I turn my gaze out toward the snowy scenery ahead. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”
We spend the rest of the ride in silence. I twist my fingers on my lap.
Just a few months ago, we would do things like that all the time. Quickies in the bathroom, road head, fooling around in the back of the car because we couldn’t wait to get inside the apartment. You name it, we’ve done it.
But everything changed when Louis proposed. It’s like he’s become a different person entirely. He’s become so stiff that he seems on the verge of shattering.
I can only hope that this weekend will fix things. I know he’s been worried about me meeting his family; he craves his father’s approval, especially.
As long as this goes well, everything should go back to normal. All I have to do is make a good impression… which would be a lot easier if I weren’t lying about my entire life.
Chapter
Two
My boots break through a crunchy layer of untouched snow as I step out of the shelter of the garage. The first breath of mountain air is a shock to my system. It’s so cold it burns my lungs, and I cough, pulling my scarf over my mouth.
“Jesus,” I whisper to myself. My teeth are already chattering, the tip of my nose stinging. I’m not used to this kind of chill.
Louis grabs our bags from the trunk and takes a step toward the cabin. My heart sinks as I wonder if he’s going to keep ignoring me. This weekend will be even more awkward than necessary if he keeps it up. But then he moves closer, putting an arm around my shoulders. I lean into the solid warmth of his body, inhaling the pine-and-musk scent of his coat.
“Let’s go warm up in the ‘bunker,’” he murmurs in my ear.
He holds me against him like the last ten minutes never happened. It isn’t exactly an apology, but I’m so relieved that I let it pass.
The cabin is built into a cliffside. The garage is tucked neatly beneath the main house, but to reach the entrance, we have to climb a steep stone staircase. I’m out of breath once we reach the top, and Louis is struggling with the bags. He unlocks the frontdoor with an ancient-looking key, and we step into an empty, quiet mudroom. I follow Louis’s lead in stomping the snow off my boots and shedding my coat and scarf. He leads me through a door and into the main part of the cabin. I expect his family to be waiting for us, but there’s no one here. Only the faint sound of classical music playing from somewhere deeper inside.
It’s warmer here than outside, but still surprisingly cold. I’m reluctant to relinquish my coat to Louis, but I do it anyway.
“Sorry,” he says when he notices me shivering in my dress. “This place is old-fashioned. Wood stove heating. More reliable in case of a blackout, but it’s hard to keep the whole place warm.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” I say, and clamp my jaw shut to keep my teeth from chattering.
Louis takes my hand, and I follow him deeper inside.
Seeing this place from the outside was one thing. Inside, it is an entirely different beast, far more decadent and luxurious than the stark exterior design would suggest. It seems bigger somehow, with the open-concept layout combining the kitchen, dining, and living room into one huge, high-ceilinged space. Polished wooden floorboards and a stone fireplace lend a rustic charm, but the rest of the house is all sleek modern luxury, from the marble countertops in the kitchen to pristine leather furniture which looks like it’s never been sat upon.
Yet it’s also old-fashioned in odd ways, like the heating Louis mentioned. Gold sconces line the walls with real, flickering flames within, instead of electric lighting.
There is also what appears to be a chandelier made of antlers, which gives me pause. But Louis passes by it all like it’s completely normal. I suppose it is, to him. I try to follow his lead as he brings me up the spiral staircase to the second floor, down a long hallway with a dizzying amount of doors. Louis pauses at one to bring our bags in, giving me a glimpse at the gorgeous guest room we’ll be staying in. We toss our phones on the bed—there’s no service here anyway—and then we carry on down the hall.
A low murmur of conversation gradually grows as we approach the end of the hallway. A mix of unfamiliar voices, hard to parse as they twine with one another and the music. I have an urge to stop here, to eavesdrop, to try to get my bearings before I walk into the room.
Without looking at me, Louis reaches back to grab my hand as if sensing my urge to balk. There’s nothing to do but follow as the voices grow louder, and louder…
And stop as we step into the room.
I have barely a moment to take in the room itself: a luxurious lounge with a record player, a crackling fireplace, plush leather couches, and white carpets.Who the fuck gets white carpets?I think, absurdly, my attention laser focused on that before I raise my eyes to see the four faces turned in our direction. My gaze darts from person to person without managing to take in the details. I search for a hint of a smile, a spark of warmth to ground myself with. But in the flickering firelight, they all appear cold and white and expressionless, as though they’re carved from marble. They look at me like they can smell the poverty on me.
“Louis!” someone cries—his mother, I think—and the spell is broken. They’re all rising, laughing, reaching out to us.
I must have imagined that moment of strangeness. A trick played on me by my own imagination, an awkward half moment made into something greater. But still, unease prickles along my spine, and I hang back as Louis steps forward to greet his family.
The first to reach Louis is the woman who spoke, his mother. A pretty woman who I only know is in her 50s due to her son’s age. She’s tall and willowy, fair-haired and blue-eyed just like Louis, and she doesn’t spare me a single glance.
Nor does Louis introduce me, for that matter, turning immediately from his mother to a man who envelops him in a bear hug. Adrian, his brother. Louis warned me about him.Rough around the edgeswere his words, which to me meantdon’t be alone in a room with him. He looks a lot like Louis but bigger, broader, louder.
The woman standing behind Adrian, hanging back from the reunion like me, must be Adrian’s wife. I stalked their pictures on social media, but even her stunning candids didn’t prepare me for how beautiful she is, with her long red waves of hair and a tight dress that emphasizes her tiny waist. I squinted and zoomed in on so many pictures, trying to find a wavy background that would betray her self-editing, but… wow. I guess she just looks like that, though in person it looks less modelesque and more concerning. She’s the only one in the room who looks at me, and it isn’t a friendly stare. More of a quick, cutting glance, one top-to-bottom scan before she looks away. Sizing me up as though I’m competition.
