“You didn’t hear it from me,” he warns.
“Discretion is our middle name,” Grandma Lainey promises. Mrs. A sketches a cross over her heart.
“Shehasto live here,” Mervyn whispers. “For at least three months. Otherwise, Claude’s apartment reverts to the building association.”
My grandmother sits back, eyebrows raised. “Isn’t that interesting.”
“Lainey,” Mrs. A warns. “We have to respect Claude’s wishes. He must have had a reason for wanting her here, and we owe it to him to help. No sabotage or trying to drive her away.”
“I wasn’t thinking of anythingdangerous,” my grandmother protests.
“We’ll do our best to bring her into the fold,” Mrs. A assures Mervyn, before Grandma Lainey can incriminate herself. “I’m sure once we get to know each other, we’ll find commonground. Oh!” She bounces in place, hands clasped in front of her. “We can start by planning a special welcome to the Castle Claude family.”
Mervyn looks dubious but offers a polite smile.
“What up ladies?” a booming voice calls across the lobby. I flinch, wishing I’d had a chance to put clothes on before seeing Bradley again. Mervyn looks even more spooked than I feel, though he has the advantage of being fully dressed.
“Your aunt was looking for you,” Mrs. A says pleasantly.
“Actually, she’s my stepaunt,” Bradley corrects. “Miss B was with my dad’s brother for a couple of years, but that was like a second marriage. You know?”
“I’m familiar with the concept,” my grandmother replies less pleasantly.
“She went up already?” Bradley asks, oblivious.
Mrs. A nods, and we all wait for him to press the elevator button—or take the stairs if he needs more cardio—but he’s too busy checking his phone.
“I gotta run,” he informs us. “You can tell her I need to see my dad. Strike while the iron is hot.” The last part is directed at Mervyn, as if he’s a secretary instead of a lawyer. I’m surprised he doesn’t tell Bradley to deliver his own messages, but he just looks pained. Maybe he threw his back out playing bellhop.
“Sure you don’t want to go for a ride?” Bradley points at me, like we both know I want to say yes, because who wouldn’t?
“No, thank you.” I immediately regret the “thank you,” because the last thing I’m feeling is gratitude.
“The door is that way.” Grandma Lainey gestures with her chin.
“Later,” Bradley tosses over his shoulder, as he saunters off.
“Preferably not,” my grandmother says, watching the revolving door spit him onto the sidewalk. “I’m getting a strong aroma of Ponzi scheme.”
“I think that might be his cologne,” Mrs. A quips.
I see no reason not to pile on. “He told me this place could be like the Playboy Mansion. With a few upgrades.”
“Over my dead body.” Grandma Lainey knocks on the wooden coffee table, just in case, before turning her attention to me. “Is there anything you want to tell us, Virginia? About the so-called nephew.Ifthat’s what he is.”
“You think he’s an impostor?” Although why would Claude’s sister invent a nephew? It’s not like Bradley inherited anything.
“More like a paid companion,” my grandmother says.
Mrs. A perks up. “Are there still gigolos? I thought they might have gone out of fashion, like women’s hats. Or blue eye shadow.”
“Whoever he is, if he crossed a line…” my grandmother trails off, dragging a fingernail across her neck.
“We’ll end him,” Mrs. A confirms, in her sweet voice.
I nod my appreciation for their support, including the death threat I’m 95 percent sure they mean metaphorically. Part of me is tempted to say,Yes, please! Ban him from the premises. But Bradley seems like a problem I should be able to handle—especially here at Castle Claude. My grandmother has always treated me like a competent, rational human being, and I try to live up to that image. As opposed to the message I get at home, which is heavy on,Are you sure?AndYou know your prefrontal cortex won’t finish developing until your early twenties.
“I’m good,” I tell them, glancing away as the sound of whistling drifts into the lobby.
