Page 87 of Wicked Prince

"There's a guest room for each of you," Natalie says once the last of the dishes have been cleared from the table. "The butler will show you the way, and if there's anything you need, just ask."

"That's very generous of you," Stefan says.

"Nonsense. As long as you're here, your family," Natalie says in a warm tone I've certainly never heard from her. Not toward me, anyway.

What is this, Olive Garden?

I can't help but find myself thinking that if this is what it was like all the time, maybe things would've turned out differently.

It's not like I had any delusions that we would all be one big happy family or anything, but it's kind of nice to be treated like I'm not invisible, even if it is only because Stefan is here.

I shake it off as I follow the others upstairs, telling myself that it doesn't matter. It's just pretend, like everything else in his fake ass family. Kayleigh still hates my guts, Natalie resents me for ever being born, and Dad only gives a shit about me—or at least pretends like he does—when he thinks he can use me for something.

And even that is destined to come to an abrupt end as soon as they all learn the truth, which I can't allow to happen. Not only because there's a chance they would force me to stay, but also because I don't even know if it's safe.

I hate that I have to think that way about my own family, but I do. Honor means everything in this world. Or at least the appearance of it does. We might have embraced all the modern technologies, but in a lot of ways, this world hasn't progressed much at all over the last couple of centuries.

The simple truth is, I just don't know what Dad is capable of if he thinks I might tarnish his precious reputation. The reputation that always mattered more to him than Mom and I ever did. After all, it's the reason I spent most of my life barely even knowing who he was. Living in the shadows of the closet he stuffed us both into.

Would he send me away again? I'm pretty sure they don't still send "fallen" girls who get knocked up outside of marriage away to convents to have their babies in secret anymore, but who really knows? Just because I'm a legal adult doesn't mean I have the same rights as everyone else.

Not in this world.

What if he tries to force me to get an abortion? There's still a part of me that thinks I must be insane for even contemplating the idea of having this baby on my own, but it's still my choice, and the idea of that being taken away from me is even more terrifying than the idea of going through with this.

"Everything all right?" Stefan asks, putting a hand on my shoulder once we're alone in the upstairs hallway. I can hear Natalie going on about the towels in the guest bathroom further down the hall even though I'm pretty sure Lorenzo is just going to end up sneaking into Kayleigh's room.

The thought has no business making me queasy, but it does.

"Yeah," I say, forcing a smile that feels frail and pathetic. He looks even more concerned. "It's just been a long night."

"I could walk you to your room," he offers.

I hesitate.

"I apologize if that sounded forward,” he says. “I really didn't mean anything by it."

"No, it didn't sound forward at all," I say quickly. "It's just… well, I don't really know where I'm staying myself."

He frowns in confusion. "It's your house. You don't have a room here?"

Before I can respond, Natalie swoops in out of nowhere and says, "There you two are."

She glances warily between us, a strange smile on her pink lips. "Stefan, you're staying in the room across from Lorenzo. Amelia, dear, we moved some things around recently, so why don't I show you down the hall?"

I glance at Stefan out of the corner of my eye, and I can tell from the way he's looking at Natalie that he can tell she's full of shit, but as tempted as I am to call her on it, what would the point be?

The truth is, I'm not sure I want him to know how pathetic my home life is. It's embarrassing, and nothing good would come of pissing off Natalie.

The path of least resistance has become my life philosophy, for better or worse, but it's worked so far. Sort of. Depending on your definition of working, I guess.

"Sure," I mutter, glancing over at Stefan. "Good night, Stefan."

"Good night," he says, even though I can still feel him watching me worriedly as I head down the hall with Natalie.

I’m wary of what Natalie is going to say as soon as we're alone, but she just stops in front of one of the empty guestrooms down the hall and gives me the same speech about the towels she gave to Lorenzo.

I guess we're pretending to like each other, then. Or at least we’re pretending like we don’t hate each other's guts. I'll play along, if only for the sake of keeping the peace and getting some rest.

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