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Don’t think I haven’t seen you. Speaking to her like she’s your daughter, putting dangerous thoughts in her head. Well, she is not your daughter. Infinity doesn’t belong to you. You would be wise to remember that.”
    “I’m well aware of the situation, thank you,” Jonah says calmly.
    “Oh, are you really? Well then, fine. I’ve had enough of this glorified babysitting. From this moment on, I run this household and that is all. I wash my hands of her! That . . . child is solely your problem, and I suggest you deal with her! Control her! Right this minute! I expect you know exactly what I’m referring to when I say control her .”
    Nanny Theresa’s heels clack on the marble floor as she storms away.
    “I’ll deal with Finn when I see fit,” Jonah calls after her. “She needs a little time to think about what she’s done.”
    Nanny Theresa’s heels stop dead.
    “No, Major Brogan. When it comes to Infinity, you and I and Richard are the ones who need to think very seriously about what we have done.”
    I sit in silence, pondering Nanny Theresa’s words. What on earth did she mean by that? This has been the longest day of my life and most certainly the worst. Miserable and exhausted, I quietly weep until there are no more tears left to cry. Only the sound of Mariele’s gentle voice tugs me back from the edge of complete and utter misery.
    “It’s eight o’clock, Miss Blackstone—time for bed.”
    I move wearily from the windowsill and slump onto my bed. Mariele takes my shoe off, helps me into my pajamas, and tucks me under the covers. I watch her as she fusses around me.
    “Mariele?”
    “Yes, Miss Blackstone?”
    “What were Nanny and Jonah arguing about? Why do they need to think about what they’ve done? What did they do?”
    Mariele’s head stays bowed as her fingers busily jab at covers that she’s already tucked.
    “I . . . I’m sorry, Miss. I wasn’t really listening.”
    I can tell that she’s lying.
    “Mariele?”
    She looks up at me, a nervous smile forced onto her lips.
    “What’s your father like?” I ask.
    Mariele’s big, brown, doe eyes crease at the corners. I had never noticed until right now just how sad they are. She glances anxiously toward the door. “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Miss.”
    “What things do you do together? Is he kind to you?”
    Mariele walks over to my stuffed toys and begins tidying them, her eyes fixed sideways on the crack in the door the entire time. “Oh yes, Miss Blackstone. My father is a very nice man.”
    “Mariele?”
    She smiles in my direction, her eyebrows raised in hesitant expectation.
    “What is my father like?”
    Her smile disappears like it’s been wiped away with a dirty rag. “That’s enough talk, Miss Blackstone.” She walks over and pulls the covers up to my neck. “I don’t think Major Brogan will be reading you a story tonight,” she says, quickly changing the subject. “Perhaps you could read one yourself?”
    “I don’t feel like reading. I don’t feel . . . anything,” I mumble.
    Mariele stands at the end of my bed, just looking at me, her head slightly tilted, her expression heavy with sadness. She turns and looks over her shoulder at the door. She walks over, peers cautiously through the crack, and then quietly closes the door behind her.
    “Maybe I can tell you a story?” she whispers. Her eyes have changed. They’re fearful. “You have to promise to keep this story a secret. Do you swear?” Now they almost look pleading.
    I nod.
    She walks to my bedside, takes Prince Horsey from by my pillow and buries him under a pile of thick cushions on the sofa by the window. “Horsey might hear us,” she says under her breath. “This story is only for you, OK?”
    I nod again. I like secrets. Mariele puts the green-painted chair by my bed, sits, and looks me right in the eyes. She takes a deep breath and begins to speak in a quiet voice, only a hair above a whisper.
    “Once upon a time,