It wasn't a request.
Isabella nodded and followed Margot through the main foyer....all soaring ceilings and marble floors that echoed with every footstep. They climbed the curved staircase to the second floor and walked down the hallway to her mother's wing.
Her mother's sitting room was beautiful. Afternoon light poured through the windows, illuminating dust motes that hung in the air like tiny diamonds. The furniture was all antique and expensive. There were fresh flowers on every surface....white roses and gardenias that made the entire room smell like a funeral.
Her mother sat at her dressing table, her back to the door.
Isabella closed the door behind her. "Mother, I'm back."
Her mother didn't turn around. Just continued brushing her hair with long, methodical strokes. She was sixty-two but looked younger....the kind of aging that came from money and good skincare and the kind of control that only came from marrying power.
