The look on Master Lucas’s face was almost worth the lingering cigarette smoke that was still assaulting my nostrils.
“No.” He smirked. “School starts in August.”
“Not for you. School starts next week. But you need to get there by tomorrow noon if you’re to stake your claim on a good single room.” I folded my arms over my chest and watched Lucas’s eyes. I swear, for a minute I thought he was going to cry.
“You and Dad are going to Europe or the Caribbean or somewhere for the summer. I’m not going anywhere.”
"Oh, gosh. I guess he didn't tell you about that change in plans either. Or maybe I was supposed to. I don't remember. Yeah, well, your dad and I have decided to stay home this summer. Your father is going to work from home and we are going to solidify some plans for the future."
“You are not going to marry my father.” Lucas hissed.
“That isn’t up to you.” I took a step toward him. “Now pack your bags. The car will be here in four hours. Your dad’s jet will be leaving at eight.”
I turned my back and went down the front staircase but stopped midway and listened. As I suspected the little punk called his father. I knew he would. Silently, I crept back up a few stairs and held my breath as I picked up Lucas’s side of the conversation.
“Why didn’t you tell me this yourself?”
“Of course I’m going to be pissed!”
“And what’s this about a dorm room! You agreed I’d have an apartment!”
“She’s just after your money, dad!”
“This was all her idea, wasn’t it?”
“I don’t believe this is happening. How could you let her tell you what to do like this?”
“Fine. I said fine!”
Then everything went quiet. After I had slipped downstairs and asked Carla our maid to go to the grocery store and stock up on everything, I started to worry. I didn’t hear any movement from upstairs.
I had assumed he was sulking while he went through his things and packed. He would no doubt be dragging down a dozen suitcases with everything he owns in it.
I know a lot of people would be upset that their stepchild was leaving for college. Granted, Lucas isn’t officially my stepson but that’s really just semantics at this point. Truth be told, I am relieved.
About two hours passed before he came downstairs. I was in the kitchen enjoying a quiet cup of tea and getting ready to go to get my nails done once the taxi was here to take him to the airport.
“Did you finish packing?” I asked.
He bent over in the fridge looking at all the new food that had been stocked in there. I saw him grab the small tub of calamata olives with pecorino peppers and marinated cauliflower. That was mine but of course, he didn't care.
“Nope.” He mused while he grabbed a fork and began to eat right out of the tub.
“What do you mean nope? You are leaving in two hours.” I looked at my watch. “Your father hasn’t called me to tell me any plans have been changed. Trust me. If he comes home the day after tomorrow and you are still here he is going to the roof.”
After spitting some of the olives back into the container Lucas grinned at me and put it back in the fridge.
“Aren’t you ever going to grow up, Lucas?” I shook my head.
He gave me the finger.
"Real mature." I hissed. "Well, you just remember that I'm the one sleeping in your father's bed. There are certain things that he wants that only I can give him. And if you think a temper tantrum from his eighteen-year-old son affects him more than a hummer from me you've got a lot to learn about being a grown-up. Now, run along and finish packing while I call the pilot and see if he can't get you out of here sooner."
Some people might think what I said was mean but we all know it’s the truth. Before the kid could do anything else I picked up my phone and called Jim. He had been Michael’s pilot for quite a few years now.
“Do you think you can bump up the flight a little?” I purred into the phone. “Lucas is really excited and can’t wait to get to New Hampshire. It’s all he’s been talking about.”
“I can probably shave an hour off, Miss Holstom.”