“Done,” I say.
“You have to promise.”
“Fine, I promise.”
She nods and I grab the Range Rover keys Nigel tossed me as I walked up the front steps earlier.
I know her Gran’s is in a dodgy part of town. I know the house is run down, one of Nigel’s men reported as much. I know I’m a billionaire and it makes things awkward. I just don’t know why she’d be so cagey about showing it to me. It’s her Gran’s ancient house, not her personal dream home. It’s not some part of Janie herself.
“Can you even drive?” She asks me as we enter the garage. I force myself not to comment on the hideous decaying Lincoln in front of us. I head for my rental instead.
“You’ll have to tell me,” I reply and then wink. “Shit! Sorry. No winking.” She smiles a small smile so I carry on, “The wink is just too much charm, I understand. We can’t have you falling in love with me.”
She shakes her head and looks out the window as I start the car but she is smiling even wider as she says, “Absolutely no concerns there.”
I huff a wounded little sound, pretending to be hurt by her disapproval of me.
Well, if I’m honest with myself, I don’t have to pretend all that much.
_____
Damn it damn it damn it. Do not say anything. School your face, Ben. Neutral. Neutral!
I coach myself but it’s bloody difficult.
“This is it. Home sweet home from the time I was two until basically the second I turned eighteen.”
Her Gran’s house has got to be one more missing siding piece away from being condemned by the town. The whole street is the same. At least one of the nearby townhouses is abandoned. One further down the way burned down completely and no one repaired it or cleaned up the aftermath.
And it’s freezing in here.
“My stuff’s in here,” she says with a shiver.
“Well, bloody put it on!” I say, and then hold my tongue. There’s no way the heat is on in this place.
“I know it’s cold, the furnace is…finicky.” She says quietly, eyeing me and then the peeling wallpaper behind me. I can see she’s lying. I bet the damn furnace hasn’t worked in weeks. Months. Years.
Blood.y.hell!
This kills me.
“Hm,” I manage to say.
It kills me that I’ve been spending the couple weeks we’ve been married in penthouses and presidential suites and she’s been here, literally shivering. Thank God I haven’t sorted her remote work contract yet or else she’d have been here all day!
She puts on a heavy sweater and grabs a basket with maybe a blanket and a hat or scarf? Gloves, maybe? And two coats, the long, thin puffer one she wore for the scarecrow contest and a more stylish—if a bit old—pea coat. Both black and both not very warm.
“I left my backpack too,” she almost whispers. I show myself around as she runs up the stairs. We only moved over Janie’s things, so the house is still very lived-in. There are many adorable photos of my stubborn wife and her brother as kids.There are a few of the two of them with her Gran, a lovely woman with Janie’s gray eyes, sun kissed cheeks and dark brown hair.
Finally, I find the image I’m looking for. A tattered family photo by Lake Juniper. A woman who looks, wow,exactlylike Janie, if a bit darker-skinned, stands next to a tall man whose hair is almost blond in the summer sun. The woman, who has to be Janie’s mother, holds the baby and Janie’s father is holding a toddler, which must be her.
“I was a chunker, huh?” Janie says behind me.
I turn and take her in.
She looks tired.
Her all-black ensemble is faded at the seams. Her boots are nice but the toes are worn. Her backpack is black leather that’s long since lost its sheen.
