Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96600 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 483(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
“Alan,” Matt said in greeting.
“Mr. Ashe,” the man responded, and I got the picture. 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 me past Alan and into the largest foyer I’d ever been in.
The walls were the same white stone as the outside of the house. My jaw dropped at the fireplace; it was big enough that I could have stood up in it comfortably. It faced a sweeping curved staircase with a deep blue runner held in place by thin gold rods. The railing was marble, with fat, round columns anchoring it to the stairs. At the bottom, a huge spray of flowers stood on the end of the banister. That bouquet matched an even larger one on the massive round table in the center of the room.
I walked carefully across the checkered marble floor, terrified that my shoes would scratch it somehow. If I broke something, I would not be able to pay for it.
And this was where Matt had grown up.
“No, sir,” Alan answered Matt. “She’s due to arrive later this evening.”
“Much later, I hope,” Matt said, and strolled over to my side. Leaning down close to my ear, he whispered, “Relax your shoulders. I used to send my Hot Wheels cars down that banister for fun.”
I took a deep breath, but it didn’t do much to help me relax.
“Your mother is in the conservatory,” Alan said. “Shall I announce you?”
Announce us? I was going to faint.
Matt shook his head. “No, she’s not going to want to meet my girlfriend while she’s gardening. Let her know I arrived, though. I want to show Charlotte around.”
“Very good, sir,” the butler responded.
“Very good, sir.” Like this was Downton Abbey.
It might as well have been. The house looked like something a railroad tycoon would have built.
“Come on.” Matt lifted his cane and gave the air a little poke. “Let me show you where we’re staying.”
“I beg your pardon,” Alan said as we reached the bottom of the stairs. “Your mother has Ms. Holmes staying in the east wing.”
“I’m forty years old. I think it’s all right if my girlfriend sleeps with me,” Matt said, effectively shutting the butler down.
Once we reached the second floor, I whispered, “This was where you were staying when you were recuperating? Did you have to walk like six miles every day?”
“It was good for me. Built strength.” He pointed me down a hallway. “My room is that way.”
Approximately six miles, as I’d estimated earlier. A long blue carpet ran over the intricate parquet floor. There was another fireplace in the hallway, as well as towering arched windows behind matching drapes. And so much wainscoting. Huge oil paintings of pastoral scenes were supported by wires from the molded ceiling.
“This isn’t a house,” I said. “This is a palace.”
“It’s outdated,” he agreed. “It’s been in the family for generations.”
“Yeah, I got the ‘generational wealth’ vibe,” I said dryly.
What I also noticed was, there weren’t a lot of doors. Which meant the rooms were probably frickin’ huge, as well.
“This one,” he said, stopping near one of those rare doors.
And I was right. The room was enormous, with high ceilings, dark wood paneling, yet another huge fireplace, and a bed that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a historical drama.
I recognized some of the features from our long-distance sexy times, but a phone screen didn’t convey the depth and size. Of course, besides the antique look of the place, there was also a huge television, a mini-fridge, shelves of books that, upon closer inspection, were hundreds of role-playing game manuals. A few framed movie posters decorated the walls, from old films I’d never heard of before: Beastmaster, Legend, something called Spaceballs… I assumed they were all nerd stuff.
“This is your childhood bedroom?” I asked, picking up a Pikachu plush from one of the wing-backed chairs by the fire. “Grim.”
“Not my childhood bedroom. My teenage bedroom,” he clarified, flushing bright red at the sight of the toy in my hands. “My sister and I were both in the nursery until we turned twelve.”
“The nursery?” It really was a different world.
“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 used to it. It’s weirdly comforting to see all this modern-ish stuff in here. I felt like I time traveled for a minute.”
“I have more comforting familiarity, if needed,” he said, going to one of the nightstands. He opened a drawer and produced a baggie. “Want me to roll one up?”
“Do I want to be high when I meet your mother?” I pondered sarcastically. Then, with a defeated exhale, I conceded, “Yeah. I probably should be. At least a little.”