviously.”

He pursed his lips. You’ll have to start watching your tone young lady. You have suffered a very poor education in the slump life you had with the alcoholic good-for-nothing that is your uncle and for this reason I will be more lenient, but don’t expect this to be permanent. I will arrange for a tutor to attend to your education.”

Lenient?Just looking at the man I was certain it was not a word in his vocabulary, I was also sure that his version of leniency was far lower than a decent person would assume. A tutor for my education? Did I just step into Regency England without realizing it?

“When were you born?” He asked.

“November 17th.”

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