A flame grows wild in Samuel’s eyes. I regret my words as he shoots forward, grabbing my chin in a firm grip.
“Samuel,” our father growls.
Samuel sits there for a second, leaning across the table, holding my chin, scanning my face.
My heart beat races, not knowing what Samuel is about to do next. Did I really piss him off that badly?
“Samuel,” our father snaps again. “Sit. Down. Don’t be so immature.”
Samuel’s eyes lower at our father’s remark. A subtle pained look crosses his face as he returns to his chair at the dining table. Was it from my words or Father’s that made the small glimpse of heartache show up in his glacier-blue eyes?
Our doorbell rings through the entryway.
We all look at each other. No one ever comes unannounced.
“Well, don’t all of you get up at once,” Mrs. Donovan shouts through the doorway as she follows Bernard, our butler, to the door.
I strain to hear their conversation.
Mr. Donovan makes his way to the door, unease written all over him. But before he can make it there, his wife walks into the kitchen.
“You have a visitor, Eden.” She moves out of the way, and Lianne is smiling at me, her curly hair bouncing as she makes her way over.
“Eden!” She squeals. “Guess who got their very own car!” A pair of keys shoot out from behind her back as she takes a seat in the empty chair next to me.
“What? Mr. Wellingburg is allowing you to drive?” With my mouth open in awe, I take the keys from her hands to feel they’re real.
What did I think it was, a mirage or something? I am just in complete shock she is allowed to drive. My parents would never allow it. Samuel would never allow it.
“Yes! So”—she nudges my shoulder—“looks like you have a new ride to and from school.” She leans in closer. “You can ditch your watchdog over here.” She jabs her thumb in Samuel’s direction.
“No,” he says, snatching the keys from my hands and placing them back in Lianne’s.
“What do you mean no?” I lean back in the chair, crossing my arms, deflating.
“I think you know what no means... no.” He lifts his plate, and a housekeeper takes it and makes her way to the kitchen sink.
“You’re so busy with Divine duties. Why not let her drive me to and from school?”
It came out brattier than intended.
His jaw ticks as he narrows his eyes at me, like he is debating which way he wants to take this.
“Today, she can,” Mr. Donovan interjects.
“What?” Samuel, Lianne, and I say in unison.
“No,” Samuel hisses.
“I said, yes, Samuel.” Mr. Donovan makes his way to me. “Ms. Wellingburg can take you to school today. But only today.” He kisses the top of my head, and my gaze drags to Samuel, who is shooting daggers at him.
Is it because he is allowing Lianne to drive me or because his father just put his lips on me? What am I saying? Why would he care ifourfather gives me a peck on the head? But the longer I watch Samuel glower at Mr. Donovan, the more I think it might be the case.
No. I blink away the thought.
“Samuel has a busier day than normal today, anyway. We have some entry interviews to do.”
And with that, Mr. Donovan walks out of the dining room.
