Secret Beast - Amelia Wilde Page 0,2

we can get him to stay for dinner—”

The rest of the sentence dies an early death.

“Hello, Haley.” Caroline Constantine is a vision in winter white, her blonde hair pulled back into a flawless chignon and her cheeks a delicate pink from the cold. My aunt doesn’t belong on our porch in her snow-colored Prada coat. It’s the kind of coat you wear when you’re going to be driven from place to place, not tromping through slush. Caroline’s black town car waits behind mine in the driveway, the engine idling.

“Please, come in.” I’m a beat too late, and the corners of Caroline’s mouth turn down. Not enough that she’s actually frowning. Just enough that I know these aren’t the Constantine graces she expects. Her eyes flick over the overflowing bookshelves in the living room and Cash’s scattered homework on the table. I shut the door behind her. “Would you like something to drink? Hot tea?”

“Aunt Caroline.” Cash rises from his seat and comes over to us. He kisses Caroline’s cheek, and she softens at his charm. She’s always liked Cash the best of my siblings. I think he reminds her of her sons. “What brings you to the house?”

“No, thank you, Haley.” Caroline fixes her gaze on Cash. “I thought I’d stop by and see how my brother-in-law is getting along. He hasn’t been present at any of the family gatherings lately.”

Cash and I—and sometimes our sister, Petra—are the ones who represent our tiny branch of the family at Caroline’s parties. My dad can’t be bothered to go. What’s the point of being seen at a party when you could be working on your next world-changing invention?

“He’s been hard at work lately,” Cash supplies, an indulgent smile on his face. “You know how he is. He’s going to change the world with his innovations in wind energy.”

“So he’ll be working on it now, then.” Caroline pulls off one of her white gloves, then the other, and tucks them both into her purse. “I’ll go speak with him in his workshop.”

“He’s not down there.” I’m too quick with it, too desperate, and Caroline notices. She raises her eyebrows and I rearrange my expression into something sheepish and apologetic. “The heater in my car broke.”

She narrows her eyes. “Isn’t your car the one parked in front of mine?” There’s tacit disapproval in her question. It’s not seemly to keep your car parked in the driveway like a poor person who doesn’t have room in their garage. It’s not seemly to have a ten-year-old car with a broken heater, either. Constantines drive Bentleys and Porches, not Toyota Camrys.

“He went to speak to our mechanic.” Cash laughs a little, as if meeting with a mechanic is one of Dad’s many lovable quirks. As if he ever meets with mechanics. “See if it was something he could fix here at home. You know he loves tinkering with engines.”

I hold my breath and pray that Caroline Constantine doesn’t know that most mechanics in the area close at five, and it’s too late for my dad to have gone there. I send up a secondary prayer that she hasn’t found out through her extensive network about Dad talking to a Morelli in the first place.

Caroline has the power to make anyone’s life difficult in Bishop’s Landing, and since her husband died—my dad’s brother—she’s been twice as stringent about keeping the family image polished. That’s what this is: a visit to keep us in line. Not a friendly chat.

She’s a beautiful woman, but not entirely real. It’s like she’s been carved out of ice. “You’re graduating in the spring, isn’t that right, Haley?”

“Yes, I am. My degree will be in English literature. There are tons of opportunities that—”

“You’ll need to make a name for yourself.” Caroline looks me in the eye. God, I wish I was in some kind of Constantine armor and not skinny jeans with a tunic top that’s cute and convenient for walking from class to class. I look like the opposite of a Constantine princess. The opposite of what Caroline wants. “You’ll be representing our family, and it is crucial that we maintain our reputation.”

“Oh, of course.” I put on a smile that she doesn’t exactly return. “I’m hoping to get a position somewhere in the city, and then in a few years—”

“You’ll run it by me first. Approved companies only. Approved positions only.” Her tone softens. “I only want the best for you.”

“Thank you.” Wanting the best, coming from her, is a threat. My