Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“Oh! So, you are interested. Good!” he teased.
“What I meant was—”
“She stopped competing after that and focused on music. She was classically trained and offered a scholarship to Juilliard. However, she turned it down. She asked for them to give the scholarship to someone else because—and quote—‘I am blessed to have the means to afford tuition at Juilliard. I am honored to have been chosen, but please give the scholarship to someone who needs it.’ She also studied international relations and business at Dartmouth.”
“Aren’t school records meant to be closed?” I muttered.
“Over the years, she has been a massive patron of the arts. And she’s a musician now, too. That’s nice. Let’s see what else she enjoys.”
“Again, it really does not matter. All you are doing is giving me a headache,” I interjected, but he went on as if he couldn’t hear me, adjusting himself on the arm of the chair.
“Her favorite season is winter. Her favorite sport is volleyball, which she played at university. Her favorite food is pasta and meatballs. Her drink of choice is red wine, although no specific brand they could find. She hates oysters and is highly allergic to peanuts. We will have to make sure the staff is aware of that at all times.”
Mr. Ambrose and his staff never failed to impress. How they managed to get that was beyond me, but knowing them, it was also just the tip of the iceberg.
“I’m begging you to please stop.” I was at the point that I had closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair, feeling defeated.
“For all intents and purposes, she seems like a perfectly fine young woman,” he said seriously, flipping to the next page and, luckily, no longer reading aloud. So, he could hear me. “I was apprehensive with her being American, and as you said of the higher status, that she would have scandalous incidents or secrets that we would need to have the palace prepare statements for. So far, however, the only dramatic thing about her life is her parents’ love affair. Which she can hardly be blamed for.”
“I have not agreed yet, Arty. You’re getting ahead of yourself.” Why did we need a statement already?
“I—”
“What are we talking about?”
Oh, thank God, I thought as I heard Eliza’s voice. I opened my eyes in hopes of seeing my savior only to see her enter the library dressed in a black gown with a large silver cross necklace around her throat, netting veil over her face, and black lipstick. Her red hair had been dyed pure black.
“Whatever we were talking about is significantly less important than that outfit,” I replied, not sure whether to laugh or make the sign of the cross.
“We were looking at the profile of Gale’s fiancée,” Arty said, completely unfazed by her fashion choice for the day.
“We are not engaged yet!”
He just assumed I would say yes when I agreed to think about it last night.
“Oh, let me see!” Eliza said with far too much excitement, and because of how long her dress was, she looked like she was gliding toward us.
“No way.” She gasped when Arty handed her the file.
“She’s very pretty, right?” Arty said proudly as if he had something to do with it.
“No freaking way!” Eliza started to jump up and down.
“Eliza, it’s not that exciting—”
“Do you not know how big this is?” she yelled at me. “Why didn’t you all tell me that the Odette Wyntor was going to be my sister-in-law?”
I looked at my brother, hoping he understood whatever the hell was happening. But he just stared at her with the same confusion.
“You know her?” he questioned.
“She has a ‘the’ in front of her name?” I asked.
Eliza glanced up from the file to us, and her shoulder slumped. The look of annoyance was clear on her face, or it could be the intent to murder. The veil she had on made it hard to tell. “I swear you guys never listen to me when I talk.”
“I have been feeling that way recently, too. Do you know why, Arty?” I looked at him, but again, he ignored me.
“How do you know her? Have you met her before?” Arty asked her.
“I wish. I’m a huge fan of her music! Remember that concert I wanted to go to last year in New York? It was hers!”
We both stared at her, not remembering at all. She rolled her eyes. “Whenever I play it, you call it depressed-siren music, Gale.”
“That’s her?” Arty and I exclaimed together.
I looked at him, and he looked back at me. We both laughed.
I couldn’t believe it. “The woman who always sounds like she is about to Sylvia Plath herself is Little Miss Sunshine? There has to be a mistake.”
“Little Miss Sunrise,” Arty corrected.
“Whatever.” I reached over, taking the file from Eliza’s hands and looking at the photo.