Heavy boots scuff the wood that Mummy just tap-danced over, and Samuel re-enters the room with a hefty green bag slung over one shoulder. He places the bag on the floor and flicks his gaze to my mother.

She’s a world-famous supermodel. It doesn’t help my jealousy knowing most of my boyfriends will have seen pictures of her half-naked many times in their lives. She did Pirelli calendars and Penthouse as well as runways for the top fashion houses. She’s one of the few models to be both a pin-up and a genuine high-end fashion muse.

I glance at her and am shocked to see her eyes widen as she looks right back at Samuel. My mother never looks at men that way. Only Daddy. She gives a tiny shake of her head as if shaking loose an aberrant thought and composes herself.

Damn, I expect Samuel will be star struck like the rest of them, but it seems it might go both ways.

However, Samuel merely gives a nod at Mummy and in his deep but quiet voice, says, “Ma’am,” then dips his head.

Mummy smiles. “Hello. Erm, nice to meet you.”

Her stunning, huge eyes, keep darting to me, and her mouth ticks up in a small smile. I’m a little confused until she speaks again.

“You must be a new friend of Carolina’s?”

Oh, God, she thinks he’s my boyfriend. I almost laugh. He’s most definitely not my type. Yes, I might have a bit of a weird fascination with the man, the way a child might with dinosaurs, or say spiders, because they are scary but cool, but I don’t want to sleep with him. I really don’t. He’s entirely far too rough and ready for my liking.

I bet he’d leave you raw. Not in a good way. I like my men like my Daddy— cultured, intelligent, and refined. Interesting. If a man can’t interest me and turn my brain on, he can’t get me going in regions farther south.

“No, darling,” Daddy says as he sips his whisky. “This is Carolina’s new bodyguard. You know, because of the … unpleasantness.”

I don’t think she’s been told everything, which is good because she does tend to panic.

“Oh, yes. Well, nice to meet you, young man. Would you like a drink? Brandy perhaps?”

Young man? He must be at least thirty, if not a little older. Maybe mid-thirties.

Not young by any stretch.

“No thank you, ma’am; not while I’m working.”

“Are you working now?” Mummy frowns.

“From the moment I arrived.”

Is he not going to drink anything the whole time he’s here? Maybe he doesn’t drink? I do. Sometimes far too much.