Sadness crushed her. “Can I still speak to them?”
“Oh, certainly. Rae had her revenge upon our father, and they helped her. It was spectacular.”
Flicka would need all the details. She would hunt down all four of the women and demand details. “And the second time?”
“The other attempt was worse,” Wulf said. “He contacted Rae’s family and convinced them to kidnap her to perform some sort of exorcism. It endangered her life.”
“Holy Hell, Wulf. Did you strangle our father?”
“No.”
“Did you finally cut him off financially?”
“That’s of no matter, but my point is tobe careful.He might not have given up. If he tells you anything about Reagan,don’t believe him.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I don’t believe anything that old goat says, not after he tried to screw up my wedding.”
“Good.”
“I’ll take care of everything about the wedding, Wulfie. Don’t you worry your pretty little head. And I’ll be there as soon as I can get that plane in the air.”
She set the phone down and surveyed her admins, five women who were all staring at her with wide, questioning eyes.
Flicka said, “Change of plans.”
Yoshihito
Flicka von Hannover
Yoshi and I have this thing—
Flicka arrived in a car driven by Luca Wyss who had picked her up at the airport.
She ran in the front doors, yelling, “Wulf!Wulf!What the hell is going on?”
The main entertaining space just inside the front doors stretched to the back windows that overlooked the sun-drenched lap pool in the courtyard. A grand staircase rose from one end of the room toward the living quarters. The whole house was upholstered in soft shades of gold and beige with bright lapis lazuli accents.
“Wul-fie!”she yelled.
“I’m here.” A man’s low voice reached her. He strode out from behind the staircase, where that unobtrusive corridor was.
The hallway back there wasn’t precisely hidden, but you wouldn’t realize the house extended that far back unless you knew where to look for it.
Wulfram was wearing blue flannel pants. A blue concert tee shirt covered his burly torso.
Wulf wore suits every day.
Those werejammies.
At seven o’clock in the evening, Wulfram von Hannover, heir to a defunct throne of Germany, was wearingjammies.
Oh, shit.
While he was still halfway across the room, Flicka yelled at him, “Tell me what’s going on with Rae!”
“She’s—stable,” Wulf said, walking over. When Flicka looked at his feet, he was wearing soft, leather house slippers. “We’ve been able to bring her home. She’s not bleeding at this time. It appears there is no immediate danger.”
Flicka sank down to the floor and held her head in her hands. “Did our asshole father do this somehow?”
