Read Online 666 Park Avenue by Gabriella Pierce - Free Book Online

public. But she had never really considered that the same scrutiny might be extended to Malcolm’s wife. She wasn’t an heiress, a party girl, or a household name. She wasn’t anybody; there was no reason for anyone to care what she did.
    Except that now she was going to be the wife of a somebody, and that was going to be the end of anonymity for her. Caesar’s wife must be above reproach, she reminded herself. But Caesar’s wife is a witch, so now what? Being photographed by everyone from Vanity Fair to US Weekly probably wasn’t what Gran had meant when she had told her to hide. She shivered a little as she remembered Gran’s letter: “People will be looking for you.” People who had had much more practice hiding their magic than she did, people who would notice the slightest oddness about her immediately—and who might expose her to the Dorans . . . to Malcolm.
    She shut down that train of thought abruptly and shook the tension out of her shoulders. There was nothing she could do about media attention, and anyway, it hadn’t even started yet. Maybe they wouldn’t be all that interested in her, and her magic had been reassuringly quiet since they had left France. She could gloss over her family background if anyone asked, and as long as she kept smiling and didn’t knock out the power, everything would be fine.
    That decided, Jane glanced around for her suitcase, but then her mind adjusted to what it had absorbed last night: the hangers, racks, and shelves of the closet were already filled with her clothes . . . as well as some she could swear were brand-new. She clasped her hands together in delight and did an impromptu little twirl before settling down to the very serious business of choosing the day’s outfit.
    A floaty white blouse, charcoal-gray pencil skirt, and retro string of pearls later, Jane found herself clicking down the halls after Malcolm.
    In spite of his earlier concern for her hunger, he evidently couldn’t resist suggesting that they take the long way to the kitchen so that she could see more of the magnificent house. That included a closer view of the gallery, with paintings dating back to medieval times; the sitting room; the library, with its floor-to-ceiling shelves and handy rolling ladders; but not of the study, since the door was closed. “My dad hangs out in there sometimes,” Malcolm explained in a clipped tone, and Jane, recalling Mr. Doran’s whiskey glass and bleary eyes from the night before, didn’t press for details. Nor did she ask how one family—even a sizable and close-knit one—would manage to use a living room, a den, a family room, a dining room, and a parlor. She was glad that she had gone for a more conservative, dressy outfit than she might have normally chosen for a breakfast at home with her fiancé. She might be overwhelmed, but at least she looked like she belonged.
    Their tour wound to a merciful close in the kitchen, which Jane immediately identified as her favorite room of the house so far. It was spacious and airy; copper pots and kettles hung everywhere and dark green marble covered the countertops. Unlike the stuffy, tapestry-coated formal dining room next door, it was a room more about substance than style, and, contrary to Malcolm’s claims about only eating takeout, there was certainly plenty of substance. It contained every food Jane could possibly want: fresh fruit, pre-sliced vegetables, organic yogurt, hand-pressed pasta, and even brie flown in from Paris. It also contained a note on Lynne Doran’s monogrammed stationery.
    “My dear Jane,” she read to herself while Malcolm tried valiantly to crack an egg. “Please join me at 21 Club at one o’clock. I look forward to getting to know all about you!”
    “Your mother seems extremely pleased that I’m here,” Jane began cautiously.
    Malcolm shrugged, tossing the shards of his demolished eggshell into the trash, and pushed the staff call button. “She’s always wanted a daughter,”