The Fake Heiress: Captured By Her Warden

The dining room table was long enough to land a plane on.

Vesper sat in the middle, isolated. She was wearing a pink dress that Victoria had picked out. It was three sizes too big and out of style by a decade. She looked like a child playing dress-up.

Archibald sat at the head. Arthur at the foot.

Victoria tapped her wine glass. "So, Cassandra. Tell us. Did you finish high school? Or were you too busy turning tricks for meth?"

"Victoria!" Arthur slammed his hand on the table.

"I'm just asking what we're all thinking," Victoria said, swirling her wine. She looked at Vesper. "Do you even know what fork to use?"

Vesper picked up the salad fork for the main course. She held it like a shovel. She chewed with her mouth open.

Archibald looked away in disgust. "An animal. A disgrace."

"She needs time, Father," Eleanor whispered, her eyes wet.

"She needs a kennel," Victoria laughed. She turned to the waiter and spoke in rapid, fluent French. "Bring me another bottle. This one tastes like vinegar. And make sure the girl doesn't steal the silverware."

She smirked at Vesper. "Sorry. I forgot you don't speak civilized languages."

Vesper put down her fork. The metal clinked against the china. She had intended to play the broken fool for weeks, to lull them into a false sense of security. But Victoria's cruelty, her father's calculation, Archibald's disdain-it was a cage she had to rattle. It was time to stop playing the victim and start playing the game.

She wiped her mouth. She looked up. The fear was gone.

"Actually," Vesper said. Her French was perfect. Not the Parisian French Victoria learned in boarding school, but the guttural, rhythmic slang of the Marseille docks. "The wine is vinegar because it was corked. You can tell by the smell of wet cardboard. Just like you can tell that Cartier bracelet is a fake by the way the light hits the bevels."

Silence slammed into the room. The waiter froze.

Victoria's mouth fell open. "What did you say?"

Vesper switched to English. Her voice was cool, bored. "The refraction index is wrong. It's glass. High-quality glass, but glass. I'm guessing Liam's investments aren't doing so well?"

Liam choked on his water. His face went pale. He had been siphoning money from the wedding fund to pay gambling debts.

Archibald turned his head slowly. He looked at Vesper. Really looked at her.

Victoria stood up, her face red. She grabbed her wine glass and threw the contents at Vesper.

Vesper didn't jump. She leaned two inches to the left. The red wine sailed past her ear and splashed onto Mrs. Higgins' apron.

"Too slow," Vesper said. "On the street, you'd be dead."

Arthur stared at her. He wasn't angry. He was intrigued.

"Enough!" Archibald roared.

He grabbed his heavy ebony cane. In a fit of senile rage, he swung it across the table, aiming for Vesper's head.

Eleanor screamed.

Vesper didn't duck. She raised her left hand.

Thwack.

She caught the cane. Her palm stung, but her grip was iron. She stopped the heavy wood inches from her face.

She looked down the length of the cane, straight into Archibald's eyes.

"I don't like being threatened," Vesper said softly. "Grandfather."

She twisted her wrist. She yanked the cane from the old man's weak grip.

She set it gently on the table.

"May I be excused?" Vesper stood up. "I've lost my appetite."

She walked out of the room. Her back was straight.

Upstairs, in her room, she locked the door. She leaned against it, exhaling sharply. She had shown too much. She had let the mask slip. It was a calculated risk, but a risk nonetheless.

She walked to the bed. Someone had been in her room.

On her pillow, there was a folded piece of paper.

She opened it.

Your accent is Lyonnais, not Marseille. Nice try. - H.B.