He’s wearing a black and white school uniform with a crown crest on the jacket, and his tie is tugged almost completely off like he was nervously pulling it the entire drive to the house.

I don’t even realize Mr. McCree is off the phone until he clears his throat and says, “Ambrose, meet Mary-Belle, or Belle for short.”

Ambrose’s eyes narrow as he licks his full lips and leans against the counter. “Well, that’s just perfect, isn’t it?”

Oh okay, so he is an asshole.

Good to know.

His dad points his cell at Ambrose. “No attitude.”

“Oh, I’m sorry I thought that at least in my own home, I didn’t have to worry about cameras.” He shoves away from the white countertop and makes his way toward me. “Better strap in, Belle, because as of right now, you’re not allowed to have feelings out in public and apparently not even in here.”

“Ambrose!” He gets close to him. A muscle ticks in Ambrose’s sculpted jaw. “I’ll tell you what,” Mr. McCree’s smile is conniving as he crosses his arms. “I’ll let you drive her to school in the Aston Martin—in fact, consider it yours.”

“Drive her to school,” he repeats. “To my school?”

“Yeah.” His dad grins. “Who else is gonna show her the ropes? Your mom’s on the phone enrolling her as we speak, which reminds me, the house is big, she needs a tour.”

I open my mouth to say no when Ambrose holds out his hand to me and winks. “How’s it feel to know you’re worth a three hundred and fifty thousand dollar car?”

My cheeks heat.

I don’t reach for his hand, but I do stand. Shame fills me as I reach for my black trash bag, and my hands squeeze tight around it. I don’t need to look down to know that I only have a few personal things in the bag, including one pair of brand-new white converse that my old guardian had just gotten me.

We were supposed to go shopping the day she died in the car crash, but when I first came to her house, she had a cute sundress and shoes waiting for me as a surprise.

I didn’t mean to, but I burst into tears which then encouraged her that we needed a shopping spree right away.

And just like that, one of my shields sort of dropped, only to come straight back up again as Ambrose stared me down.

“Come on.” Ambrose jerks the bag out of my hand and starts stomping away.

I have no choice but to follow him down the ginormous hallways of the first floor. It’s like something a celebrity would live in. I don’t even want to know how much this place costs, but I’m beginning to wonder if it’s more than even an A-list actor could afford.

Elon Musk? Of course.

Tom Hanks? Maybe not so much.

Ambrose charges ahead of me and starts pointing his free hand from left to right. “Guest rooms, primary suites, game room, theater room.” He moves swiftly up the stairs, my bag swinging next to his thick legs.