By the time Therese and Frances arrived, Eli had vacuumed the entire house, removed the cobwebs and installed curtains. He’d flung the doors wide open so the place could air out, and set up a laptop in a room designated as his office.

The gravel in the driveway crunched, heralding their arrival. Right on time, as usual. Frances was always punctual. Walking to the door as slowly as possible, wanting to postpone the inevitable, he wondered again how he’d ended up in this situation. Reluctant mentor to a troubled girl. Teenage girls were a foreign species. Neither he nor Therese could possibly benefit from this arrangement. Unfortunately, it was a done deal. Frances had out-maneuvered him at every turn. Sighing, he shoved the door open and paced down the stairs. She was already unloading bags from the boot of a late model Ford Falcon—classy and practical, like her.

“Hi, Mother.” Eli greeted her with a cool smile that didn’t reach his eyes. His family weren’t affectionate. They hadn’t been raised that way.

“Elijah,” she acknowledged, patting her stylish auburn bob, although not a hair was out of place. Her hazel eyes held a hint of condescension as she scanned him from head to toe. “Therese refuses to leave the car,” she told him, flicking a piece of lint from the shoulder of her navy-blue power suit. “I don’t know where she learned to be so mule-headed.”

“It’s a mystery, Mother.” Eli found it best to neither agree nor disagree with anything she said. Being stubbornly neutral was the least painful way to get through meetings with her.

He tapped on the car window and was struck speechless. His mouth gaped, and his brain emptied. Who was this girl? She certainly wasn’t the sister he remembered, a wholesome girl with strawberry blonde curls and chubby cheeks. No, the girl facing him had bleached hair that haphazardly fell over her face as she jerked her chin up and glared at him. The little curls that used to enchant him were gone, straightened into submission. Pale makeup caked her face and dark eyeliner ringed her eyes, making her look ghoulish. She stepped out of the car, and he noticed that the denim shorts she was wearing revealed the bottom of her underwear.

“What happened?” he blurted out. Her eyes narrowed. Shit, he should have been more diplomatic. “You look different.”

“You look exactly the same,” she replied, making it sound like an insult. Hands on her hips, she leaned back and scowled at the villa. “This is my prison for the next month?”

“It could do with a bit of fixing up,” he admitted.

“It could do with a wrecking ball and a stick of dynamite.”

Eli was too startled to reply. What had happened to that sweet, freckly-faced kid?

“Be grateful she’s talking at all,” Frances said. “She doesn’t say much these days.”