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usually fucked up. “You understand what I’m saying, don’t you, Betsy?” he almost pleaded.
    â€œSure. Send a gift, but don’t visit.”
    Sinclair was on his feet, but my dad, who had his back to that part of the room, didn’t notice. Poor survival skills—outside of the boardroom—that was my father. Jessica reached out and tugged, hard, on his jacket, but Sinclair didn’t budge.
    â€œIt’s okay,” I added, waving Sinclair back down—but he still didn’t budge, the stubborn tick. “I didn’t want to go, anyway.”
    Dad relaxed and smiled at me. “Well, of course, that’s what I assumed.”
    â€œOf course.” I gave him a wintry smile in return, which, I was glad to see, backed him up a step. “Thanks so much for stopping by. My love to what’s-her-name.”
    â€œBetsy, you’ve never understood Antonia—”
    â€œI understand her fine.”
    â€œNo, I don’t think someone like you could ever understand—”
    â€œMr. Taylor!” We all jumped. The crockery had practically rattled. And my dad had nearly swooned again. “I demand you retract that statement at once, or I will be forced to—what are you doing?”
    Jessica had jumped on Sinclair’s back in an attempt to forestall the lecture (or possibly the maiming). She was clinging to him like a skinny black beetle, all arms and elbows and knees, and he shook his head, which nearly dislodged her. “Really, Jessica. Could you climb down?”
    â€œPromise you won’t finish that sentence,” she whispered in his ear. “Take it from me. It won’t do any good, and it might make things worse. She can handle him.”
    Anybody else would have said something like, “Hello, I’m standing right here!” but my dad, the master of ignoring what was in his face, didn’t say a word. He brushed a piece of lint off his shirtsleeve and examined his Kenneth Coles, which were glossy with shoeshine, while my best friend climbed my consort like a premenstrual monkey.
    â€œI certainly will not. She is my consort and my queen, and he is treating her like—”
    â€œSo,” my dad interrupted, cutting Sinclair off, which nobody ever got away with except me, “I’ll tell Antonia you said hi.”
    â€œWhy?” I asked, honestly curious.
    You have to understand, it’s not like my dad was incredibly brave or anything. He had a pissed-off billionaire and a vampire king in the room, but it didn’t phase him, because it was beneath him. He could just close his mind to anything remotely unpleasant—or even interesting. I’d gotten used to my father’s oblivious ways by the time I was thirteen, when I realized he’d tossed my mom, and the Ant was going to be my stepmother. Since he was the only dad I had, I put up with a lot. But, to be fair, so did he.
    â€œIt won’t be like the last time,” my dad continued, sounding almost cheerful. “She was all alone last time, but this time I’m here, and she’ll have all the support she needs. I just wish you could understand what she’s been through, how hard she…she…” He trailed off as I stared at him, as he realized he’d just made a fuckup of truly heroic proportions.
    â€œShe’s been pregnant before?” I asked, almost gasped.
    Jessica did gasp. “Get out of town!”
    â€œNo—no, she didn’t…I mean, I wasn’t—she wasn’t—we—we—”
    â€œWas there a baby?” Sinclair asked quietly, and good as he was, my dad couldn’t ignore that and turned around to face him, moving stiffly like a puppet whose strings were being jerked. Which probably wasn’t that far from the truth.
    â€œYes.”
    â€œAnd”—Sinclair took a step closer (Jessica was still hanging on to his back, gaping over his shoulder at my dad) and