“Orion’s father.”
I blink at this. “Wasn’t he Mr. Wright?”
He huffs, gripping the steering wheel, and snarls, “No. He took Angelica’s family name when he realized how much further ahead he could get with it.” A beat passes. “As if marrying the rich heiress wasn’t enough for him.”
So Rafael’s father must have been Orion’s mother’s cousin? This certainly explains their vast fortunes.
“His death could have been a celebration, if only Angelica hadn’t died first.”
I have no time to dwell on all of this rather disturbing family lore because what kind of person does one need to be for his driver to celebrate his death, as the door to the car opens just as thunder shakes the sky. I see an elderly woman, wearing all black and with her hair tightly pulled back, standing by the front door, a grim expression on her face as she watches us.
“Welcome home, Mrs. Wright.” I do a double take at the older man greeting me, holding out an umbrella while he’s soaking from head to toe under the rain. “Let me help you.”He extends his gloved hand to me, and that’s when I notice his butler’s suit consists of a long black jacket and gray pants with matching leather shoes.
Too stunned, I reply with, “Hello,” and place my hand in his as I get out of the car and wave at Timothy. “Thank you for bringing me.”
“At your service anytime, ma’am.”
“Please call me Diana.” The last thing I need is for all the elders to address me as ma’am. My grandma would have wrung my neck for it.
Among our family, she was the only one who valued the people who worked for us and never allowed any disrespect, even when my brother threw tantrum after tantrum, demanding that the strict ones be fired.
And he called anyone who wouldn’t let him get away with shit strict.
“My name is Leon.” The man next to me, who must be in his sixties as well, introduces himself as we move toward the house. “If you need anything, please let me know. All you have to do is ring a bell.”
“Ring a bell?” What the hell?
“Yes. Each room has a bell that you can ring in order to get us.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that would be necessary.”
Apparently, there is my family’s level of rich and the Wright family’s level of wealth.
We reach the doors, and Leon closes the umbrella, shaking off the water as we stare at one another with the woman. Matilda finally speaks up, her voice so void and grunting that it seems to come straight from the underworld. “Welcome, Mrs. Wright.”
“Hi. It’s nice to meet you. Just call me Diana, please.”
Chilliness crosses her gaze. “You are Mr. Wright’s wife, and you will be called by your title. We don’t allow familiarity.”
Okay.
“I’ll walk you to your room. Mr. Wright informed me that you’ll be taking residence in the left wing, while he’ll occupy the right one. Make sure not to go in there. He prefers his privacy, and we do not allow anyone to break the rules.”
Oh, living with this woman for a year will be an experience.
“No worries. I’m not interested in checking out his wing.” In fact, I will stay as far away as possible from it.
She ignores my statement as we enter the house. The golden marble greets me, and my heels click soundly against it as we move through the hallway with various paintings hanging on the wall toward the stairs. Matilda’s speed doesn’t allow me to study anything else.
We quickly go up the stairs to the second floor, and she turns left into a never-ending hallway with around ten rooms. When we enter the third one, she claps her hands, and the lights instantly turn on.
I gawk at the large room with a queen-size bed, a white couch, a few chairs, a wardrobe, and a small table by the balcony doors, which are wide open. The white curtains sway in different directions in the wake of the blasting wind from outside, along with the fresh air.
All in all…
It’s as bland as it might get, and freezing.
Do Wrights have something against color? Why is all their interior black and white?
