She wanders around the open space, her gaze taking everything in.
I waste no time in helping myself to a bourbon and offer her the same.
“To our new home.”
“Our home.”
She smiles nervously, and as she rests her glass against mine, I wonder how she will deal with the finest bourbon I keep on tap. I haven’t met many women who can handle it, and once again she surprises me by downing the shot in one.
“I’m impressed.”
I’m not lying, I am, and she shrugs. “My father was a connoisseur of whiskey. He taught us how to savor it.”
“Your father taught you how to drink, and you were underage?”
I’m astonished, and she grins. “Wise up, grandad, anyone would think you are the religious one.”
She wanders around the room; her fingers trailing against the gleaming surfaces and gazes critically around at the modern technology.
“I like it.” She states simply, and for some reason, I’m reassured by that.
“To answer your question, my father didn’t believe in safe limits. We were allowed wine from a very early age and taught to give it the respect it deserves. Consequently, I have never been drunk or lost control and developed an impartiality to it, preferring a soda if I’m honest.”
“I must admire him for that.”
I drop onto my leather couch and observe her patrolling my space like a caged panther.
“Where will we sleep?”
I love the sound of ‘we’ and it swells my heart that she considers that normal.
“Through there, in a suite of rooms I use, which consists of a den, a bedroom, bathroom, and closet. Jack has a small apartment on the other side, with a guest room and a gym.”
“Wow, you have it all, Simeon.”
Her eyes widen as she perches on the edge of the couch beside me.
“I am used to fine living and also a basic one. I shared one room in the convent with my sisters, with only one bathroom between five rooms, consisting of fifteen nuns. Consequently, we had a rota, and whoever was at the bottom ended up with a cold shower.”
“What about a bath?”
“Three times a week and once again, only one tub of water between the three of us.”
“Why did you consider staying if you were used to fine living?”
“It depends on what you consider being fine living.”
Her sad smile tugs at my heart as she sighs. “It appears that you can’t have it both ways. The fine mansion came with restrictions and pain. We were tolerated by our father and persecuted by our stepmother. There was no love in our lives, and we were constantly on edge in a pretty dress. Our freedom was curtailed, and we were told what to do and when to do it at all times.”
She smiles sadly.
“Then boarding school was hard. No different from home, really. We shared a room and were locked in every night with only a bucket for our needs. Then, in the morning and throughout the day, we were bullied by the other girls as well as the staff. Once again, we were considered among the privileged to be there. It didn’t feel that way.”
I lean forward, murderous thoughts playing on repeat in my mind.
“What was this boarding school called again?”
“Canton House Academy. I wouldn’t recommend going there; it’s not that great if you want a reference.”
