Page 31

When I walk into the main lobby, the young valet from earlier is talking to Katsia. From where I’m standing, I can’t make out what they’re saying, but judging by the movements of his hands and the expressions on his face, they’re not talking about anything light.
The boy—who I should probably stop calling “boy”—stops his talking, his mouth slamming shut before he inches his head toward me slightly, like he felt me enter the room. Well, the connection is mutual, and I have no idea what to make of it at all. His eyes lock onto mine and something pangs in my chest. Recognition, guilt, confusion. They all swim inside me, and I have no idea what to do with it. He storms away from Katsia and into the back of the reception area. Katsia continues watching him with careful eyes. She looks back to me, plastering on a, what seems like, a fake smile before waving me over.
I walk toward her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She brushes my words off casually. “Don’t you worry about Damon. You hungry?” she asks, leading me into the large restaurant on the other side of the stairwell. I remember this place a little, but walking into it, it’s like I’ve never been here before. Everything has changed and been upgraded. Chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and all-glass walls line the entire room so you have a vast view of the woods anywhere you sit. We take a table on the other side of the room, tucked away enough for privacy.
She picks up the menu and smiles. “The fish is good. If you still like fish, that is.”
Smiling, but not sure of the angle she’s aiming for, I nod. “Love fish.”
The waiter comes and takes our menus, and as she suspected, I ordered the salmon and steamed veggies. Pouring us both a glass of water, she looks at me. “So, how’d I know who you were?” she asks my unspoken question with a smile.
Nodding, I take a sip of water.
“Well, I’ve known your father for a while now.”
“I sort of figured that. I remember this place a little,” I answer, placing my glass down.
“How much do you remember?” She aims for casual, but I pick up the hitch in her tone, and though the question could be interpreted as one that has a double meaning, she says it with such etiquette that it doesn’t have me second-guessing her intention. In fact, if I hadn’t read some of The Book, and if I didn’t know what I knew about my father and the Kings, her question and the way she said it would’ve slipped right past me.
“Not that much. I just remember him bringing me here as a kid. He would say it was his freedom. I just needed to get grounded a bit more.”
“Oh?” That perks her attention. I once again caught her tone. As if she realizes she may have seemed a little too interested, she drops her smile a notch. “Well, I hope we can give that to you.” The waiter comes, placing breadsticks and garlic bread on the center of the table, and I reach for one immediately, wanting something to occupy myself with that doesn’t include being interrogated.
“Yeah.” I shrug like any other teenager would. “I mean, just school and my friends. It’s all a little much. My love for shooting only intensified as I got older, and I don’t know,” I mutter. “I guess I wanted a change of scenery and to get away for a bit.”
She nods as if in understanding, but I can see a thousand questions hidden behind that calm and collected posture she’s holding so well. “How long do you plan on staying?”
“Just the night. I have school on Monday, so I should get back tomorrow afternoon sometime.”
She smiles in acknowledgment. “Well, I hope you enjoy your stay.” The waiter comes back, placing both our dishes on the table and leaving. Picking up a fork, I slice into the salmon and place some in my mouth, it melting in an instant. Fighting the urge to moan in approval, I chew slowly while picking up my water.
“So you and my dad are good friends still?”
She pauses her chewing and swallows. “Well of course. I assume he told you to come here?”
“Actually, he doesn’t know where I am right now. I just packed my car and left. I remembered this place and drove.” She places her knife and fork down, dabbing the napkin over her mouth.
“So he doesn’t know you’re here?” she clarifies, though I already said that.
“He doesn’t, no. Is that a problem?” Tilting my head, I watch her reaction.
Her face relaxes before she smiles. “No. No problem.”
The bitch is good. Whatever she’s playing at, she’s good at it. Getting to her feet, she smiles, but not enough for it to reach her eyes. “Make yourself at home, Madison,” she murmurs in a way that has chills breaking out down my spine. “I’m sure there’s enough here to keep you occupied with your time.” Then she leaves in a hurry.