Armani’s POV
For a brief second, I entertain the thought of escape. If Rena gets into the car quickly enough, we might still have time to slip away before my father makes his grand entrance.
But hesitation costs us.
Before the footman can even reach the car, the limousine door swings open, and my father stumbles out in a rush, nearly losing his footing in his haste. His face is flushed, his breath labored as if he’s sprinted here from wherever he’s been vacationing.
“Armani!” His voice cuts through the air, sharp and commanding. “Explain yourself this instant!”
I barely suppress a sigh before straightening and offering a dramatic bow. “Father. What a surprise. You’re looking remarkably well. Where was it again that you and Mother went? Greece? Italy? Somewhere with exquisite weather,
