When we crested the top of the hill, I couldn’t help but cock a brow. Most of the time, we pulled up next to some middle-class home or apartment. There was even one place that was over a pizzeria. The house we were approaching now was bigger than the asylum Charmaine was locked up in.
I eyed the marble pillars framing a large deck.
This has to be some kind of mistake.
“I think you took a wrong turn.”
“Nope,” Stacy insisted. “This is the place.”
They told me that my stepdad was well off. I thought maybe a plumber or some other blue-collar trade. Not this. What the hell did he do? Run Vegas?
“I’m sure you’ll be very happy here.”
Gawking up at the vines framing the brick building, I whispered, “Whatever you say.”
I was more likely to end up buried in the backyard or shipped off to a boarding school. Anyone who lived in a house this well put together didn’t want a stepdaughter roaming around. Even the large black doors and matching window shutters were perfect.
I couldn’t see a single scuff or dusty spot anywhere. To the right was the rocky side of a mountain where I swear I could hear the distant sounds of water trickling.
My gaze shifted to the left, where there was a courtyard with an arched iron gate. It was the perfect place to hide something. Like, say, a body? I’d been here less than a minute and already dubbed the owners as killers. But come on. Who in their right mind would live in a place like this and marry Charmaine? Was I moving into Frankenstein’s castle?
Did the yard end at the forest, or was the forest more of the yard?
“He came out to meet us. Isn’t that nice?”
“Who?” I asked, “Igor?”
“Very funny.” Stacy tipped her chin and added, “Your stepdad.”
My brow rose at the man standing in the driveway. He was dressed in a clean navy suit with his broad shoulders rolled back.
That was my stepdad?
Don’t get me wrong, Charmaine was pretty, in a classic sort of way. I could see her ending up with a slightly buff mechanic. Not this guy. If there was a Daddy version of GQ magazine, he’d not only be on the cover, he’d be the whole reason that spin off started.
“Are you selling me into the sex trade?”
“What?” Stacy shrieked. “Why would you say that?”
“He looks like a sex trafficker.”
“And how would you know what a sex trafficker looks like?”
She may have a point. Technically, I’d never met one. Not that I knew about, anyway. But… “I watch movies.”
My suspicion rose when Daddy GQ tipped his head and smiled in at us through the windshield. The emptiness in his turquoise gaze was disturbing. Even fake smiles included a little twinkle in the eyes.
Stacy laid her hand on my jean-covered leg and gave a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be fine.”
Easy for you to say.
It wasn’t like I had a choice, but shouldn’t Charmaine be out here? I glanced around, trying to spot my mother’s honey hair. The only thing I saw was Mr. GQ with his perfect smile and oversized mansion.
Stacy must’ve picked up on my thoughts because the first thing she said when we got out of the car was, “where’s her mother?”
“She’s resting,” my supposed stepdad explained, while walking over to hold his hand out to me. “I’m Angus.”
Angus?
