Don't Tell (Don't 1)

“We should go.” Her eyes never looked up.

“Yes, let’s get this over with.”

18

Molly

As hours passed, I grew more annoyed and less intrigued by my summons. What was I doing here? I pushed the curtains away from the glass and looked at the manicured lawns below. There was a fountain nearby that was illuminated. I was too high up to count the tiers of water that splashed into the pool.

I crossed my arms as I made another lap around the apartment. I had replied my bun several times, stabbing it with the pencil.

I heard the gentle bell of the elevator and stopped in the middle of my next oval behind the couch. My heart sped up. My palms tingled. I waited for the doors to open.

“Who are you?”

Her voice was high. She was dressed in a long white gown that shimmered when she moved.

“I-I—who are you?” I retorted. Although, I didn’t know how much power I had to wield in this situation.

Her perfectly shaped eyebrows rose. “Princess Isabel.”

Shit. Holy shit.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” I cringed.

She placed a hand on her hip. “I take it you know where my brother is?”

“Actually I don’t.” I rounded the couch. “I’m Molly.” I extended my hand.

She looked at it. I didn’t know if I had just made a royal faux paus, but she took it with a mild shake.

“Nice to meet you, Molly.”

I smiled. “You don’t know where he is either?”

“I came straight from XX. I haven’t even changed. I need to discuss a few domestic matters with him.” She walked to the bar, letting the train on her dress drag across the floor.

I could see traces of Damon’s features. The dark hair and dark eyes. But Isabel had a certain grace as if she floated on her designer shoes. I had to remind myself to stop staring at the princess.

“Drink?” she offered.

I nodded. It seemed rude to turn the princess down, especially after I treated her like an intruder in her brother’s home.

“So how long have you been seeing my brother?” She poured both of us a vodka drink.

“It’s not really like that.”

She twirled toward me. “It’s not? Hmm.”

I didn’t know if that meant she was surprised or if I had missed her sarcasm. I felt plain in my yoga pants. I was the Cinderella before she met her fairy godmother and Isabel was the definition of what she looked like after.

“However, you are here and he is not.” She tipped her glass toward me.

I felt the need to explain, but took a sip of the lemony vodka drink. What explanation would I give the princess? I certainly wasn’t going to tell her how I met her brother. And reliving today’s events didn’t seem any better.

We turned our heads when the elevator bell rang.

Isabel rushed to the doors. “I need to talk to you.”