Page 38 of Wicked Prince

The driver gets out as soon as I step off the curb, but even though they all wear the same uniform of a dark suit and reflective sunglasses, it's someone different tonight.

"Miss Carillo," he says, nodding to me as he opens the door to the back seat.

"Thank you," I reply, used to the drill by now.

He closes the door, and a few minutes later, we're on the way. I trust he knows the destination since he doesn't say anything else, and I let myself space out and enjoy the view through the window.

Bainbridge and the surrounding area really are beautiful, but never more so than when I'm driving away. The lights of the city and all its tall buildings glow like diamonds in the distance.

I really wish Anthony could be there tonight. I feel like I'm walking into the lion's den, and a little friendly company would be nice.

Now that I'm actually on my way, I can't help but be relieved that I'm not the focus of the evening's events, at least. Just background.

That is, as long as Dad already explained who I am beforehand. Otherwise, things are going to be awkward.

Hey, by the way, while we're discussing your son and my daughter, here's the other daughter I had with the maid. Can you pass the bread?

Oh, well. It's not my job to justify my presence. Dad can take care of all that. All I have to do is smile, chew with my mouth closed, and pretend like I wouldn't rather be on a one-way shuttle to Mars.

The car pulls up to a skyscraper that glimmers like the biggest diamond on the street as night settles in. I can see the restaurant's name emblazoned in white letters on the very top floor. Of course.

"Thank you," I say to the driver as he opens my door. I take a deep breath before stepping out into the cold, then walk through the revolving doors and into what feels like an entirely new world.

A world of money, power, and exclusive restaurants that only New York's elite have access to.

I press my lips together, willing myself not to blurt out a snarky comment about how much I'd rather be getting a root canal. Instead, I lift my chin and steel myself for whatever's coming next as I approach the host's stand.

"Hi," I say to the maitre'd, who's puzzling over the guest book in front of him. "I'm here for the Carillo party?"

His head shoots up, and he gives me that look that usually accompanies any drop of the family name.

"Yes, Miss," he says, straightening. "Right this way."

He leads me through the restaurant, and I notice the sparsely located tables are all filled. This is probably the kind of place that has a wait list a month long, and I bet they charge enough per plate that they don't have to worry about crowding them in.

Then again, knowing Dad, this is probably just another one of his fronts. Who knows what the real business is, but I doubt it's shrimp cocktail and beef Wellington.

The maitre'd leads me to a table off in a private room with one whole wall made up of windows overlooking the city below. The view is almost as breathtaking as the one from Lorenzo's apartment.

The table is set to seat seven, but to my confusion, Dad is the only one there. He’s at the head of the table, of course.

"Here you are, Miss," the waiter says, pulling out a chair on Dad's left side.

I sit down, still in a state of confusion as I stare over at my father. He's dressed in an even nicer suit than usual, with a gray tie that matches the silver flecks at his temples.

"You look presentable," he remarks once his once-over of my appearance doesn't turn up anything for him to balk at. "After your little tantrum on the phone, I'd assumed you would show up in clown makeup just to spite me."

I drape the string of my clutch over the back of my chair and chew the inside of my lip to bite back the retort dancing on the tip of my tongue.

"Is that why you had me arrive early?" I ask dryly. "So you could send me back?"

"Of course not," he scoffs, taking a sip of the wine in front of him. "I brought a change of clothes."

I can't resist the urge to roll my eyes. Of course he did.

"When are the others getting here?" I ask.

"In another ten minutes or so," he says, leaning back in his chair to study me. "There are some things we need to discuss first."

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