If you got cold feet at the last minute, I will never forgive you, Diana.
Call me whenever you see these messages, and I expect better behavior coming forward.
Does he really think I care about what he expects?
My father can go and take a hike for all I care.
The car stops abruptly just as the driver announces, “We’re here.” Through the wipers working furiously on the windshield, I see iron gates and several security guards wearing raincoats. One of them whistles, and they all step away as a screeching sound follows and the gates open. Timothy flies inside, getting on the narrow asphalt road lit by countless lamps that seem to glow from the ground.
Rolling down my window and ignoring the rain tapping on my nose, I plaster myself against the door and study the environment opening up to me.
The neatly cut, shimmering grass covers the vast land, filled with various, endless rose bushes scattered across the property, the flowery scent floating in the air and tickling my nose. They all bloom so vividly that they almost don’t seem real. It must be a crime to cut them off.
The magnificent garden exists for the roses alone, it seems, creating a rather magical feeling despite the thunder shaking the sky and casting gloom, somehow only adding to its charm.
As we drive farther onto the property, several marble statues flash in the distance, depicting ancient Greek gods and goddesses by their attire.
The one right in the middle, surrounded by red roses, stands out to me the most—a fierce goddess holding a bow and aiming an arrow straight ahead as the wind blows her hair back. The sculptor carved her features so well that I can feel her protecting the property, as if sending a warning to anyone who entered.
Artemis.
The goddess of the hunt, wilderness, wild animals, the moon, and childbirth. Fiercely protective of those who deserve it, but she could easily destroy those who cross her.
She’s the beloved daughter of Zeus, who asked him never to marry her off to anyone. And the only reason I know all these facts about her?
My mother was obsessed with Greek mythology, harboring books on the subject and collecting all the information she could find. That’s the reason I got my name.
She named me after Artemis because Diana is the goddess’s Roman name. She hoped that with this name, I would earn my father’s love. I could never understand her delusions, considering they met when she worked as a high-end escort and fell in love with a married man who gave zero shits about her.
“Smile, my darling,” Mommy says as she finishes braiding my hair and runs her fingers over my purple dress, sighing. “Look how pretty you are. I’m sure he will like it.” She points at our reflection in the mirror. “We even have the matching bows on our dresses.” She taps on her hip bone. “We’ll go to the park today and spend the entire day with Daddy. Are you happy about this, my darling?” I nod, despite my heart sinking, because Daddy is never happy about spending time with us.
He usually shouts at Mommy, pushes her away, and ignores me. On rare occasions, I get to eat ice cream with the security guards while they continue arguing.
“Daddy loves you very much, Diana.” Mommy hugs me from behind, and for a second, I see sadness in her blue-as-mine eyes, and her hold on me tightens. “He loves you. He just doesn’t know how to show it. You’re his daughter. Never forget it.” She kisses me on the cheek. “You’ll never live my awful life. I’ll make sure of that.”
I quickly wipe away the tear sliding down my cheek and bite the inside of my lower lip, refusing to go down that memory lane because my childhood memories leave me empty.
My mother’s only sin was falling in love with a man who hated her, and that ultimately killed her.
Focusing on the road ahead, I see alcoves and greenhouses where they must nurture even more roses, and the lights all over the perimeter allow for midnight strolls through the garden without ever getting lost.
“Angelica loved roses. They were her favorite flowers, so after her death, Orion changed the landscape. We couldn’t have grown all these bushes otherwise.” My heart pangs painfully at this sad manifestation of the son’s love. One might say when you have money you can buy whatever you want, but to put such a thought behind it…the child in me who lost her mom too young connects with his pain. “They’re so pretty and hell on my allergies.” He chuckles and taps on his chest. “It warms my heart to see them because that was her dream.”
“She couldn’t grow them while she was alive?”
He rolls his lips and shakes his head, taking a turn to the right. That’s when I spot a three-story castle spreading horizontally over the brick structure where the roses climb up from the walls.
It must have around twenty rooms, judging by the windows with colorful glasses and the massive double doors guarded by huge marble hounds.
All in all, everything around me screams power, and I can guess, by the architecture, that it must have been designed in the nineteenth century.
You’d think Orion came from royalty or something. It’s common knowledge that his father was a broke student when he met his mother. One of the reasons they were both very young when they got married. He clearly grew his fortune from scratch, but how did he buy such a castle?
Architecture like this usually stays in the families for generations, and I can’t imagine anyone selling the family legacy. It’s a stupid decision from every angle, the business one included, since they would get way more money transforming it into a museum or whatever.
“Mr. Walker didn’t allow it.”
It takes me a second to understand he’s answering my question as he parks the car by the marble stairs leading to the house. “Who is Mr. Walker?”
