Page 11 of Filthy Hot Billionaire
“Her final lesson after a painfully long two years,” Kitty clarified, as though that made a difference.
I could tell my father wasn’t impressed by this, but he didn’t say anything. He never did. From the day Kitty became Mrs. Rhett Campbell, I’d become her problem, not his. To the point that my father spent the majority of his week in Austin taking care of Delta June’s while Kitty and I remained here in Corpus Christi, in the mansion Rhett had inherited from his parents and since remodeled—twice—for his wife. And because Kitty was in charge and she felt as though I was uncouth—her word—simply by being born a Texan, I was required to endure any and all training she thought was good for me. Ballet, equestrian, tennis, gymnastics. And we couldn’t forget the actual classes on etiquette and how to be a lady.
Today was another trek into the lively world of ballroom dancing, a skill I was sure to need … never. However, I didn’t completely hate it, a fact I’d managed to keep from my stepmother. If she even suspected I enjoyed something, there was no doubt she would allocate my time to something I didn’t.
My father, evidently done with knowing what I had to do today, turned to Kitty. Their conversation picked up, seemingly from before I’d interrupted with my appearance. I sat silently as I was supposed to do, waiting ever so patiently for my breakfast while they chatted as though they were the only two in the room.
I tried not to look at them, but it wasn’t easy. I noticed the way my father leaned in, reverently swiping a finger along her jaw. I noticed how Kitty would blush at the exact right times, her evil gaze swinging to me every so often as though ensuring I was watching the spectacle.
Did I mention I detested her?
“Thank you, Stewart,” I said kindly when he delivered my spinach frittata and bowl of fresh fruit, evidently from the approved menu Kitty had selected for me this week.
For the record, I hated spinach, and I wasn’t all that fond of eggs. Then again, at least I wasn’t being forced to eat meat, something I despised almost as much as my stepmother.
I poked at the food on my plate, sipped my water, and ignored the tea while I glanced at them repeatedly, curious as to whether anyone would realize what tomorrow was. Did they even remember it was my birthday? It wasn’t like I’d ever had parties or anything, but some acknowledgment would be nice. Maybe a special dinner. Even a cupcake with a candle would be an improvement over years past.
My father smiled at Kitty as she was pushing away her plate. “Did I hear you say Knox is coming?”
It was possible—highly probable, more like—that I gasped as soon as those words processed, which earned me a glare from Kitty.
I did my best not to show my keen interest in the answer, but it was difficult. I’d been waiting since his last visit—twenty months ago—for my stepbrother to return, and it didn’t matter how many times that question was asked, I always felt a giddy sensation deep down. Although Knox had never given me a reason to have any, some probably called that hope.
“You did, yes.” Kitty sipped her coffee. “He arrives this evening.”
My breath lodged somewhere in my sternum, so I held my teacup to my lips, trying to hide my reaction.
“How long will he be here?” my father inquired, his question aimed at Kitty although his gaze bounced toward me briefly then back to his wife.
I watched Kitty out of the corner of my eye as she responded to my father.
“Two days, as is my understanding.” Her gaze slid to me but shifted back to my father when she added, “He is finalizing some business while he is here.”
I noticed my father’s narrow shoulders tense, and I wondered what caused that reaction. I knew he and Knox didn’t have a father/son bond, nor were they even what I’d call friends, but they’d always been cordial. At least when I was around, anyway.
“I thought he was waiting until tomorrow.”
I held my breath, hoping they would reveal something exciting like a surprise party for my birthday. After all, I had overheard Kitty mention to the kitchen staff that they should be prepared to host twenty to thirty people this weekend. I’d never actually had a birthday party—not one I could remember, anyway—but every year, I held my breath and hoped.
“He has decided to come early, and I do my best not to question him.” Her eyes lowered submissively, as though the mere thought of Knox dampened her alpha tendencies.
Odd how that wasn’t something she did in my father’s presence. When it came to Rhett, Kitty was the one who ruled the roost. She didn’t have a problem turning her nose up at him, but when it came to her own son, she was respectful, sometimes disturbingly so.
“I have already asked Daniel to prepare a room for him,” Kitty explained to my father.
“Did he … mention anything else?” Rhett inquired, his voice lower than before, as though he wished I wouldn’t overhear.
I watched the interaction between Kitty and Rhett closely, which was why I noticed the look that passed from stepmonster to Daddy Dearest. It was a look I couldn’t translate, one I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
My father cleared his throat and gave a simple shake of his head as though relaying he didn’t need a verbal response. I wanted to ask what was going on, what the secret was, but I didn’t dare. Speaking out of turn was another thing Kitty wasn’t fond of.
It didn’t take long for the meal to become awkward with tension, which led to Kitty excusing herself to tend to whatever it was she tended to.
When my father and I were alone, I set down my fork and focused my full attention on him. “Is everything all right?”
“Everything’s fine. As usual,” he declared, his words clipped.
“Are you excited to see Knox?” I asked, smiling as I lifted my teacup.
