Silence surrounded us again and then he spoke. “You know I’m damn proud of you, don’t you, Eden?”

“Yeah, I do. And that’s another reason you’re a great dad.”

The freeway opened up eventually and our crummy van rolled into Beverly Hills looking ridiculously out of place amongst the Corvettes and Porsches. The houses, or more appropriately, the mansions, looked like small cities with dark green lawns and manicured shrubs and trees.

Dad smiled over at me. “We’re almost there. Are you nervous?”

“I would be lying if I said I wasn’t. I just hope they like me.”

Dad held the piece of paper with directions in one hand as he steered the van down a long, shady street. He turned right up another long street lined with purple jacaranda trees.

I took hold of the directions. “What street is this?”

“This is the driveway.”

“Oh.” My mouth went dry and my stomach fluttered as if butterflies were doing an Irish river dance inside of it. We pulled up to massive black gates. In the distance, I could see an imposing mansion that looked more like a series of well-matched buildings rather than a home. The fountain out front looked larger than our entire apartment. “It looks like an English Castle.”

“King is from England originally. A lot of the big names came from Britain.” Dad cranked down the window, leaned out, and pushed the button on the intercom.

“Security,” a deep voice said through the speaker.

“Hey there,” Dad said lamely, “Uh, Eden Saxon is here for an appointment with Miss King.”

There was no further discourse, and the ornate iron gates swung open. Dad drove slowly as if we were driving through a field of land mines. His fingers were white as they gripped the steering wheel. I giggled at the irony.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

“On the insanely crowded freeway, you used the top of your knee to drive, and here, on a deserted driveway, you’re gripping the wheel like you’re driving through a blizzard in the Alps.”

He loosened his grip and smiled. “Don’t know why. I guess I just didn’t want to make a mistake.” He leaned forward and glanced up through the windshield. “There are probably cameras all over the place.”

“I think that as long as you’re not doing donuts on the lawn, you’re safe.”

The front doors were made of highly polished dark wood cut in the shape of an arch. I stared at the doors a second and took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing.”

Dad leaned across the seats and hugged me. “Remember, call if things don’t work out. I can be back out here in an hour.” He leaned down to get a better view of the house. “Man, is this place something.” His gaze was riveted to the shiny front doors.

“Dad, he’s not home, remember.”

“I know.” He kissed me again.

I reached back and yanked forward my duffle bag. “Love you, Dad.”

Chapter 4

The doors of the mansion were even bigger up close. I stood for a moment gathering my courage and then pressed the red button. I expected a doorbell. Instead, it was another voice.

“Welcome. I will be right out.” I was certain a young girl would open the door, but it was an elderly woman with rosy cheeks and a crisply pressed maid uniform. “Miss Saxon?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Tilly. I’ll let Miss King know you’ve arrived.” She ushered me inside, and while I’d told myself over and over again not to act like a total bumpkin by appearing overwhelmed by it all, the entry made my jaw drop. A smooth sea of white marbled flowed through the room and a glittering chandelier hung over the center of a dark blue floor mosaic. The chandelier was bigger than our van and every crystal had been polished like a diamond. I stood alone in the cavernous entryway feeling dwarfed and completely out of place in my faded jeans. Footsteps sounded behind me and I spun around.

“You must be the new governess,” the girl said, and then apparently noticing the shocked expression on my face, she smiled. “I’m only kidding. I was down in the theater watching Jane Eyre. Of course, if you were Jane then that would make me the little French girl and that would make my dad, Mr. Rochester, which is creepy because he’s old. Although his latest girlfriend is only twenty-five or something like that.”

She was extraordinarily petite with white blonde hair cut in a long shag, but as small as she was, she was definitely the type of girl who could walk into a crowded room and catch everyone’s attention. Two orange cats swirled around her legs as she grinned up at me.

“Oh my God, you’re so tall. One of those lucky girls who has legs up to her teeth— as my dad would say.” She walked over and shook my hand. “I’m Finley Tate King. Yeah, I know it’s a boy’s name.” Tiny as she was, she swung my duffle up onto her shoulder like a lumberjack. “The brilliant, highly skilled medical professional who performed the ultrasound on my mom told her she was ninety-nine percent sure I was going to be a boy.” Her ultrasound tale continued as she motioned with her head for me to follow. “I guess you have to give her credit. At least she didn’t say a hundred percent. Anyhow, my mom had already named me. She told my dad that even in the womb she’d come to know me as Finley, so she refused to change the name.”

I took in the posh decor as I followed her up an incredible staircase that was lined with paintings and sculptures that looked straight out of a Paris museum.

Finley made a point of touching two of the sculptures on the head and then she stopped and tapped the top of the banister three times. “You’ll be staying two doors down from me. The bedrooms are all left once you get to the top of the stairs. Your room is the third door on the right.” She smiled at me over my duffle. “Just in case you get lost, which is pretty easy to do in twenty thousand square feet.” She stopped long enough to point out a door. “This is Cole’s room. You definitely don’t want to go in there.”

“I guess he’d be mad, huh?”

“No.” Her blue eyes looked serious beneath the heavy black make-up and fringe of white blonde bangs. “Dirty socks. Stinks like hell in there.”

I smiled. “Mental note taken.” We continued down the long hallway. “I take it Cole is your brother?”

“Half-brother.” She looked back at me. “Cole, Jude, and I all have different mothers. We were all part of my dad’s procreation period.”

“He had a period?”

She broke into wild laughter and then fanned her face to stop. I was feeling rather stupid. “No, like Picasso’s blue period. No tampons involved. His ‘procreation period’ came right after his ‘captivated by cocaine’ period and right before his ‘grappling with middle age’ period. Which, believe me, he’s still grappling with. I think the only difference between his ‘middle age’ period and the ‘captivated by cocaine’ period is that instead of packing coke in his suitcase, he’s packing ibuprofen.”

“Captivated by cocaine?”

We stopped at a room and she threw open the door. “My dad thinks captivated is a much happier word than addiction.”

“He has a point.” We stepped inside the room, and I had to mentally remind myself to close my mouth. A large four poster bed, complete with silky canopy and more pillows than I would know what to do with, sat in the center of a room that rivaled the school cafeteria in size. “Getting lost in the house— hell, I’m going to get lost in that bed.”

“That’s cute. I like that.” Finley looked up at me. “You sure are beautiful. I’ve always wanted to be tall and statuesque like my mom. She was a model. But I was six weeks premature, and I just never grew much.”

“Do you see her a lot?”  Talking about her mom sent a twinge of homesickness through me.

“Nah, she’s living in Venice or something like that. My dad got full custody of each of us, so we grew up with him. It helps to have a lot of money for good lawyers. But I think the three of us would have chosen to stay with him regardless. Jude’s the oldest. He’s twenty-two. His mother was an actress, but she died in a car accident. And Cole sees his mother occasionally. She used to be Dad’s accountant.” She sighed. “Oh my gosh, just tell me to shut up when I drone on too much.”