Page 6 of Princess's Revenge
CHAPTER 3
Istep through the door into what looks like a big private library. It’s wall to wall with books that go all the way to the ceiling. It’s even got one of those ladders to reach the higher shelves.
There’s a large sitting area with rivetted red-leather wingback chairs and a coffee table as a centerpiece.
Beyond all of that is a huge redwood desk with an elderly gentleman sitting behind it. He stands when he sees us. He looks a little like Marlon Brando from theGodfatherera, but older and without the fake jowls.
His suit is blue, he’s not wearing a tie and the smoke from his cigar is thick in the air.It stinks.I play it loose and greet him by saying, “You think you could crack a window?”
He smiles downward, the way old people do, then gestures for me to sit. I look at the three bloodhounds behind me and Anthony nods for me to take a seat.
I plant my feet and say, “If this isn’t going to take long, I’d rather stand.”
The old man sucks on his stogie and puffs out a cloud, “Sit.” The voice is old and raspy. His hair is slicked back and gray. He’s clean shaven. He looks like he was handsome as a young man…maybe even as an older one. It’s the eyes. He gestures again with his burning tobacco and a smile—Sit.
I do, taking the chair opposite him at the desk.
“How was your wedding?” he asks as he sits back down, then stares at me curiously and points to his cheek, “Who did that to you?”
“Christopher,” I point at the big jerk. I feel like I’m calling out the prankster in high school to a teacher.
He stares at Chris for an eternity, then says, “Do it again and you’ll answer to me.”
Christopher says, “She was trying to run.”
They glare at each other some more and I almost feel bad for Christopher.
I break up the staring contest, “You know how the wedding was, I left, now I’m here. I suppose I have you to thank for the pictures?” I’m snide on purpose, I hope he’s picking up on it.
“Yes,” he nods.
“Why? Why on my wedding day? Why not before or after?”
“Because,” he puffs out a cloud and leans back, “one grand decision would show me that you were strong enough to make an even bigger one.”
“And that would be?”
He clears his throat, “I’ve been watching you for the last six months, Andrea.”
Oh God!I almost want to laugh! “You’ve got the wrong person,” I shake my head in relief, “I’m not Andrea. My name is Jessi!”
“Please,” he puts his hand up for me to stop, “I’ve been watching your former fiancé for only three. I had to wait for the right moment. If I’d come to you at any other time, you would be reluctant to accept what I’m about to tell you. This has all been planned.”
“Didn’t you hear me?” I raise my brow at him, “I’m not Andrea!”
“Your real name is not Jessi Pernell,” he says the words with a stone-faced certainly, “you were born Andrea Lupertazzi.”
For probably the fifth time today, my chest feels hollow, I don’t know how much more I can take. I’ve been wondering who I am all my life and this man just doles out the information like he’s pulled it out of his back pocket.Is it true? Is this who I am?
I feel like I’m shaking, my heart is going a hundred miles a minute. Francis pours me a glass of water from an ornate decanter. I take it with unsteady hands and gulp it down.
Everyone waits for me without talking.
I hand the empty glass back after making a few embarrassing slurping sounds, “Do you have anything stronger?”
He frowns at me, “Like whiskey?”
“Bourbon.”