"Your father would be proud." His thumb strokes my arm through the fabric, and my skin tries to crawl off my body and find somewhere safer to live. "He always said you were the strong one."
"Did he."
"Oh, yes. Very proud of his little girl." Those eyes flick over me. Assessing. Calculating. "You know, you look so much like your mother when she was young. Same bone structure. Same fire."
The comparison makes me want to vomit.
"I should get back to the receiving line." I try to step away.
His grip tightens.
"Cal Reznick is here, one of my associates. I'd love for you to meet him properly." Matthew's smile doesn't reach his eyes. It never does. "He's been a tremendous help with the estate transition. Very eager to offer his support during this difficult time."
Support.The word sounds like a threat.
"I'm sure he is."
"There he is now." Matthew waves someone over, and my stomach drops three floors.
Cal Reznick is exactly the kind of man Mother would pick out of a catalog. Late fifties, silver hair slicked back with something that smells like old money and older intentions. Tailored suit that can't quite hide the soft belly underneath. The kind of man who's spent his whole life being powerful and expects everyone to be grateful for his attention.
His eyes land on me and light up like he's just spotted a prize racehorse.
"Miss Davenport." He takes my hand between both of his. Damp, too warm, the grip of someone who thinks he's already won. "Such a tragedy. Your father was a great man."
"Thank you."
"I hope you'll allow me to offer whatever support you need during this difficult time." The way he sayssupportmakes my skin want to file a restraining order. His thumb strokes my knuckles, and he doesn't let go when I try to pull away. "I'veknown your family for years. Your uncle and I are very close. Practically brothers."
Vultures of a feather.
"That's very kind." I yank my hand free with more force than is strictly polite. "If you'll excuse me?—"
"Of course, of course. We'll have plenty of time to talk later." His smile is all teeth and no warmth. "I look forward to getting to know you better, Isabelle. Much better."
I'm going to need a shower.
Possibly a flamethrower.
I escape toward the side entrance, where Sergei's stationed, my heels clicking sharp against marble, my pulse hammering against my ribs. He straightens when he sees me coming. Reads the tension in my shoulders, the set of my jaw.
"Problem?"
"My uncle and his associate." I stop beside him, using his body as a shield from the room. "Cal Reznick. He looks at me like I'm something he's planning to acquire."
"I noticed." Something dark flashes across Sergei's face. "He touched you."
"He shook my hand. Held it too long." I rub my palm against my dress like I can wipe away the residue. "Made it very clear he wants to offersupport."
"What kind of support?"
"The kind that makes me want to invest in mace."
His jaw tightens. "Point him out."
"Sergei—"
"Point. Him. Out."
