The woman stood tall at around one eighty centimeters, her brown hair tied in a neat bun and her golden eyes gleaming with mischief.
The fur jacket framed her perfectly, even when it hid most of her curves, while the red dress and heels drew the eye without a single attempt at modesty.
"Ah, Bianca. I never thought you'd end up as a nanny for a bunch of children in the middle of nowhere," Andrew said, his sarcasm sharp enough to cut bark off the pine trees outside.
Bianca had always been the middle link between him and Isolde. They rarely met face to face, so Isolde sent Bianca as her messenger.
That arrangement did nothing to improve their relationship. They still hated each other with impressive consistency.
Bianca laughed lightly. "Better than being a deadbeat, a drunk, and dying on top of it."
She tilted her head with false sweetness. "Anyway, let's forget the past for a moment. We should talk about that Crest."
