Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59432 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 297(@200wpm)___ 238(@250wpm)___ 198(@300wpm)
I slowed and pulled up near the front door. The drive continued off to the right, further into the estate grounds. I took my keys from the ignition and was about to drop them into my purse. I stopped. Why? Would this car be sitting out here waiting for me for the year?
The thought made me laugh. My beat up American-made sedan sitting out in front of this mansion for a year, its battery going dead, parts rusting. It was absurd, just like everything that had happened over the past few months. I let the laughter pour from me. Some turn of the century medical pamphlet would say I had a case of ‘hysteria’ and advise that I be shipped off to the sanitarium. The giggles tapered off, as if I were sobering up. I didn’t know if I’d have the chance to smile or laugh at anything again. Not for a year, at least, and something told me this year would leave scars to last a lifetime.
I dropped the keys in the cup holder and looped my purse over my shoulder before stepping out. I grabbed my bag from the trunk and rolled it to the steps. Mums, perfectly full of fall blooms, lined the flower beds next to the porch. I lifted my bag and rolled over the wide plank floor to the double front doors.
I didn’t have to knock. A door swung inward to reveal an elderly butler. He looked stuffy and proper, though he had a smile for me. He was tall and wiry with white hair and light blue eyes. He seemed friendly, if reserved. The only odd thing was that he was getting the door for me at well past midnight.
“Miss.” He gave me a small nod.
“Um, hi.” I didn’t expect this. I expected Vinemont to drag me in and beat me, hurt me, and throw me into a dungeon.
“Would you like to come in?” He smiled the slightest bit, as if amused by my hesitancy on the doorstep.
“I-I thought—”
“You thought what?” Vinemont stalked into the foyer. He wore a pair of dark jeans and a gray t-shirt. I’d never seen him in anything other than a perfectly-tailored suit. He seemed almost human. His chest was somehow broader than I remembered, tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. A five o’clock shadow covered the hard lines of his jaw and fluttered down his neck. His eyes were still cold, though, and as calculating as ever.
And there was something else about him I never thought possible—dark vines of ink snaked from under his sleeves and down to his forearms. He was like the wrought iron gate—cold, hard, and choked with equally unyielding greenery. His unexpected tattoos shocked me more than the surreal nature of my situation.
I closed my mouth, determined not to answer any of his questions.
“Do come in, Stella. We won’t bite.” He smiled.
I wanted to slap the look right off his face.
“Farns, this is our newest Acquisition.”
The butler blanched and swayed. Vinemont put a hand on the old man’s elbow to steady him. That one tiny act of kindness made me feel like I’d fallen into some alternate dimension. I didn’t think ‘kind’ was something ever attributable to the spider standing before me.
Farns turned his head from Vinemont then back to me, his friendly smile faltering. “I see.” He sighed. “This year? I see. May I?”
He held a shaking hand to take my luggage. I passed it to him.
“Thank you, Miss—?”
“It’s Stella Rousseau,” Vinemont said. “Go ahead and get the quilt room ready for her. I would have told you earlier, but I wasn’t sure if she’d accept.” The cold smile crept back into place as Vinemont continued assessing me.
I bristled. “I think you were sure. You knew all along, you bastard.”
Farns coughed delicately. “Oh, well, I’ll just go get everything straightened out for you, Miss Rousseau.” Farns gave Vinemont a strange look, almost pitying, before taking my bag and heading toward the sweeping stairs.
I peered around, ignoring Vinemont. The house was just as beautiful inside as out. Antique wood and plaster work graced every surface I could see. The floors were a warm honey color, reflecting the light of chandeliers and sconces that bathed the rooms in warmth. The furniture was dark, providing a contrast and making everything look even more luxurious.
The room to the right had couches and an elegant writing desk. The one to the left appeared to be a music room. A piano, guitars, and a few other instruments were displayed. I realized the wall paper was actual sheet music, pieces pasted over other pieces until the room was a paper mache made of melody and harmony.
The Rousseau home back in town was large. This house would have swallowed it whole and come back for seconds.
“When you’re finished gawking, we can get down to business.” Vinemont was still sizing me up, maybe deciding how badly he intended to treat me. I didn’t know. Everything was so foreign, so overwhelming. Even so, I forced my spine to straighten. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me.