The Flying Lady

THERE"S A brISK KNOCKon my bedroom door before it opens, and of course it"s Theía not respecting my privacy like usual.

She enters my room, and her face immediately twists into a grimace. It"s not enough to make her ugly (I don"t think there"s anything in this world that can), but it does get the message across.

Theía still thinks my room sucks, which is totally understandable. Her taste has always run along the three Cs of interior design: concise, contemporary, and IMHO—-completely characterless.

My room, on the other hand, is all about French country. Patterned fabric bed sheets and cushions, vintage leather-bound classics stacked irregularly on a shelf, a super-comfy Louis XVI armchair by the window, and a full-length gilded mirror propped against the wall.

It"s the total opposite of Theía"s preferences is what I"m saying, which is why I can only roll my eyes when she wrinkles her nose upon facing me.

"Now that you"re done silently dissing my room—-"

The other girl cuts me off, saying, "Get dressed."

"Huh?" It"s a Saturday, and Theía hates going out on weekends. "Why?"

"We"re going out." Theía checks the time on the horseshoe clock on my desk. "Think you can be ready in fifteen?"

I sit up at that. "You haven"t even told me where we"re going—-"

Theía brushes my words away with a wave of her hand. "Just look nice, okay?"

"Jeans-nice or dress-nice?"

The older girl shrugs. "Just nice nice."

Riiiight.

I keep forgetting Theía could care less about fashion, and I think that probably has a lot to do with how gorgeous my aunt is. I"ve honestly lost count of the number of times she"s literally caused men to unconsciously drool at the sight of her. It"s probably as many times as those same guys think Theía"s lying when she tells them plain-Jane-me is her niece.

"Bailey?" Theía"s tone is impatient. "I asked if you can be ready in fifteen."

"Nope."

"Great. I"ll wait for you in the car then."

"Theía!" When will she realize that having a shower under an hour is not normal? "I need more time—-"

My aunt is already heading for the door when she tosses out her parting shot over her shoulder. "13.5 minutes left, kid. Get moving."

Grrr.

I hate it when she calls me that. Since I"m already nineteen, and she"s only twenty-four, calling me a "kid" is really stretching it.

But since Theía being my aunt makes her the tyrant in this household-—

This "kid" can only hurry as unreasonably ordered, and I"m forced to make do with just a quick shampoo-and-bath-gel sesh before squeezing into the first black dress I grab out of my closet.

Theía"s trusty chauffeur steps on the gas as soon as I join her in the backseat, and I can"t help feeling a little suspicious since the older girl only uses her Rolls Royce when she needs to look particularly badass.

"Please don"t tell me where we"re going has to do with the family business?"

"It does." Theía looks at me reprovingly when I groan. "You can"t make a habit of avoiding family, Bailey."

"Easy for you to say," I grumble.

In "families" like ours, girls can only be useful in two ways: you either marry an enemy to keep the peace...or you marry an ally, also to keep the peace. Unicorns like my aunt - aka females with actual jobs and high-ranking positions in the family business - don"t count, and it"s why I"ll remain a disappointment in everyone"s eyes for as long as I"m unmarried and childless.

A pair of hotel employees is already rushing forward as we cruise up the driveway, and I"m startled to see them respectfully lowering their heads as soon as Theía and I step out of the car.

"What"s that about?" I ask uneasily as we walk away.

"It"s fine."

"You"re sure?" The one time my parents forgot to keep a low profile, they ended up...dead.

Theía waits until we"re inside the elevator before looking at me. "Everyone here is like us."

"Half-Greek?"

"Criminal."