James, one of the porters, arrives with the suitcase I’d abandoned in the boot of my hire car. He’s been here for as long as I can remember and is practically a Huxley Castle national treasure.
‘Miss Sexton, welcome home.’ His smile mirrors the welcoming warmth of his words.
The uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach ebbs slightly. Instead of reliving the loss of my parents, all I’ve felt since I walked through the door is what I’ve gained. The unwavering love of my sisters, bound by not only blood but the bond of our shared experience.
It’s a little overwhelming.
Things have changed.
Or maybe I’ve changed?
‘Is it drink o’clock yet?’ I ask, turning to Sasha, but it’s Victoria who answers.
‘It most certainly is.’
Sasha rolls her eyes and shakes her head. ‘This one’s got a taste for the good stuff.’ She ushers us into one of the private drawing rooms reserved for family.
‘What, lemonade?’ My elbow nudges her playfully, and she snorts again.
The double-height drawing room has been decorated in a vibrant shade of teal, a far cry from the traditional navy and dove grey it was painted when I was last here. A plush-looking pastel pink suite of furniture matches trendy transparent drapes that replace the old drab curtains that used to hang across the sash windows.
It’s a reminder that at Christmas we agreed Sasha would no longer preserve the castle as a relic to Mam and Dad’s reign and to introduce a more modern, fashionable colour palate.
‘Wow.’ My gaze wanders to the art on the walls. Landscape paintings of our favourite beach have been replaced with a hundred photos of our family, each hung in similar thick, gilded frames.
My throat thickens, making it hard to swallow as my emotions surge like a spring tide in my chest.
How can they bear to look at our young, carefree, smiling faces of the past every day, knowing we had such a traumatic ordeal ahead of us?
I ping the elastic band on my wrist, forcing myself not to revisit the horror of years gone by.
‘You’ve certainly changed things up around here. Good for you.’ It’s the best I can muster, and it doesn’t go unnoticed.
Victoria eyes Sasha warily, likeI’mthe baby. I ignore it, like I do most things that make me uncomfortable. ‘Where’s that drink you promised?’ I ask.
Ryan strides into the drawing room with a bottle of the castle’s finest champagne tucked beneath his burly left bicep. A huge hand precariously clutches three crystal champagne flutes.
His resemblance to Jayden is subtle, yet striking. Jayden’s at least an inch taller, but the ebony shade of their hair is almost identical. They’re both blessed with the same thick, luscious eyelashes most women would kill for, and lips so perfectly plump and kissable that cupid himself couldn’t compete.
But Ryan’s big, brown eyes are missing something Jayden’s steely ones never fail to deliver. A lust-fuelled promise and a drive to do whatever it takes to fulfil it.
My cheeks flush as the memories flood through my mind.
Sasha’s elbow connects with my side. ‘Would you stop ogling my fiancé? It’s bad enough every other woman on the planet wants a taste of him without having to compete with you.’ She sticks her tongue out to show she’s messing.
She needn’t worry. It’s not him I’m picturing.
Victoria pipes up with an exaggerated eye roll. ‘Not quite every woman.’
‘Woman being the key word in that sentence.’ Ryan shoots her a playful wink. ‘You’re not there yet, pipsqueak.’ He pours us each a glass of champagne, and half a glass for Victoria as she’s bang in the middle of her exams.
‘Four days and counting.’ Victoria’s eyes light up at the prospect of legally coming of age. Oh god, is the sweet girl before me about to morph into a pheromone-driven monster? Her teenage years have been pretty tame to this point. Surely at some point she’ll have to do something wild?
My eyebrows draw together. ‘What will she be like when she gets to college?’ I address the actual adults in the room.
‘Hopefully, nothing like you,’ Sasha jokes, but it stings like a barbed spear in my side.
Am I that bad?
