Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91809 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 367(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Me: Fine. I’ll be there in three hours. Do I have to come alone?
Hell Beast: If you want her to say a word worth hearing, yes.
I left the conversation at that. Two hours and forty-five minutes later, I shut the car off in the parking lot of La Perla’s.
I don’t know why I thought it was a restaurant. Or why I thought a restaurant would be open at eight in the morning. La Perla’s was a dress shop. A midsized boutique that was just beginning to open its doors and get ready for the day’s patrons.
I climbed out, looking around. There were other cars in the parking lot, but it was impossible to know if one was, Say— my grandmother’s car or if they all belonged to the employees.
Cautiously, I grasped the door handle—wondering if I should go in or wait until time.
The woman standing behind the register glanced up and smiled at me. She waved for me to come in.
“Good morning. You must be Miss Sinclair.”
“Uhh, yes.”
Bowing, she swept out a hand. “Right this way, ma’am. Everything is ready for your appointment.”
I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing—simply following her from the main room and down a hallway lined with adorned mannequins.
La Perla’s was as elegant as its name and twice as beautiful as any shop in Regalia. Which was saying something. Plush, cream carpet tickled my sandals. Bold of a place with high foot traffic to choose a color that captured every stain and trace of grime. The carpets should be filthy, yet they looked like they were put in that morning.
Walking behind, my shoulders brushed dusky-pink wallpaper with golden swirls. Wilder’s lips were the same dusky pink. The thought brought an unbidden smile to my lips. When had I gotten so lovesick and smitten that I was seeing my guys everywhere? Even in the walls.
The attendant moved aside as we entered another space. A woman sat on a circular sofa, accepting a glass of champagne offered on a silver tray.
I studied the side of her face without moving. This was Alistair’s mother. I didn’t need her confirmation to prove it.
Silver had all but overcome the auburn locks she passed on to her son. Small wrinkles appeared at the corner of her eye and mouth—the lightest dusting as though they were hesitant to age her without permission.
She was beautiful because, of course, she was. I didn’t need to see her full face to know she was, but she turned and smiled at me. Confirming it.
Astoria Burkhardt. The first and only shadow queen of Regalia.
“Good morning, Luna.”
“Good morning, Mrs. Burkhardt.”
She laughed—a tinkling sound. “So polite. No need for formality, dear. You may call me Grandmother.”
I blinked—not expecting that in the slightest. The woman went out of her way to ignore my existence, then wouldn’t allow me to enter her home to speak to her, but now she was Grandmother?
“I’d like to stick to Mrs. Burkhardt if that’s all right.”
Her smile didn’t waver. “Of course. Whatever makes you comfortable.”
I looked around, half expecting to spot Saylor hiding behind a rack of clothes, laughing herself sick because she fooled me with this paid actor.
“Do... you know why I’m here?” I asked.
“We’ll get to that.” She flapped a hand, sending the attendant away. “This is my first time meeting my youngest grandchild in person. I hope you don’t mind, I asked you here so I could spoil you.”
“Spoil me?” What the hell was happening?
“Of course.” She snapped her fingers and another attendant appeared at my side, startling me so bad I tripped out of my sandal. “On Saylor’s sixteenth birthday, I brought her here for her first bespoke gown. I’m a few years late, but I hope you’ll allow me to do the same for you. Every bright, beautiful young lady deserves a dress that changes their mood just to look at it.”
I was helpless to stop the attendant guiding me to the small raised platform and beginning her measurements.
I knew what Astoria was doing. Everything—the dress shop, the sweet smile, compliments, pleasant tone. All of it was meant to throw me off-balance.
I blew in there expecting a fight. Thinking I was going to face sneers and insults for being the maid’s daughter. Expecting her to sniff and tip her chin at my questions. Preparing to fight for every inch in a battle with the Burkhardt matriarch.
I was ready for it. I had my responses and rebuttals ready to go. So she did the opposite.
I doubted very much that she saw me as bright or beautiful, and I’d eat my shorts if the lady actually gave a crap about meeting her youngest grandchild for the first time. All of this was a carefully choreographed dance intended to give her the upper hand.
I knew what she was doing, but that didn’t mean I knew how to stop it.