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)
But the woman standing below the balcony, glaring up at us in disgust, was too young to be his mother. Although, she was dressed a lot older than I suspected she was. Her dark hair was the same shade as Matt’s, but there wasn’t a hint of curl except for the turned-in ends at her shoulders. Her pearl earrings were big enough for us to see from our height, and she wore a depressingly beige pantsuit.
“Catherine,” Matt said with a heavy sigh, patting my bottom to get me to stand. I rose to my feet and more or less tried to hide behind him, as if we’d been caught naked, not just kissing.
“Drugs? In Mother’s home?” His sister snapped.
“I’m not in Mother’s home,” he pointed out. “I’m outside.”
“And I suppose this is your guest.” She said the word “guest” like other people would say “hooker.”
“This is Charlotte.” He leaned heavily on my name. “And yes, she’s here as my guest.”
I didn’t even get a sarcastic “Pleased to meet you.” Catherine scoffed in disgust and marched away.
Eyes rolled skyward, Matt flicked the cherry off the end of the joint and scuffed it out on the tile with his shoe. “Come on. We’ll get the introductions out of the way.”
I wasn’t sure I wanted to be introduced to his sister. But I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to make a worse second impression.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
(Charlotte)
Matt took me to a room he called the “silver salon,” where Alan had told us his Mrs. Ashe would meet us. The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke under the overwhelming scent of the white and black roses arranged in vases on nearly every surface.
I sneezed and looked apologetically to Matt. “Allergies. Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. And bless you. We’ll get you some antihistamines.”
At least the roses would cover the weed smell. And the allergies would explain away my red eyes.
The room clearly got its pretentious name from the color scheme; everything from the walls to the furniture to the massive area rug beneath our feet was a shade of gray. A gleaming silver chandelier and sparkling mirror over the ubiquitous fireplace completed the look. It would have been insufferably bland, if not for the varied textures of fabrics and finishes.
Once again, I was in a place where I felt extremely cautious of breaking something.
We’d only been there for about thirty seconds before Catherine came in and abruptly stopped. “Where’s Mother?”
“On her way down. She was doing some gardening,” Matt explained, dropping onto a sofa. He patted the seat beside him.
Catherine looked me up and down before I managed to sit. “What are you wearing?”
I looked to Matt in a panic. I’d thought I’d dressed nicely, in a sleeveless green dress of cotton eyelet with a tiered skirt and wide straps that tied at the shoulders. Sophie had assured me it was a day dress, and it was still day.
“Will you stop being so rude?” Matt snapped at her. “It’s like four-thirty. If you wanted to see us dressed for dinner, you should have gotten here later. Like I was hoping you were going to. You’re not exactly black tie, yourself.”
“I came directly from a meeting,” she said, taking a seat in an armchair. “I assume you weren’t able to leave until your guest’s school day was over?”
“Charlotte, this is my sister Catherine,” Matt began with facetious politeness. “Catherine, this is my girlfriend, Charlotte. Charlotte, Catherine is a massive bitch—”
Catherine glared at him, but that was her only reaction.
“—and she ‘works’ for her… What was the name of your foundation again?” he asked, dropping the hands he’d used to make air quotes around “work.”
“You know very well that I’m on the board of directors of the Warner-Dudley Preservation Society.” She seemed annoyed to have to explain to me, “We raise funds for the preservation of artifacts from the Gilded Age.”
“Ah,” I said, but what I wanted to say was, you preserve the legacy of rich assholes like yourself.
How could Matt be so warm and loving, and his sister so cold and outright hostile? Had he ruined her Barbie Dream House or something in their childhood?
“The Gilded Age was—” Catherine began.
I cut her off. “The period in American history between the end of Reconstruction and the election of President McKinley. I know.”
Matt chuckled.
“And I’m not in high school,” I added.
Catherine pursed her lips and said nothing.
The silence ticked by endlessly, until the huge pocket door slid fully open, and an older, friendlier-looking version of Catherine entered. The woman was dressed in a flowery, flowing caftan, with strings of pearls that hung nearly to her waist. Her dark hair was twisted up, revealing her long, elegant neck. She looked like royalty.
Matt got to his feet. So did Catherine. I followed suit.
“Mother,” Catherine said stiffly, leaning down to kiss the shorter woman’s cheek.