London Dynasty (The Dynasties #1) - Geneva Lee Page 0,12

morning with a note that I should read a collection of dossiers that had been loaded onto it. I’d planned to spend the journey doing just that, but as I relaxed into the first moments of my new, temporary life, I decided a nap couldn’t hurt.

A loud honk woke me and I bolted upright, only to be dragged back by the seat belt fastened around me. It took me a moment to remember where I was. Looking out the window, I gasped to see myself surrounded by traffic and buildings and people. The streets outside the car were teeming with activity. How long had I been asleep? A quick check of my phone told me that it had been over an hour. Panic gripped me as I realized the bustling scene outside the car was London. We were already here, and I hadn’t done a thing to prepare.

After coaxing the belt to loosen, having panicked itself when I jolted forward and locked me in place, I leaned forward and called to the driver, “Are we close?”

“Nearly there, but it will be a bit with traffic,” he said over his shoulder. “I trust you had a nice nap.”

“Too nice,” I muttered, wishing I had a breath mint. I tapped a few more consoles and found some. I guess I wasn’t the only one who had fallen asleep back here.

“We had to make a small detour due to road work, but we should be in Hampstead shortly.”

“We’ve reached London, though?” I asked, peering outside. The city was starting to give way to quieter stretches.

“Kinda,” he said with a shrug. “That was Watford. We don’t have to go into the city proper, thankfully. It would be hours, but they reopened the M25. This construction makes getting anywhere impossible, but we’re nearly to Hampstead.”

We hadn’t even been in London proper? My memories of London were loud and jarring, full of flashing colors and swarms of people. I was surprised we’d only passed through a suburb, but I was also grateful for the construction delays. It gave me time to cram some of the information I’d neglected to study.

Grabbing my mobile from the console, I opened the folder marked Kerrigan on the home screen and began to scan through the notes. A sinking feeling dragged at me. This wasn’t just a few collected facts, there were pages and pages of information. It was like someone had been writing her autobiography. Instantly, I regretted sleeping. I’d promised myself I would arrive as prepared as possible. According to Mr. Belmond, only a few people were to know the facts of my arrangement with him. Even his new wife was being kept in the dark. Given that she was nearly my age and had barely known him a year—thank you, Google—he didn’t seem worried about my ability to fool her. Considering that I was expected to live in the same house as her, I didn’t share his certainty.

I was only on the second file—a play-by-play of Kerrigan’s private primary school days—when the car slowed in front of a gate.

The driver rolled down his window and spoke into a callbox, “Miss Belmond is home.”

I ignored the shivering thrill that raced through me at that proclamation and turned my attention to the gates. The wrought iron groaned and began to swing open, affording me a glimpse of the place I’d agreed to call home.

Chapter Seven

When I’d been told I would move to London and live in the Belmond family home, I hadn’t expected a mews but I wasn’t prepared for an estate. It wasn’t the sort of place I pictured people living when they claimed to live in London. Hampstead wasn’t full to bursting with people, houses and shops stacked on top of one another. Nor was it a sleepy village. It was practically a different world. I thought only the King and Queen lived in large residences with gardens and endless rooms. Apparently, I was wrong—very wrong.

I swallowed back the gasp that threatened to escape my mouth as I took in the behemoth before me, reminding myself that the real Kerrigan would never be so impressed by a place she’d been tens of thousands of times. But it wasn’t easy. The house, if it could be called that, sat behind a tall brick wall, which afforded privacy by obscuring the estate from view. Panels had been cut and secured to the iron gates to block out even the nosiest of passersby. Considering what lay beyond those gates, I could