Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 356(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Given all of that, this should feel like a fucking vacation to her, and me, I’m her fairy fucking godmother.
Traffic slows us down but when I finally pull off the exit and see the familiar sign to Sleepy Hollow, I feel my gut churn. I want to turn around. Go back. Forget about coming here, but I keep driving. My hands tighten around the steering wheel as we pass gated mansions spread farther and farther out as I approach Rockcliffe House. Cilla is sitting up, really paying attention now. I wonder if she’s memorizing the road. Maybe thinking she’ll have a chance to run. She won’t. I’ll make that clear when we reach Rockcliffe House.
The tall iron gates finally come into view. They’re supported on either side by a large, stone pillar which becomes a six-foot high perimeter surrounding the property. Each of the pillars is topped with a watching gargoyle. And they are truly watching. Cameras are embedded within each one.
I slow the SUV and turn onto the path leading to those foreboding gates.
“This is your house?” she asks, her eyes on the gates, on the turret just visible over the hill behind them.
I don’t answer, only because I can’t. It’s taking all I have to keep breathing. Keep calm.
When we reach the closed gates I stop, punch in a code. The tall iron creaks as they slowly open.
I navigate the SUV through and movement in the rear-view mirror tells me the gates are already closing behind us. Cilla’s leaning forward in her seat to watch now, her mouth slightly open. I keep my eyes on the road even as the house comes into view, casting its shadow over us, bringing memories long forgotten into the foreground of my mind. I pull to a stop before the entrance and switch off the engine. I look around at the overgrown lawn, wet with all the rain we’ve had. I remember playing in it as a kid. Remember Ginny and me out here for hours and hours. We only had each other. Given my family’s line of work, we grew up on our own. Home-schooled, and essentially friendless. Becoming more and more isolated as the years went by and my father’s paranoia deepened. Although, I guess it wasn’t paranoia. Not after what happened to mom.
I clear my throat and steel myself before turning to Cilla.
“Welcome to Rockcliffe House.” Her mouth is still open. I reach over, put a finger under her chin and close it.
She draws back. “This isn’t a house. I guess I have no idea how much money thugs make these days.”
I could take offense, but honestly, I need her distraction right now, so I chuckle.
“You’re pushing your luck, sweetheart.” I get out of the car and walk around to her side. She’s already got the door open and is climbing out.
“Are you going to lock me away from the world for the next thirty days?”
I wrap a hand around the back of her neck and guide her toward the large wooden doors. “It’s tempting to have you at my beck and call.” I stop walking and turn to her, make her face me. My grip is just tight enough to warn. “But you already are. Don’t forget why you’re here. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you’re anything other than mine. Mine to do with as I please. What happened last night will not happen again. Am I clear?”
She’s watching my face, studying my eyes. Trying to read me. “Or what?” she asks, but her voice is higher than usual, giving away her anxiety.
I lean in close so our noses touch. “Test me and you’ll find out. Please.”
We stay like that for a long minute, and I’m pretty sure she only breathes when I release her. We turn to the front doors that are pushed open, two men standing at attention just inside.
“Boys.” I nod in greeting, my tone casual although the old, closed up smell of the house still carries something familiar in it. My cell phone vibrates in my pocket. I fish it out. It’s Hugo. I silence it, but need to call him back.
Cilla’s looking around, her eyes like saucers. The formal living room and the dining room, both of which we can see standing in the foyer, have been thoroughly cleaned, and I remember how my mother had wanted to replace the carpet in the dining room where a spill stained it. She never got the chance though.
I turn my gaze to the curving staircase, wide and opulent, the steps white marble veined with black to match the foyer.
“Is the blue bedroom prepared?” I ask.
“Yes, sir.”
“Please take my guest to it. Assign a man to her room in case she needs anything or feels the need to go wandering about.”
She gives me a glare but her curiosity has her following the man up. I head to my father’s study, blocking the memories from my mind. I don’t have time to deal with them just yet. I’ll work now. Give myself until tonight. Then I’ll go out back. Out to the barn. The greenhouse my mom had such hopes for. Then I’ll stand inside and let myself remember.