Page 70 of Wicked Prince

"If you want to see it like that," he says.

I'm pretty sure that's just about the most charitable way I can see it. The least charitable way is that he wants to whore out his least favorite daughter to the son of a potential ally in order to score points.

"Exactly what is it you expect me to do?" I ask.

"Show him around," he answers with a shrug. "Take him along with you to some of your classes, show him the sights of the city, go out to dinner… That sort of thing."

He slipped that last one in pretty subtly, I'll hand it to him. "That sounds more like being an escort than anything," I say pointedly. "And I don't even know the sights of the city myself. You didn't exactly give me the tour when I came here."

He gives me the look again. The look that says I'm being unreasonable and petulant. "You're being dramatic. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world if you did go out on a date with him, though. It wouldn't kill you to spend some time with a young man from a good family. One who's interested in women."

"So youaretrying to pimp me out," I accuse.

Anger flashes in Dad's eyes, and he quickly looks around to make sure no one heard the naughty word. "Would you stop that? I swear, you'd think you were raised in a brothel with the way you talk."

"I guess that's just what happens when young girls don't have a strong father figure in their lives," I shoot back before I can stop myself. The fact that his face is turning as red as the plate of eggplant parmesan the server puts in front of me keeps me from regretting it, though.

"That's precisely what I'm talking about. There will be none of that while Stefan is here, and it wasn't a suggestion," he says firmly. "Youaregoing to show him around, and youwillact like a lady while he's here.”

I can barely resist the urge to roll my eyes. The last thing I need right now is to play hostess to some spoiled mob brat. That's definitely going to make it hard to keep my job under wraps, for one thing. The morning sickness, for another.

"Why can't Kayleigh do it?" I protest.

"Because Kayleigh has a boyfriend," he says. When he sees the pointed look I'm giving him, he adds, "I'm not saying you have to date him, but it's inappropriate for a young woman who's already betrothed to spend time around another man.”

Betrothed. They've barely started dating in public, and he's already planning the wedding. Gag.

"Right,” I say. “I forgot we're still living in Puritan times. Should I wear floor-length skirts and high-collared blouses while he's here, too? I wouldn't want him to catch a glimpse of an ankle and lose all self-control."

Dad glowers at me. He clearly doesn't find any of this as amusing as I do. On the other hand, I have to find humor in all this, or I'll go insane.

"Are you finished?" he asks.

"More or less," I say with a shrug.

"Good. Besides matters of propriety, Kayleigh has a lot on her plate, and you're not doing anything, so it only makes sense that you would be the one to show him around."

As tempted as I am to say I'm doing a hell of a lot more than Kayleigh ever has, that would be blowing my cover prematurely. "So am I showing him around as your daughter, or your second niece twice-removed or whatever?"

"My daughter," he says with a scowl. "I'll make sure he's informed of the details of the... situation prior to his arrival."

He really must plan on making these people his allies, then, if he's willing to be honest about who I am. I guess it figures why he's taken a sudden interest in my life. He finally found a use for his extra daughter.

"Excuse me," I mutter, getting up from the table. Fortunately, he doesn't question me as I head to the bathroom. I barely make it to the sink before retching, grateful no one else is in the bathroom to hear. Nothing comes up, but I still feel like shit.

To add insult to injury, my phone buzzes and I look down at the screen to find an alert telling me I have a new voicemail. I don't recognize the number, but it's from in town, so I play the message.

“Ms. Donovan, this is the West Side Laboratory calling with your results. I apologize for the delay—it seems there was an issue with the batch of tests yours was processed with. The results of the pregnancy test were positive, and Dr. Montgomery recommends that you follow up with your primary care physician as soon as possible. If you have any questions, you can call the clinic at—“

I hang up. I've already heard enough.

All I can do is stare down at the screen long after it's turned into a black mirror reflecting my blank expression of dismay. I guess there was a significant part of me holding out hope this was all just a false alarm, after all, because I'm nothing short of stunned.

When I finally manage to collect myself enough to go back to the table, I find that Dad has already gotten the check. He looks up, slipping his wallet back into his pocket.

"There you are. I hope you don't mind taking the rest of your food to go. I have to run to the office. Something came up."

I'm not even sure what he means by “office,” or if that's just a euphemism, and I really don't want to know.

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