He nods, sighs, and steps toward the small glass end table, pouring himself a glass of scotch from the crystal decanter, turning to me once more.

I smile, but his facial expression doesn’t budge.

It’s blank.

“Elena,” he calls, and soft footsteps pad on the stairs behind us.

I begin to turn, but he grips my chin. I expect him to tell her to have our meal brought up here or something along those lines, but he stands there swirling his glass and tips his head slightly.

For the first time, he inspects my cheek, his grip on my face tightening, borderline bruising, and my eyes narrow, but his hand falls in the next second.

“Get the car ready to take Miss Filano home, lunch is canceled for today.” He takes a slow sip of his dark liquor.

My blood pressure rises as I stare him in the eye, a million demands flickering within his.

Anthony gives his back to me, walking toward the fireplace, so I turn and make my way down the stairs, but I only get to the third when his words ring out behind me. “Next time you decide to change your hair, let me know beforehand.”

My head jerks over my shoulder, and he cocks his head, a dead look in his eyes as he says, “I want you to appear naturally beautiful and moves like that are proof that you are not.”

I open my mouth, my fist clenching the railing, and he watches me through sharp eyes, as if he’s daring me to object.

He takes another sip.

Any means necessary.

I smile. “Enjoy your afternoon, Anthony.”

His chin lifts slightly. “See you soon, sweetheart.”

I leave, and the entire ride home I can’t help but heed his goodbye as a threat.

I’m in a shit mood for days after my ‘date’ with Anthony.

Thankfully, it’s a short schedule at school all week as the student committee prepares for the upcoming dance. Every day of the week it’s pretty much princess prep once the bell rings.

Monday, all of us girls meet for facials and salt scrubs. Tuesday afternoon, it’s mani-pedis. Wednesday is for waxing and today, final fittings at the boutique.

I managed to get out of the trip to the inner city since I lied and said my dress was on its way. Little did I know but should have fully expected my mother had it covered, and a golden gown arrived late Monday night. What I was unable to escape was the private premiere party at Jules’ house for her mom’s next film.

Every release, the night before the red-carpet event, her mom arranges for Jules and Amy’s friends to come over for the ‘privilege’ of early viewing. Everyone who shows has to sign a waiver, agreeing not to talk about it until the following day, when they are required to blast it over social media.