She was a registered nurse who’d done a stint in triage, but had focused more on long-term, assisted living care over the last couple of years. However, she knew there had to be other nurses who’d applied that had way more years of experience than her, but she got the offer and here she was, being driven to the good Lord knows where in a Mercedes.
If she ended up dead, then at least she could mark that off the bucket list she didn’t keep.
She squirmed in the backseat. Everything had happened so fast. From the moment she’d drunkenly applied for the job and to now, only a little over a week and a half had passed. Never in her life had she made this kind of life-altering decision so quickly and without thought.
There’s no going back.
She just had to keep reminding herself that.
Brett had been right about the timing. About an hour later and a few miles off the highway, he turned down a road that had no sign that she could see. Interest piqued, she peered out the window and was immediately enthralled. Tall oaks lined the wide, paved road. The kind of trees she knew had to have been there for centuries, probably long before man populated the area. Spanish moss blanketed the trees, creating a canopy of shade that she doubted even the brightest of days could penetrate.
The road went on and on, even as the trees cleared, and rolling, green hills came into view. And still he drove until the road became crowded with trees once more and they came upon a large gate attached to a small building that appeared to be empty.
Was this a gated community? She didn’t know, but the gate swung open when Brett touched something on the visor. They were moving once more, coasting slowly up the winding road. Then she saw it—the monstrosity of a home.
Her mouth dropped open as she leaned between the front seats and took it all in with wide, disbelieving eyes.
The home couldn’t quite be called that. Oh no, it was more of a mansion—or a compound that had the traits of the old plantations she’d seen on the internet, but this was upgraded into the twenty-first century and then some.
The main part of the building was three-stories tall and each side was flanked by structures that appeared to be two stories. They were all connected by balconies and breezeways on each level. From the car, she could see the fans churning lazily from the multiple ceilings.
Large columns surrounded the front of the home and continued along the entire structure, giving her the impression that the entire home was outlined in them. Shutters were black, and colorful flowers hung from the wrought-iron railings on the second and third levels, but there was something different here.
The entire home was covered in vines.
She couldn’t fathom how that was possible with the house appearing that it had been renovated in the last decade or so. Granted, she didn’t know how long it took for vines to grow, but there wasn’t a foot of space that the inky green vines hadn’t slithered over.
Where were the vines even coming from? There were large oaks surrounding the home, and she couldn’t see what was behind the place, but how did the vines grow like that? It seemed abnormal, but the vines added to the beauty of the home, giving it this almost ancient appearance.
“Is this the right house?” she asked.
Brett laughed as he glanced in the rearview mirror at her. “I sure hope so, because this would get real awkward fast if not.”
She could tell he was teasing, but she was dumbfounded. “This . . . this has to be a mistake. I mean, I got the impression that Mr. Besson didn’t live in a place like this.”
Understanding crept into his gaze as he slowed down in the circular driveway, passing a black SUV and another fancy car she’d never been inside of before. “It will all make sense when you meet with Mr. de Vincent.”
“Mr. de Vincent? I was speaking with a Mr. Besson,” she said, clutching the back of the seat. Her mind was whirling. The name de Vincent was vaguely familiar though. The reason was on the tip of her tongue. “I’m sorry, but who does this home belong to?”
For moment, she didn’t think he’d answer but then he did. “This is the main home of the de Vincent family. That’s who you will be working for.” The car stopped, and Brett twisted around, facing her. “You’ve been speaking with Mr. Besson, because the de Vincents are . . . well, they’re very private and require a certain level of discretion when dealing with personal matters.”
She had signed a lot of disclosure forms, legally binding her to basically keep her mouth shut about the family and her patient or she’d face hefty financial fines, but the agency assured her that was common. Most families that could afford this kind of in-home care had an image to protect, and besides, she hadn’t—
Then it hit her.
Shock shot through her as she realized exactly why the de Vincent name was familiar.
Oh my God, she knew who the de Vincents were.
Everyone knew who they were.
Frozen in the backseat, her knuckles ached from how tightly she was clutching the headrest. The de Vincents were one of the wealthiest families in the United States. Like wealthy in the way that they had a stupid amount of money. The kind of money Julia and like 99.9 percent of the population couldn’t even begin to process.
And that wasn’t the only reason why she’d heard of them. She didn’t read a lot of gossip magazines, but every so often, she picked one up at the grocery store, and there was always a short write-up on one of the brothers, almost always the oldest.
Come to think of it . . .
Letting go of the headrest, she grabbed her purse off the seat beside her and pulled out the rolled-up magazine she’d picked up at the airport in Philadelphia. Flipping through the pages, she stopped on the article she’d just read.
The most eligible bachelor of our time set to marry heiress.
She’d skimmed it earlier, getting more hung up on the photo of the elder brother, Devlin, and his fiancée than the content. Who would blame her? He was all dark-hair gorgeousness and she was stunning, fair, and blonde, a couple you never saw in real life but only in photos or in the movies.
Her heart started pounding in her chest. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
The de Vincents were known as the Kennedys of the South, American royalty, or at least, that was how the tabloids referred to them and their numerous involvements in politics and scandals, more the latter than the former, because of the sons. . . . What were their nicknames? There were three of them if she remembered correctly. The nicknames were something morbid and bizarre, based on their wild and almost unbelievable behavior. Her heart leapt in her throat. She remembered what they were called.
Lucifer.
Demon.
Devil.
Chapter 6
Yawning loudly, Lucian scrunched his fingers through his hair and then dropped his hand to his thigh as Troy got down to eyeballing Dev from the other side of the desk.
Of course, they weren’t seated in their father’s study.
Livie had one of the professional cleaning services out as soon as it was cleared to enter the room. Signs of what had gone down in that room had been scrubbed away by the time Lucian arrived back home early morning. A full day later and Lawrence’s study was going to be yet another place in the house that was shut up as if what happened in there could also be sealed away, forgotten like other bad memories.
Business was now being handled from the office Dev had installed on the second floor several years ago, the corner room that overlooked the overgrown rose garden Mom used to tend.
The only person missing from the impromptu meeting of the minds was Gabe, but he’d left not soon after Lucian got back. Gabe was most likely heading out to his warehouse. Lucian doubted they’d see him for the rest of the day.
And Lucian was present only for one reason, which had nothing to do with why Troy was here or his deceased dad. He was waiting, rather impatiently, for a very important arrival.
He had no idea what was about to go down, but for the first time in God knows how long, he was actually antsy with anticipation. He knew what time the plane landed, so it should be any moment now.
There had been a lot of firsts for him in the last twenty-four hours.
“You look like shit,” Troy commented, glancing over to where he sat.
Lucian lifted a shoulder. What could he say? He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep last night.