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(Charlotte)
Living on the West Coast had given me askewed idea of travel, so when I learned that our trip toConnecticut wouldn’t be an epic, hours-long road trip, I was alittle disappointed.
“Here I was, picturing rest stops and gasstation snacks,” I said wistfully as we pulled up to a massivestone wall and set of towering iron gates. “And we’re herealready.”
“The car is electric,” Matt reminded me. “Wewouldn’t need to stop for gas.”
“I said snacks,” I replied, admiring hisprofile as he concentrated on the road. He was heart-stoppinglyhandsome a hundred percent of the time, but there was somethingextra hot about him when he was driving. “I’m glad we didn’t haveAllison bring us. I like this. Just the two of us.”
He gave me a smile as we passed through thegates. “I wanted the extra time with you to myself. The calm beforethe storm.”
My stomach pitched. He’d been making jokeslike that for the past day, but it seemed like the closer we got tohis childhood home, the more frequent those jokes were becoming, tothe point that they didn’t feel like jokes anymore. They seemedlike dire prophecy.
I’d brought all the clothes Sophie hadadvised me to take—and since she’d been the editor of a fashionmagazine before, I trusted her taste—but looking the part was onecomponent. If I stuck out like a sore thumb, would he decide thatour relationship was a bad idea?
I wasn’t supposed to exist, in the firstplace, and wouldn’t have unless Scott had gotten sick. What werethe chances I would fit in better among Matt’s high-societyrelatives and friends?
We drove through a wooded area, then pastmeadows of wildflowers like something out of a storybook before thehouse came into view.
“Oh, that’s not nearly as big as I wasimagining,” I said, relief loosening my nerves’ grip.
“What?” A look of understanding dawned onhis face, and with a small chuckle, he said, “Oh, no. That’s thegroundskeeper’s house.”
The groundskeeper’s house was larger than myparents’.
It seemed like we drove forever before Ispotted mansard roofs and white stone rising from behind the trees.“That’syour mother’s house?”
“That’s it,” Matt said, guiding us around amanned gate with a wave to the guard inside.
“And that was a security checkpoint…on theproperty.” Maybe I was starting to sound rude about the level ofwealth on display, but it was difficult to get my mind around it.“Groundskeeper, guards… I assume there are servants in thehouse?”
“Yes. My mother lives for reinforcing thestatus quo.” He pulled the car around an enormous, weather-stainedfountain and stopped in front of the huge front doors to whatappeared to be a miniature Versailles. “Appearances were veryimportant to her, after she married my father. She didn’t come fromold money and she’s still insecure about it.”
Then what would she think of me?
As if reading my thoughts, Matt reachedacross the center console and squeezed my knee reassuringly. “Itdoesn’t matter what anybody thinks of you this weekend, all right?I love you. And I decide who’s a part of my life. Not my mother andher friends.”
It should have reassured me. It made mequeasier.
As soon as we got out of the car, someone inactual livery appeared to take the key fob Matt tossed them. One ofthe huge, arched front doors opened and a man who appeared to be inhis fifties stepped out. His brown hair was thinning on top, and hehad a face the color of boiled chicken, like a man who’d never seenthe sunlight. And, like the other guy, he was dressed superformally.
“Alan,” Matt said in greeting.
“Mr. Ashe,” the man responded, and I got thepicture. This guy was the butler. A real, no-shit butler. And then,he turned his gaze to me and smiled warmly. “And Ms. Holmes.”
“Is my sister here?” Matt asked, leading mepast Alan and into the largest foyer I’d ever been in.
The walls were the same white stone as theoutside of the house. My jaw dropped at the fireplace; it was bigenough that I could have stood up in it comfortably. It faced asweeping curved staircase with a deep blue runner held in place bythin gold rods. The railing was marble, with fat, round columnsanchoring it to the stairs. At the bottom, a huge spray of flowersstood on the end of the banister. That bouquet matched an evenlarger one on the massive round table in the center of theroom.
I walked carefully across the checkeredmarble floor, terrified that my shoes would scratch it somehow. IfI broke something, I wouldnotbe able to pay for it.
And this was where Matt had grown up.
“No, sir,” Alan answered Matt. “She’s due toarrive later this evening.”
“Much later, I hope,” Matt said, andstrolled over to my side. Leaning down close to my ear, hewhispered, “Relax your shoulders. I used to send my Hot Wheels carsdown that banister for fun.”
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t do muchto help me relax.