My phone starts to ring from off the nightstand. “I have to get that.” I’ve been waiting for this call. I expect Sterling to step out of the bedroom, but instead, he drops down to sit on my bed. Knowing my papa is likely worried now that he’s put together I’m not where I’m supposed to be, I rush over and answer it.
“Papa.”
“You’re in the States!” He booms through the phone. He’s not one to usually yell. Well, not at me anyways, but I’m not shocked. He’s worried. Sterling’s eyes narrow on my phone. I take a step back, getting a weird feeling he’s going to try to snatch it from me.
“Yes.” Again I lift my chin even if he can’t see me, hoping it helps with my confidence.
“Piccola.” He softens his tone. “Why?”
“I’m an adult. I can come and go as I please,” I remind him.
“Why?” he repeats. “Something has happened, and I want to know what it is. You would not run away and worry me this way without cause.” I pause for a long moment, knowing this is likely going to upset him, but in the end I give him the full truth. If I want him to treat me like an adult, then I must act like one and tell him the real reason. I can feel Sterling’s eyes on me the whole time I’m explaining what happened.
The line goes quiet for a long time when I’m finished. “Papa?”
“I’ll send a plane for you. Glorianna will be gone before you get home.”
“No. I’m staying for a bit,” I push.
“No.”
“I wasn’t asking for your approval, Papa. I’m not trying to be disrespectful, but you can’t make me come back.”
“You don’t want to come home?” I’m not surprised that he would try to guilt me into coming home.
“Papa, please. I want to stay. I’m with Cam Parker-Hyde. She invited me out to the Justice Ranch to visit. It would be rude of me to up and leave.”
“You have responsibilities here,” he reminds me. I’m not sure if he’s speaking of my mama’s trust or me getting married.
“I know that, but I also have the right to go away if I choose to.”
“You’re being willful.”
“I think it’s time. I always agree to the things you ask, but this time I’m asking for this. Then I will return.” The line goes quiet again.
He knows I’m right. The man directs most of my life, and I’ve never really pushed back on that. Heck, he’s all but picked out a husband for me. Not something I’m going to bring up fully right now.
“Three days,” he finally says.
“Papa, I will call you back in three days, and we’ll go from there.”
“Piccola—”
“I love you,” I say to cut him off.
“I love you, too.”
“I know you do, so it won’t be three days until I call you next. I’ll call you each day, and you will see I’m fine.” He lets out a long sigh. This is going better than I thought it would.
“I do love you, my Piccola.”
“I know. Now I must get some rest.”
“Good night,” he says before I end the call.
“Oh my gosh, it worked!”
“Your stepsister is a bitch.”
“Sterling!” I gasp.
“She is. You can agree with me. I won’t tell anyone.” He gives me a charming smirk that I’m sure works on all the ladies. Me included. Why else would I utter these next words?
“I’ll stay with you.”
CHAPTER 9
STERLING
It was a dumb idea. I knew it before I issued the invitation. I knew it as I was leading her up the stairs carrying her pillow. I knew it when she was brushing her teeth in my bathroom. I knew it when she climbed under the covers. I pull the thin blanket around me tighter and pray she can’t see my massive erection in the dark because that monster is not going to make her feel safe tonight.
I can tell by the way she’s flip-flopping on the mattress like a fish on a dock that she’s not fully comfortable either. “Do you want me to leave?”
She stills immediately and stares at the ceiling. “No. I’m sorry. I didn’t realize I was keeping you awake.”
“You aren’t. I’m too keyed up to sleep. Must be all the hot peppers in the Szechuan sauce.”
“It was a good dish.”
We lapse into silence, both looking up and not at each other as if eye contact would break the seal of whatever is keeping our hands to ourselves.
“Why does your dad only want you to be here for three days?”
“I think he wants to marry me off.”
I almost choke on my saliva. “T-to who?”
“He has a few candidates. Prince Rolf from Estavia might be the leading candidate. There’s also the Duke of Northridge, but I don’t think Papa is keen on the British these days, and the Duke’s title is lower.”
“Lower?” I echo faintly. And here I’d had this dumb idea that my family was trying to marry me off to this girl when her daddy was out shaking the bushes for the aristocracy. That should make me feel good, but for some reason it doesn’t. I blame the sudden sourness in my stomach on the Szechuan sauce. I need to lay off on the vinegar. Add more rice syrup.
“Yes. It’s a rather new title, granted by Queen Victoria. Daddy says the old duke bought it as there isn’t an estate or land that came with it.”
She obviously doesn’t need to marry for money. “You don’t seem too upset about the idea of an arranged marriage.”
“I’m not opposed to the idea. Papa wouldn’t marry me off to anyone I didn’t like, and he wants me to be happy. His and Mama’s marriage was arranged, and they were quite happy. After all, who knows you better than your parents, right? They should be able to pick someone who fits you well. It’s not like love matches work out well. Most of them end in divorce. Statistically arranged marriages last much longer.”
“Seriously?” I’ve never heard of that. I roll over on my side and prop my head up on my hand. Her expression in the moonlight is serious, so I don’t think she’s pulling my leg here.
“Yes. Obviously there are terrible abuses of arranged marriages, but the concept is not faulty.”
“So why aren’t you running home to get hitched to the man your dad’s picked out?”
She rolls over to face me. “I’m not ready to get married.” Her mouth turns down in a pout—a very kissable pout. “I just turned eighteen. I should be allowed to have fun. Go to parties. Travel. Make mistakes.”
My throat turns dry like dust. “What kind of mistakes?”
“I don’t know. I won’t know until I make them.”
Is it the moonlight that makes her skin glow? Is it a shadow or are her lips really that plump? I won’t know unless I touch them. I inch closer.
“What about you?”
Her words stop me short. “Me? Marriage?” The word is like a bucket of cold water. I edge away and flop on my back. “No. The Justices don’t believe in marriage. Or, at least, we didn’t used to.”