Kyle parked his Mustang in an empty spot at the parking lot before the mansion. The parking lot was filled with cars – Jaguars and Mercs and BMWs and Ferraris. The people who lived in the Enclave were a moneyed lot. But only the actual immediate family merited a covered parking lot. Kyle didn’t live here and so he gave his spot up a long time ago.
Kyle loped up the stairs into the house. He had a set of his own keys, but the front double doors were never locked. They didn’t have to be, considering the people who lived here.
The main hall was large with a high, domed ceiling. Kyle had always thought it pretentious, but this house was built two centuries ago by his forebears. The hall was filled with marble busts of creatures – lions and tigers and bears. A robotic cleaner circulated the marble floor slowly, mopping the already pristine stone into something akin to a mirror.
Kyle strode to the study where he knew his father would be.
The older man was seated behind his desk, studying a graph on a large monitor. He was an image of Kyle, but older. At fifty-two, Jericho Atreides still had a full head of dark hair. His handsome face was only slightly lined, and his powerful six foot two frame was as lean and muscled as ever.
Jericho looked up as his son entered.
“I have another candidate,” Kyle announced.
“Good.”
“I haven’t met her yet.”
“Since you botched the last one up majorly, I think it’s best I take a look at her first.”
Kyle sighed. But he supposed his father had every right to inspect the goods. It was the first time Kyle had selected the offering and his father wanted to be absolutely sure he was doing the right thing. After the last disastrous selection . . .
He gave his father the web address, and after a few clicks, Jessica’s photo appeared.
“Very pretty,” Jericho commented.
“I know.”
“And you will ensure she is a virgin?”
“As best as I can.”
“Remember, you have only five days left.”
“I know.” He knew the future of his clan and even the very foundations of this town rested on what he would do.
“You know the rote.”
“Yes.”
His father did not seem embarrassed by what he was requesting Kyle to do, even though Kyle was. Privately, he wondered if he was ready for this most important of clan tasks. But his father had decided he had come of age, and it was up to him to prove that he had what it takes to be the future Alpha.
If only the task wasn’t so emotionally nerve-wrecking –
Kyle steeled himself. He glanced at his watch. “I have to be going, Dad. I’m supposed to be meeting her at eight.”
He still didn’t understand why his father insisted on him coming all the way here when he could have easily sent him Jessica’s profile on email. But he supposed this was the old man’s way of getting him to come home more often. Truth be told, Kyle rarely came home unless he really had to. He didn’t like the Enclave. It held too many memories – most of all, the ones of his now dead mother pining in her room, imprisoned there because she was stark, raving mad.
And in addition to the memories, there was what lurked under the glossy veneer of the Enclave . . . the secret buried deep, deep under.
“All right.” His father’s blue eyes held his. “Good luck, son. Don’t fail this.”
“I won’t.”
This was his chance. He couldn’t blow it.
After only a moment’s hesitation, he left.
*
Kyle made sure he arrived early at Spago’s. He had booked a private table for two which was nestled to the side, overlooking the garden. Very romantic. It was lit by a single fat candle in glass cup and decked with white napkins folded in the shapes of swans.
He kept looking at the entrance. Some irrational core of him hoped she wouldn’t show up. Couple after well-dressed couple came in were shown their tables by the effusive hostess, who now and then glanced over at him. She was checking him out, he knew. He grimaced. He had that effect on women and not all of it was welcome.
Then at eight sharp, Jessica Dent showed up. He recognized her immediately from her photo. Only now he was even more stunned.
She was gorgeous.
Her black dress was the type which flowed over and caressed her body in feminine swirls. And yes, she wasn’t the type of girl Sports Illustrated would feature on their swimwear edition, but too many people in this world had the wrong feminine ideal of a perfect woman. He was thankfully not one of them.
The hostess seemed surprised when she asked for his name. She glanced over and then back again as she gathered two menus. Kyle stood up as the hostess made her way over with Jessica, who seemed nervous. His own pulse was rising.