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“Your mother is in the conservatory,” Alansaid. “Shall I announce you?”
Announce us?I was going tofaint.
Matt shook his head. “No, she’s not going towant to meet my girlfriend while she’s gardening. Let her know Iarrived, though. I want to show Charlotte around.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler responded.
“Very good, sir.”Like this wasDownton Abbey.
It might as well have been. The house lookedlike something a railroad tycoon would have built.
“Come on.” Matt lifted his cane and gave theair a little poke. “Let me show you where we’re staying.”
“I beg your pardon,” Alan said as we reachedthe bottom of the stairs. “Your mother has Ms. Holmes staying inthe east wing.”
“I’m forty years old. I think it’s all rightif my girlfriend sleeps with me,” Matt said, effectively shuttingthe butler down.
Once we reached the second floor, Iwhispered, “This was where you were staying when you wererecuperating? Did you have to walk like six miles every day?”
“It was good for me. Built strength.” Hepointed me down a hallway. “My room is that way.”
Approximately six miles, as I’d estimatedearlier. A long blue carpet ran over the intricate parquet floor.There was another fireplace in the hallway, as well as toweringarched windows behind matching drapes. And so much wainscoting.Huge oil paintings of pastoral scenes were supported by wires fromthe molded ceiling.
“This isn’t a house,” I said. “This is apalace.”
“It’s outdated,” he agreed. “It’s been inthe family for generations.”
“Yeah, I got the ‘generational wealth’vibe,” I said dryly.
What I also noticed was, there weren’t a lotof doors. Which meant the rooms were probably frickin’ huge, aswell.
“This one,” he said, stopping near one ofthose rare doors.
And I was right. The room was enormous, withhigh ceilings, dark wood paneling, yet another huge fireplace, anda bed that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a historicaldrama.
I recognized some of the features from ourlong-distance sexy times, but a phone screen didn’t convey thedepth and size. Of course, besides the antique look of the place,there was also a huge television, a mini-fridge, shelves of booksthat, upon closer inspection, were hundreds of role-playing gamemanuals. A few framed movie posters decorated the walls, from oldfilms I’d never heard of before:Beastmaster,Legend,something calledSpaceballs…I assumed they were all nerdstuff.
“This is your childhood bedroom?” I asked,picking up a Pikachu plush from one of the wing-backed chairs bythe fire. “Grim.”
“Not my childhood bedroom. My teenagebedroom,” he clarified, flushing bright red at the sight of the toyin my hands. “My sister and I were both in the nursery until weturned twelve.”
“The nursery?” It really was a differentworld.
“Freaking out?” he asked.
I wouldn’t lie to him. “Yeah. A little.”
He arched a brow.
“A lottle,” I admitted. “But I’ll get usedto it. It’s weirdly comforting to see all this modern-ish stuff inhere. I felt like I time traveled for a minute.”
“I have more comforting familiarity, ifneeded,” he said, going to one of the nightstands. He opened adrawer and produced a baggie. “Want me to roll one up?”
“Do I want to be high when I meet yourmother?” I pondered sarcastically. Then, with a defeated exhale, Iconceded, “Yeah. I probably should be. At least a little.”
He took the baggie, a rolling tray, and somepapers to the desk.
“This isn’t old shit from the nineties,right?” I asked.