Page 19 of The Princess and the Fraud

He was. The arrogant lilt to his voice was like a silver shovel, and each word from his mouth dug him lower, inch by inch. If he kept going like this, he’d bury himself before they even made it to the golf course.

Annalise wasn’t back from the bathroom yet, so I nudged Caroline’s shoulder. “Go save him.”

“Me? Why?” She raised her eyebrow. “We don’t like him.”

Knowing Rhythms of Hope was chummy with Aaron Astor unnerved me a little, but I was one of the few on the property who wasPro Charity Takeover. Really, I was pro saving the music hall from the country club’s selfish clutches. And if Aaron was fighting to keep them from turning its beauty into another stupid amenity, I was all for that. “It’s painful to watch,” I said instead.

“We do things differently around here,” Dr. Conan interjected, his loud voice carrying across the lobby as he straightened his spine. He was the picture of an intimidating grizzly bear. “At Alderton-Du Ponte, we don’t just waltz in and make demands. We communicate. We listen. We care. We don’t just bulldoze.”

Aaron lifted his chin with a small smile on his face. Asmile. The man had a death wish. “I’m sorry—you said youcare? About whom? Because you certainly didn’t seem to care about Nancy Du Ponte when I was here back in June, and now you want to demolish a space she, solely, designed for community. You didn’t seem to care about Margot Massey, either, and she was one of your own. Or do you only care about the ones who’ve actually drank the soul-sucking Kool-Aid, and throw away everyone else?”

Mr. Holland, who stood at Dr. Conan’s side, curled his hand into a fist.

I slapped my palm against Caroline’s shoulder. “Go,go.”

This time, she listened. “Daddy!”

Her high-pitched greeting was like a needle to a balloon, popping the tension. All four men turned toward where she rushed over, her blonde ponytail and pink tennis skirt both swishing with her step.

“Care.” Mr. Holland’s expression softened from the stern mask it’d been a moment ago. He took in her outfit. “I didn’t know you were coming in—why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve driven together.”

Aaron glanced between Mr. Holland and Caroline. “I didn’t realize Annalise’s friend was your daughter, Mr. Holland.”

Mr. Holland didn’t even look over at him. “I don’t see why you needed to know it.”

Inexplicably, my feet carried me forward. “Headed out onto the green?” I asked Dr. Conan. He wore layers to fight off the mid-March cold. “You’re in luck. I’m working the beverage cart today.”

“Ah, I knew it was going to be a good day,” Dr. Conan replied with a smile. “My favorite snack bar driver.”

I turned toward his counterpart. “Mr. Holland, it’s good to see you too.”

Mr. Holland and Grant had far too many similarities, so seeing Mr. Holland now was jarring. His hair was golden, but flecked with silver, causing the ruddiness of his cheeks to stand out starker. He, too, greeted me with a smile, though it was more pinched. “Lovisa.”

“You’re the only one that makes my whiskey sours how I like them.” Dr. Conan cast a glance toward where Aaron and Michael stood. “Except we might need something stronger today.”

“Stronger?” I asked with faux shock, as if he hadn’t been telling mestrongerevery single time. “Then again, when you lose, you have something to blame it on.”

Dr. Conan gave me a wink. “You see the angle I’m attacking from, honey.”

Mr. Holland’s phone began ringing then, and when he fished it out, his expression brightened. “It’s my boy.”

“Grant?” Caroline asked, trying to peer at the phone screen. “I want to talk to him, too!”

I looked up at Grant’s name. “Excuse us a moment,” Mr. Holland said, though mostly to Dr. Conan, before he and his daughter moved off toward the seating area of the lobby for privacy. Before they got too far, though, I heard him say, “How’s the packing coming, kid?”

It was a surreal reality, that if Mr. Holland were to put the call on speaker, I’d hear Grant’s voice for the first time in months.Packing?I wondered, but didn’t have time to ponder. Not without my unnecessary presence stretching out too long.

“Mr. Astor,” I said, and Aaron turned toward me, startled. As if he hadn’t remembered I’d been standing there. “We’ve received your shirt back from dry cleaning. If you come with me, I can return it to you.”

“I thought they said they’d just have it sent to my room.”

Stop making everything impossible. “Since you’re here now, I thought I’d return it to you.”

“I’m heading out to the golf course.” Aaron frowned. “You can just deliver it to my?—”

Michael, unexpectedly, was the one who caught my meaning. He bumped Aaron’s arm. “Go at least make sure it’s the right one. And that the stain fully came out.”

Aaron’s scowl deepened, but he listened, leaving Michael to strike up a conversation with his father-in-law about the weather conditions as we walked away.

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