Page 68 of Wicked Prince

"I'd rather not speak about it over the phone," he says. "I will send a car to pick you up at your dorm."

My heart races a little. I'm still a good way from campus, and no telling how close the car is. "Can you give me a little bit? Just to wrap up this chapter I'm on."

"Fine. He'll pick you up in half an hour," he says, impatient as ever. He hangs up without saying goodbye.

Of course.

I walk a little faster to get back to my dorm room because the last thing I need is his driver pointing out that I'm not where I said I was. And if nothing else, our conversation just confirmed my suspicions that he's watching me more closely than I would like.

I can't even have the benefits of being the invisible stepdaughter. All the more reason to get the hell out of here as soon as I can. With all the extra shifts I've been taking at the restaurant and the fact that my ability to put up with BS has been yielding me some decent tips, that might be sooner than I initially hoped.

By the time I get dressed and go back outside, a black car is waiting for me at the curb.

It's a new driver this time, and he isn't too talkative either, but that's just as well. I know he wouldn't tell me what Dad wants to meet about if I asked, in the unlikely event that he even knows himself, and he probably won’t tell me where we're going, either.

I'm not surprised when we bypass the turn for the house, though. When he isn't parading me out for his future in-laws, Dad likes to keep his two lives as separate as possible. I thought that might change now that it's just me, but that was clearly wishful thinking.

When we bypass all the usual spots, too, I grow kind of suspicious. Where the hell is he taking me? There are tons of restaurants we could've gone to nearby, and I doubt it's on account of him wanting it to be some place special. He probably doesn't even remember that my favorite food is sushi, despite the fact that we went out for that on all the birthdays he was there for.

Which, come to think of it, really wasn't that many.

When the driver comes to a stop in front of a small Italian restaurant almost thirty minutes away from town, it finally hits me.

He still doesn't want to risk being seen with me anywhere he might be recognized. In a way, I can kind of understand, since the only conclusions anyone would be able to draw are that I'm his daughter or his young mistress. In the case of the former, anyone who recognizes him would know I'm not Kayleigh, considering he's all too happy to declare whosheis to the world.

By this point, all the reminders of being a second-class citizen and a dirty little secret really shouldn't bother me any. I tell myself it's just pregnancy hormones, which really isn't too much of a comfort, and get out of the car as soon as the driver opens the door.

I'm immediately ushered back to a private table in the back of the restaurant, and I can't help but wonder if this is how Mom felt in the beginning, before Dad moved us across the country. Did she think it was romantic? That he was whisking her off to far-off locations for all their secret rendezvous?

That would certainly be my fate if I had given in and agreed to be Lorenzo's secret girlfriend. If my resolve ever weakens, all I need to do is think about that.

Dad stands as I walk over to the table, pulling out my chair.

"Amelia," he says in a tone that's pleasant enough to second-guess my initial assumption he wants to scold me about something. Of course, if he's being pleasant, that probably means he's going to dump something else on me, which is usually worse. "You look nice."

"Thanks," I say as he takes his seat across from me.

"I don't know why you can't dress like that when it's an important night," he says, taking a sip of his wine.

There it is. The backhanded remark that turns every hint of praise or approval into an insult. Sometimes I think he would spontaneously combust if he uttered a single word of approval that didn't come with a major “but” at the end.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" I ask, choosing not to dignify the jab with a reply.

He frowns, but he can't exactly scold me for not taking the bait. "You've been doing well in school."

It's not a question. Just a statement. Like he already knows. Hell, I wouldn't put it past him to demand weekly reports from my professors.

"I… guess so?"

"It doesn't seem like you're making too many friends, though."

I frown back at him. "Aren't you the one who told me to lie low so no one knows who I am?"

He grimaces, as if he doesn't like being reminded of exactly what he's doing. I'm not about to sugarcoat it for him, though. I'm already going along with it, and that seems like more than I owe him.

"That doesn't mean you can't have a life," he says pointedly. "They don't need to know you're my daughter for that."

"I have a friend, for the record," I tell him.

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