London Dynasty (The Dynasties #1) - Geneva Lee Page 0,13

understand why. Most people in the city lived in cramped flats and visited parks to enjoy green space. That wasn’t necessary for the Belmonds, it seemed. They had space both inside and out.

The Mercedes continued, once the gates were fully open, down the private drive. Behind me, I heard the gates close with an ominous rattle as we were swallowed into a lush garden. It was a riot of flowers, blooming in colorful masses. Large trees towered along the perimeter of the wall blocking the residence from the street leading to it. We continued along the drive only a short way, even the wealthiest Londoners had to put up with some limitations, I supposed. Maneuvering the long car around a fountain, the driver parked and got out to open my door.

I did my best not to get caught staring as I stepped into the afternoon light and took in the grand expanse in front of me. Neatly trimmed hedges ran the length of the house, a large brick Edwardian home greeted me, complete with a small tower, circled with windows, overlooking the front garden. It was imposing: far grander than any place I’d ever been. My pulse quickened as I studied it.

“I’ll bring this inside,” the driver said, holding up the bag he’d retrieved from the boot.

“I can do—” But he was gone before I could tell him I would handle it. Quickly, I realized it would be a mistake to carry my own bag. I assumed Kerrigan didn’t do such things. She had probably never carried anything heavier than a Chanel handbag in her life.

I found myself frozen to the spot, staring at the house and listening to the tinkling spray of water from the nearby fountain. I’d expected someone to be there to greet me. Did Tod Belmond just expect me to walk inside, kick off my shoes, and make myself at home? I took a cautious step forward as if I might discover I’d simply found myself in a mirage. The paving stones were firm under my foot. Solid. Real. As real as I was, but I was playing a part. Perhaps, that’s why I couldn’t get a grip on my new reality.

As I took a second step, the front door burst open and a statuesque woman appeared.

“Kerrigan!” she called, and my stomach flipped.

I’d seen her photo in the files I’d skimmed through quickly. Tod Belmond’s third wife. My stepmother. I knew a few facts about her. She was only four years older than Kerrigan and me, which made me a little nauseous. They had married less than a year ago after a whirlwind romance. She’d been a dancer, ballet or something respectable. I’d thought she’d look pretty in her picture. In real life, she was gorgeous. Easily the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. Her dark, yet luminous eyes were set over regal cheekbones. Her deep brown skin was flawless, made all the more striking by the ivory silk she wore. The clothing draped over her with sophisticated ease, rippling across her flawless figure as she strode toward me.

“I’m so delighted you’re back at Willoughby Place,” she said, and then, to my shock, she threw her arms around me. “I feel certain we’re going to be the best of friends.”

“I’m glad to be home,” I murmured, feeling more confused than ever. “It’s been…” I cursed myself for napping instead of preparing.

“Too long,” she said. “You didn’t even come home for Christmas.” She looped her arm through mine and continued, leading me inside, completely oblivious to my discomfort, “I was concerned that you might be angry—about the elopement, I mean. It was so last minute, and Tod felt—”

“I’m not angry,” I cut her off quickly. I wasn’t, but Kerrigan might be. That was her problem to sort out. I was just grateful that she seemed nice and blissfully ignorant that I was a fraud.

“Oh, I’m so glad! And you must call me Iris. I know there was never a discussion about the stepmother thing,” she said in a lowered voice, “but I hope it won’t be awkward. It will be so nice to have another woman in the house.”

“Okay, Iris,” I said, trying on the name. I was grateful I wouldn’t have to call her mum. That would have added a layer of weirdness to a situation that was already teetering on too surreal to maneuver.

“Are you tired?” she asked as we stepped into the marble entry.

I gawked for a moment as I drank in the opulent