Free How to Teach Filthy Rich Girls by Zoey Dean Page B

He went on, ―Not to brag, but my omelets are so good, they‘ve been known to entice married men to offer me favors they normally reserve for their wives.‖
    ―Oh my God, I‘d go to bed with you, too, if I could eat this every day.‖
    ―I‘m afraid I play for the other team, darling. Also, my VSO—very significant other—
    frowns on such things. Pity.‖
    I chuckled and chewed, savoring every bite as I considered Marco‘s unexamined-life comment. ―Marco? I was wondering . . .‖ I dabbed at my lips with the napkin. ―I met the twins last night . . .‖
    ―Let me guess.‖ Marco took a sip of coffee. ―Didn‘t get off on the right foot?‖
    ―You could say that,‖ I admitted. ―We‘re just sort of . . . different. I think they‘re going to be reluctant pupils.‖
    Marco smiled. ―The words ‗Sage,‘ ‗Rose,‘ and ‗pupils‘ have rarely been used in the same sentence before, unless someone is referring to their eyes, late at night, and very dilated.‖
    ―Maybe if I knew more about them. Like, what do they do for fun?‖
    ―In the case of Sage, that would be who does she do for fun?‖
    ―You mean she likes to party,‖ I clarified.
    ―No, I mean she likes boys. And she likes to party.‖

    I swallowed another bite of omelet. Marco was turning out to be more than a cook—he was fast becoming my number one source. ―You‘ve probably seen some outrageous things around here.‖
    ―Indeed, indeed,‖ Marco replied, but he didn‘t take the bait. ―If you‘re done, how about a tour? Perhaps we‘ll run into the twins along the way.‖
    He started our walk in the main mansion. I‘d been nominally prepared for the three different living rooms filled with priceless eighteenth-century French antiques, the dozen or so bedrooms done in different themes, and an actual dance studio with a ballet barre that Marco said Laurel used daily whenever she was home. It was the extras that blew me away: a movie theater for fifty with pink velvet seating, a salon, a four-lane bowling alley, a gym with every piece of high-tech equipment invented, plus a sauna, steam room, whirlpool, and hot tub. Marco took me down stone steps to a twenty-thousand-bottle wine cellar and humidor and noted that Laurel did all her wine tasting and selection herself.
    ―Even I‘ve learned not to advise her,‖ he confessed. ―And I‘m a certified sommelier.‖
    Next came a stroll around the estate. He shared his knowledge with obvious pride. I tried to remember everything he told me, knowing that detail would be critical for my article. ―The exterior walls of the mansion are made of coquina. It‘s a very rare pink stone scraped from the ocean floor. Rumor is that Mizner required ten years and five million dollars to gather enough to start building.‖
    ―How much is this place worth?‖ I prompted.
    A smile tugged at Marco‘s lips. ―There‘s a saying down here: If you have to ask how much, you can‘t afford it.‖
    Well, duh.
    From there, we toured the greenhouse, Laurel‘s pool, the two tennis courts (one grass, one red Roland Garros clay), the putting green, and a gazebo that perched on a pink arched bridge over a tilapia pond.
    ―So this is what a cosmetics empire can buy, huh,‖ I marveled as we stopped in the gazebo to rest.
    ―Laurel was born poor, you know. She lived in a squalid coldwater flat in Paris. I‘m sure you‘ve read about it.‖
    ―Actually, I haven‘t.‖
    ―She mixed her first shampoo in the hallway toilette and peddled it from salon to salon.
    She built Angel from nothing.‖ Marco motioned to the estate in front of us. ―I quite admire that.‖
    ―Do you think the twins have that same drive?‖ I asked. As if I didn‘t know the answer: Surely you jest.

    ―They‘re wounded, you know.‖ He studied me a moment. ―You‘re very curious about them.‖
    ―It‘s just that I want to get to know them.‖ I felt a flicker of guilt. It didn‘t last long. All I had to do was to picture