Thorne Princess(56)

“This is an informal supper. Please, feel at home,” Julianne Thorne urged, snug in her Alexander McQueen red satin jacket.

We followed the Thornes across the foyer, with Brat staring down at her feet, looking much younger than her twenty-one years.

“Good to see you again, Sugar Pie.” Anthony eyed his daughter. He glossed-over the fact his daughter ran away from their house yesterday without so much as a goodbye.

Hallie, stiff and uninterested, sported the facial expression of a prisoner of war. “The pleasure is all mine,” Hallie deadpanned.

“We were so shocked when you left without saying a word,” Julianne whined to her daughter.

“Oh, yeah? I was shocked you thought I’d stay after our conversation in Dad’s office.”

The girl had an admirable amount of fight in her.

We sat down at the “informal” table in the kitchen, not the fancy one in the dining room, while three chefs in absurd white hats produced sweet potato and buttermilk pies from an AGA. Accompanied by chicken fried steak, a hearty stew, and sweet tea.

Very casual, you see.

“So. Ransom.” Julianne kept patting the corners of her mouth with a napkin, even though she didn’t consume any food. “Please tell us all about your company. We’re eager to get to know you.”

I provided them minimal information about Lockwood and Whitfield Protection Group, occasionally glancing at Brat, who seemed to have shrunk into herself until she was the size of a toddler.

I told myself it was not my monkey, not my circus. But it took them forty minutes to remember she was there while they grilled me about my life, my upbringing, my career, and my business partner.

“Oh, Bunny, I forgot to tell you. Remember Felicity Hawthorne?” Julianne gave her daughter a frosty look, taking a sip of her red wine. “She went to school with Hera. She’s the director of a think tank now, in Los Angeles. She said she’d love it if you sent her your résumé!”

“I don’t have a résumé, but I do have an allergy to nepotism.” Hallie smiled, and that was when I noticed her plate was empty. Which, of course, made sense, since almost everything on the table contained meat. She must have been starving—no wonder she was hangry.

“Oh, I’m trying, Hallie. Could you at least throw me a bone? Sarcasm is beneath us, Bunny.” Julianne’s face fell.

“Good thing I’m not a part of ‘us’ then, right, Mommy?” Brat tapped her pointy nails along the table, a habit she’d developed five seconds ago to get on her mother’s nerves.

“This conversation is redundant.” Anthony tossed his napkin onto his plate. “You don’t need to get a job right away. There’s still time for that. We haven’t seen you in so long, Hallie. Let’s focus on catching up.”

“Let’s.” Hallie perked. “Do you have a month or two? I have a lot of news from the last twenty-one years.”

“You’re a product of a generation that has too much, and of whom is required too little.” Julianne wasn’t in the mood to de-escalate the atmosphere.

“Whatever, Ma.” Brat rolled her nails along the tattoos on her arms, making her mother’s eyes stop and examine them. “Personal responsibility is a foreign concept to you.”

“That is rich.” Julianne smiled. “Coming from someone who hasn’t worked a day in her life.”

“Dessert’s almost here!” one of the staffers in the room cried desperately, leaning between Hallie and me to clear our plates.

“Good,” Julianne said. “I’m in the mood for something sweet and comforting, since I obviously cannot get any affection from my own daughter.”

I was starting to see the pros of not having a family.

“So what did you want to talk about, son?” Anthony referred the question to me, pouring more iced tea into my glass. I wasn’t his son, and I found the endearment denigrating.

“I understand that the rehearsal dinner is tomorrow.” I didn’t spare Brat a look. I was about to deliver a knockout.

“Correct.” Anthony nodded. “My security team was instructed to send you all the details.”

“They did.” I took a sip of my iced tea. “And the wedding’s in two weeks.”

“Yes.” Julianne touched her tinted cheeks. She obviously took pride in her other daughter. “That’s exactly right.”

“I would like to bridge it out and stay in Texas,” I said, not looking at Brat, who stiffened beside me. “Other than saving everyone the logistical headache, it would also ensure Hallie is protected in her hotel suite, where she already has a security team working around the clock.”

“Sounds like a solid plan to me.”

“No way.” Brat stood up, slapping her palm against the table. Her face looked ashen, yet she was animated enough to safely assume she was close to stabbing someone with her steak knife. “I’m not spending two-and-a-half weeks in Texas. I’m allergic to this place.”

“Dearie me.” Julianne swirled her red wine in tiny circles. All good manners and bad intentions. “Are we not glamorous enough for you, Bunny?”

Hallie’s gaze was fixed on her father, the lesser evil. “I want to be where I belong.”

“You belong in Texas.” Anthony’s face softened. “With us.”