Did I mention he was quite possibly the sexiest man on the planet? Well, he was. Six feet one inch, thick onyx-black hair, emerald-green eyes, and a granite-hard body that rocked a Brioni suit and looked damn fine gracing the cover of a magazine. I would say that each time Knox returned, he was not only older but also more refined. Sexier. I placed him right at the top of theyumcategory. Then again, my pool to choose from was limited to those who worked at the Campbell estate. Very few of them were both male and under fifty, so… Like I said, very limited selection.
All those steps I’d taken had brought me to my final destination. Now, as I stood outside the dining room, I paused briefly to compose myself.
Taking a deep breath, I resigned myself to my fate.
Step.
“Well, look who has decided to grace us with her presence,” Kitty announced disparagingly as soon as she noticed me.
“Good morning, Kitty,” I greeted kindly, plastering on a beaming smile and pretending not to notice the derision in my stepmother’s tone.
Like I said, no matter how hard I strived for perfection, I always missed the mark.
“Good morning, Daddy,” I said as I moved to my designated seat.
Did I sit across from them as a happy family would? Of course not. That would be too close for comfort. For all of us. No, my designated seat was closest to the kitchen, on the opposite end of the table that sat eighteen. Yes, that meant there were seven chairs between my stepmother and me. Seven. Practically an entire continent. And still not nearly far enough away for my taste.
“Good morning, Emily,” my father replied from his spot at the head of the table, lifting his gaze long enough to give me a quick once-over.
I knew what he saw when he looked at me. A young woman wearing an outfit better suited for a much,mucholder woman. Today’s ensemble consisted of a flowy red silk blouse with puffy sleeves and elastic cuffs at my wrists paired with a floor-length floral-patterned skirt, which could also pass as a relatively decent window covering. My dark hair was pulled up and back from my heart-shaped face, my makeup was almost nonexistent, just some lip gloss and mascara, the barest of essentials that Kitty insisted I wore. Everything I had on, right down to the utilitarian white panties and bra, was handpicked by … yep, that’s right, Kitty.
“Why is your hair up?” Kitty asked, her hard stare swinging past me, likely searching for Hannah, the woman who tended to my every need, including picking out my clothing from the selection Kitty provided as well as fixing my hair and makeup.
“It’s warm today,” I informed her, maintaining a smooth, pleasant tone.
Kitty’s lips pursed. “Is that any way for a young lady to speak? No,it isnot.”
Did I mention Kitty didn’t like contractions, either? She claimed it made a lady sound ignorant, which was why elision was the equivalent of a four-letter word in this house. If you were female, you should never usedon’torwon’torcan’tor anything with an apostrophe in it. Double negatives were a no-no, too. Fastest way to get the Kitty Campbell Glare. Unless, of course, you usedain’t. I’d always suspected that one would have Kitty keeling over.
To be fair, I came by my contractions honestly. I was a Texan, after all.
“And your hairstyle is not for you to decide.”
I didn’t argue because reminding her that I was one day shy of twenty-one and old enough to make my own decisions wasn’t something you told Kitty Campbell.
“May I be excused to fix it?” I asked, my hand on the back of my chair.
Secretly I was hoping Kitty would say yes, so of course, she shook her head.
“After breakfast.” She nodded toward the chair. “Sit.”
“What’s on your agenda today?” my father asked, clearly wanting to avoid a meltdown even as he gently squeezed Kitty’s hand as thoughshewas the one who’d endured the early-morning scolding.
Did I mention my father was over-the-moon in love with the stepmonster? Yep. For going on fifteen years now.
I gracefully eased into my chair, nodded at the morning butler, Stewart, when he offered coffee.
“She will have chamomile tea,” Kitty informed Stewart in that sharp, biting tone made more so by the lack of contractions to soften it. “And do not let me catch you offering her coffee again. You do, and you will be seeking employment elsewhere.”
For the record, this was just one variation of the same conversation that took place every morning when my father was in residence, as though we were all new to this. I got the feeling Stewart enjoyed riling Kitty, hence the reason he brought coffee every morning without fail. It was one of the reasons I was so fond of him.
Feeling responsible for getting Stewart in trouble, I apologized softly.
“Do not speak to him,” Kitty snapped, then lowered her voice and answered my father’s question. “She has lessons at eight-thirty.”
“Lessons?” My father looked at Kitty, then at me.
I ensured my tone was polite when I said, “Ballroom dance.”
