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The worst part isn’t figuring out what to do from here.
It’s having to tell Archer everything before I make any big decisions.
I hate it, but it’s only fair.
The intercomnext to the large gates buzz me in and I pull up outside the front of his house, which looks like it was dropped right out of some modern architecture magazine.
It’s all white stone and the two wings flank me on either side. Large windows with black modern frames keep it from looking too old-fashioned.
Hot damn.
I figured he did well for himself, but this is better than I expected. This is actual multimillionaire status, if not billionaire with aB.
Not flashy politician money, no, but the kind of wealth from guys like Dad’s donors, the people who buy their puppets in government.
Even Dad’s historic home looks like a modest bungalow compared to this. Archer Rory’s anti-humble home is big enough to rival the richest DC hacks and lobbyists living in Fairfax and Arlington.
How much did this house cost to buy? To build? Five or ten million, at least. And in Kansas City, which hasn’t caught up to the pricing insanity of the coasts, that buys you alotof house.
I’m trying to breathe.
Then again, it makes sense he’d have a mansion. It’s a family, right?
The Rorys. Of course, they’re swimming in money.
Suddenly, the cheesecake in my hands feels like the world’s worst peace offering. It basically screams ‘I’m broke, save me.’
I mean, yes, technically that’s whatI’mscreaming, but now that I’m here, this whole thing feels like a mistake. A sitcom setup for a funny humiliation.
I rap on the large black door before I can change my mind, though, and for good luck press the doorbell linked to the camera that’s wired in.
I’m expecting a butler to answer, wondering who this peasant is intruding on his master’s turf.
But there’s nothing from the screen.
In the time it takes for someone to come to the door—probably because they had to trek across the Atlantic to get here—I’ve rethought every life decision and concluded they’re all wrong.
This is probably the most wrong yet.
But maybe no one heard the doorbell? They might not be home.
Maybe I should leave while I can and pretend this never happened, before I embarrass myself and—
Then that huge black door groans open.
“Hey, Winnie. I thought it might be you.” Colt stands on the other side. The lazy surprise on his face becomes a welcoming grin. “You here to see Dad?”
“If he’s around, yes. Um, I looked you guys up. I brought cheesecake.” I hold up the glass container with my pathetic offering.
“Cool!” His face lights up, which eases this torture a tad. I still wish I’d brought something else, or at least remembered a gold serving dish under it. “He’s in his office. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
As I step inside the mansion—literalmansion—following his lead, I’m greeted with soaring walls, gorgeous high-ceilings brimming with natural light, and a wooden floor that leads me into a wide, open concept kitchen with a huge dining room attached.
Colt scampers off, and I take my time looking around.
I wonder how you ever get used to a house like this. Do you ever learn to stop feeling small?
I thought the kitchen at my cabin was impressive, but this is like four times bigger, with dark marble counters, a large island, and a rounded old-world arch leading into the dining room, which is flanked by bookshelves along the walls that reach to the ceiling.