1
Attending my grandmother’s funeral would seal my fate.
Behind the podium, I looked out at the gathered social leeches looking to get close to me without delay. Becoming the seventh richest person in the world had that effect.
They were human and, therefore, the least of my numerous concerns.
Numb denial warred with soul-aching fury and the cold knowledge that vampires were listening right now. Kyros would take my grandmother’s funeral from me over my damn dead body.
My grandmother had loved lavender, so we were at the lavender fields of Bluff City’s botanical gardens—much to the disgust of several of the wealthy attendees who appeared to think they’d melt with exposure to a public venue.
Why was my grandmother gone when these people were alive?
She’d upped and left forever. Her body rested in a white coffin to my right covered in lavender and pictures of her.
What am I doing here?
Standing beside me, Tommy cleared her throat and squeezed my hand. I took her hint, dropping my gaze to the speech I’d written, feeling my glasses slip down my nose.
“Agatha Le Spyre was my grandmother. She was my parent from age nine. She was—” Oh, god. A lump rose up my throat.
I hadn’t cried since nine years old and I wasn’t about to in front of these fuckers!
Tommy squeezed my sweating hand again, and I took a steadying breath.
“… She could whip a fly off a horse’s back with her tongue and wit. Yet her kindness, her ethics, and her wisdom were undeniable. I’m not going to stand here and say she was a quiet, peaceful sort of woman. If you knew her, you wouldn’t believe that.”
Several people laughed.
The laughter from those in the front row—her genuine friends and long-held employees—I could accept. The people chuckling beyond that made me want to tear this speech, followed by their faces, into a million pieces.
“—but the truth she pursued was a quiet thing,” I whispered.
“You got this, lovely,” Tommy whispered.
Her sympathy nearly undid me. I blinked several times.
I wanted these fake bastards to fuck off. I never wanted to see them again. My hands shook for an entirely different reason, and I drew free of Tommy’s hold to clutch the paper with both hands.
It’s nearly over.
I tried again. “My grandmother inspired me. I hope to be half the person she was.”
A choked cry from the crowd drew my attention. My hands clawed, the paper crinkled in protest.
Harriet Gregorian sat in the third row back crying her eyes out.
As I watched, she sobbed, clutching her manufactured chest.
Nope.
I screwed up the paper containing my speech.
“Uh, Basil?” Tommy hushed.
“I’m going off script,” I told her.
She didn’t need to be told twice. My ex-bestie backed the fuck up.
I rounded the podium.
These were the people who scrambled for any foothold against my family estate, tearing down others to get there. Or worse, kissing our asses for as long as I could recall. Not everyone, but most. It was a mistake to let them come.
“What the hell are you all doing here?” I demanded.
Harriet’s tears switched off faster than a power outage. A small smirk curved her lips.
The guests turned to each other. Most in shock, some displayed pity for my mourning breakdown.
I’d show them a breakdown.
“I don’t even recognise most of you.” I hurled at those in the second row and beyond, fists balled on my hips. “You want to know something about Agatha Le Spyre? She hated your damn guts. She thought you were trash. Tony Freg? She told me once that your head was stuck so far up your ass, it was a miracle you didn’t see the world through brown-tinted glasses.”
Tony spluttered for a moment, then stood abruptly, clicking his fingers at his family before storming out.
I pulled up short.
What a great idea, Tony.
Clapping my hands loudly, I shouted, “Everyone beyond the front row, leave. Right now. You motherfucking leeches.”
No one moved, gaping.
Oh? You don’t believe me?
Turning, I picked up a vase of flowers off my grandmother’s coffin and whirled.
A hand gripped my wrist.
“You heard her,” Tommy called loudly, jerking her head. “Everyone but the front row out. Agatha wouldn’t want you here.”
The rich bastards left in a trickle. If they expected me to run after them and throw myself at their feet, they’d be sorely disappointed.
It’d be a cold day in hell when that happened.
Tommy released my wrist.
“Why’d you stop me?” I grumbled. That vase was heading straight for Harriet’s face.
“Because that’s the vase of flowers I brought,” she replied, snatching the vase and replacing it on my grandmother’s coffin.
Fair enough.
Straightening my blazer, I circled my head in an attempt to loosen the tension in my neck. Not happening.
Dropping my chin, my gaze landed on those in the front row—not a single one of them under sixty-five.
Sir Olythieu’s lips twitched.
Mrs Syrre choked on a snort.
My mouth curved.
A whoop went up. Mr Dithis and Lady Treena held each other up.
Laughter bubbled up my throat.
Tommy’s father, Mr Tetley, clutched his stomach, tears rolling down his face—tears I suspected weren’t purely from mirth.
I supported myself on my grandmother’s coffin as I doubled over, gasping for air between soul-shaking bouts of laughter.
“That was fucking perfect,” Mr Hothen howled.
Dame Burke wasn’t amused. “Those cunts. Closing in on Basilia like that.” Being from Australia, cunt was her favourite word—to the constant horror of strangers within listening distance.
Sir Olythieu, owner of Bluff City Bank, used his cane to push to his feet. “They tried. Our Basilia told them where to go.”
“Best funeral ever,” Lady Treena said, raising her token glass of champagne in salute.
Fred, my grandmother’s butler, approached at a staid pace. The familiar grey-haired man had never lost his military training. He’d read stories to me as a child and always protected my family.
He wasn’t laughing.
My smile faded as Fred took my hand and kissed it, his brush moustache itching the skin there. The last time he blurred professional lines like this was twelve years ago when my parents died.
He met my gaze, brown eyes filled with unshed tears, and I tensed as the burning behind my eyes surged anew.
Not today. Not here.
“Your grandmother would have loved that,” Fred murmured, squeezing my hand. “She adored you so much, Miss Le Spyre. Everything she did was for you.”
And there it was—the moment I’d been waiting for.
He’d just said my real name aloud.
For a month, I’d been Miss Tetley. And for good reason.
Unaware of what he’d just done, Fred tugged me into his arms. I went, resting my head against his familiar chest, inhaling his soap smell. Part of me had held out hope Kyros wouldn’t discover the truth via the guards who followed me everywhere. That hope disintegrated as I swayed gently in the butler’s wiry embrace.
“I’m sorry I had to discuss funeral plans via email,” I murmured.