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“Oh! Let me get Alan. He’ll bring them in for you.”

I hand her the keys to give to Alan. “Thanks, Mom. I’m going to show Cameron the east wing.”

“Sure thing, honey,” she says, already turning toward the back of the house where Alan’s quarters are. The keys dangle from her pinky.

Cameron looks at me as soon as she’s out of earshot.

“The east wing?” he asks.

“Yeah. It’s my part of the house.”

“Who’s Alan?”

“Alan’s our butler. He’s been with us since I was a kid. He does everything around here.”

We climb the huge sweeping stone staircase to the second floor. Our footsteps echo in the cavernous entryway. The house is quiet except for the distant sound of my mother’s voice calling for Alan.

At the top of the stairs, we cross a long hallway lined with family portraits. Generations of Ashfords staring down at us with varying degrees of severity. When the hallway opens up, we step into a living room that’s all mine.

There’s a huge flat-screen TV mounted on the wall and white sofas with colorful throw pillows. Blues and greens and yellows that my mother insisted would brighten the space. A few doors lead off to different rooms.

“This is…” Cameron trails off, looking around.

“The guest bedroom is through here,” I say, leading him to the first door.

It’s exactly as I remember it. Pristine. Untouched. The bed is made with crisp white linens, and there’s a vase of fresh flowers on the nightstand that my mother must have arranged.

“And this,” I say, opening the door across the hall, “is mine.”

I’m excited to show him. I want to see his reaction. Want to measure everything in the room through his eyes to determine its worth.

Cameron’s mouth drops open.

The bed dominates the space. A dark four-poster custom-sized bed that I had shipped from France two years ago. It lived in a royal residence for centuries before landing in my room. Everything else is either white or blue. No other colors. The walls are pale blue. The bedding is white with navy accents. The curtains are a deep royal blue.

It’s extremely tidy. The way I like it.

“What do you think?” I ask.

Cameron walks slowly into the room. His eyes move from the bed to the built-in bookshelves to the sitting area by the window.

“This was your childhood bedroom?” he asks.

“Yeah,” I say. “Until I went to boarding school.”

I look around, trying to see it through his eyes.

And suddenly, I realize it looks too clean. Devoid of life. Like a hotel room. There are no photos. No clutter on the desk. No personality anywhere.

It’s completely empty.

“Knock, knock.”

Fuck.

I’ve been dreading this moment.

Gwen appears in the doorway, her face bright with excitement.