Page 69 of Wicked Prince

It sounds kind of pathetic now that I've said it out loud. A single friend. He's the best friend I've ever had, though, and I'd take him over a dozen of the catty bitches who've taken it upon themselves to make my life at Bainbridge as unpleasant as possible any day.

"Oh?" He raises his eyebrow, as if he doesn't believe me. Like it's an imaginary friend or something. "Who?"

I bristle, folding my arms. "His name is Anthony."

"Anthony what?"

"Anthony Moreau," I answer, even though I know he's not asking because he actually cares. He just wants to know if I'm associating with anyone undesirable.

That gets a reaction out of him. He lifts both eyebrows and considers it for a moment before giving a satisfied, "Huh."

"I take it you approve?" I ask dryly.

"The Moreaus are a good family," he answers. "They certainly wouldn't make poor allies."

"My friendship with Anthony isn't a strategic move," I say, unable to keep the irritation out of my tone. "He just happens to be a really nice guy."

Now he's giving me a suspicious look. "I see. And that's all he is? A friend and a nice guy?"

"He's gay, Dad. Really, really gay."

He doesn't seem to know what to say to that, so he takes another sip of his wine. "Well, it's nice you have a decent friend, in any case."

"Why are you so interested in my social life all of a sudden?" I ask, sounding as suspicious as I am.

"I'm your father, for one thing," he says. When my silence makes it clear that doesn't pass muster, he adds, "Connections are everything in this world, Amelia. The right ones can make all the difference. So can the wrong ones, for that matter."

Yet another bit of ominous fortune cookie wisdom from Dad. I'm really not in the mood tonight. The bread is good, though. I've put away half the basket in an attempt to settle my stomach. I'm surprised he hasn't commented on that yet.

"Is that why you wanted to send me to Bainbridge?" I ask. "So I can make the ‘right kinds’ of connections?"

"That's part of it," he admits. "And I know you're not exactly the most sociable person in the world."

I narrow my eyes and stuff another piece of bread into my mouth, this time to keep myself quiet. Fortunately, he's all too happy to fill the silence.

"Which brings me to what I wanted to talk to you about. The son of a very important acquaintance will be coming into town next month."

"Okay," I say slowly. "I'm still not sure what this has to do with me."

"He's considering whether he wants to transfer here from his school in New Jersey." He pauses dramatically to add, "Princeton."

"Good for him?"

That clearly isn't a satisfactory response to him, but the server comes over to take our order, so I have a moment's pause to contemplate what it is he's getting at. The only thing I can figure is that he wants me to schmooze with this guy for some reason.

"Stefan is the eldest son of the Romero family," Dad continues once we're alone again. "You wouldn't know this, but they're one of the more prominent families in the Northeast, and we've been courting good relations with them for years now. They're the kinds of people who would make valuable allies—or very problematic enemies."

Sometimes it's easy to forget all the mob stuff underneath the crust of the day-to-day humdrum of working and going to class, and sometimes it smacks me right in the face.

This is one of the latter.

Enemies.Most people have them, sure, but it's rarely anything more dramatic than a few mean girls. And I've got plenty of those. It hits me, though, that he's talking about actual enemies. The kind that put out hits on people.

"So, what do you want from me?" I ask.

"Like I said, Stefan is considering a transfer, and he'll need someone to show him around," Dad says, folding his hands on the table in front of him. "To give him a proper welcome, and help him see all that Bainbridge—and the city—has to offer."

I blink. "You wantmeto be a university tour guide?"

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