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I jerk when I fist my hand so tight my nails cut into my palm, and rub the wounded skin. I go back to studying the greenhouse that holds some of the rarest plants, as Mom loves to gather them from around the world. Finally, my eyes land on two glass cages with canvases, various paints, and even a chair.
Dad specifically designed it for Mom so she could paint outside whenever the mood struck her, and he could watch her from a distance, admiring her beauty and showing her love even when he wasn’t around.
And among all this beauty, right in the middle, stands a huge Victorian-style house spread horizontally over the property made of brick with roses climbing the walls, adding to my family home's overall mysterious aura.
It has three levels and countless rooms to get lost in. It is amazing for playing hide-and-seek with the staff who almost had heart attacks on a daily basis when they couldn’t find me. Marble stairs lead to the double brown doors glistening in the sunlight as George pulls the car up by them, and our family butler, Pablo, stands downstairs to greet us.
He opens the door, bows a little, and says, “Señorita.” He extends his hand, helping me get out of the car, and the minute I do, the zapping energy hits me with full force as restlessness awakens every hair on my body because my family property inspires only one word in my mind.
Power. Power. Power.
Swallowing past the bile in my throat, I grin at Pablo and take out a bar of chocolate from my purse. “That’s for you. Straight from Switzerland.”
Joy crosses his wrinkled face as he grabs it. “You shouldn’t have, señorita. There are rules.” He reminds me about the rules no one ever follows, but considering he’s the oldest in the house, he’s very anal about them all and constantly teaches me to keep my distance from the staff.
How can I?
Most of them raised me!
“And I told you I don’t care. Enjoy it. It practically melts on the tongue.” I look over my shoulder at George, who gets out of the car and goes to the trunk. “And I brought you an antique chessboard. Had to fight for it in Italy.”
“That’s the spirit, kid.”
“George,” Pablo hisses, glancing around while our driver just rolls his eyes and grabs my suitcase, placing it on the ground with a loud thud. “We’ll talk about this later.”
“Sure. Preferably at the game while I’m trying out my new antique chessboard.” He winks at me, and I laugh while my butler just glares at us.
Pablo has this weird sense of responsibility over the entire household, so watching him get all frustrated over the smallest things is hilarious because no one cares except him. “Where are my parents?” I ask, changing the topic and mustering all the courage I can to face them and put on a brave face so they won’t see the true me.
Although, as my existence proved it, that’s not such a hard task when your parents tend to focus on your older sibling, and you’re just there in the background.
“They are in the living room, awaiting your arrival. The cook baked your favorite cake.”
“The chocolate one?”
He frowns while George freezes, and tension swirls in the air, washing away my excitement and filling me with dread. Despite knowing how much his next words would hurt me, I stand still and can almost feel the pieces of my heart crack.
Yet again.
“No. Lemon cake.” A beat passes. “Isn’t it your favorite?” Panic laces his tone while George sighs heavily, and I can practically feel pity emitting from him.
Because lemon cake is my brother’s favorite.
However, I swallow the bitter taste of resentment once again and flash them both a brilliant smile that, judging by their assertive eyes, neither of them believes, but no one will call me out on my bullshit.
It’s not like it’s the first time.
“Oh, it is. I was just messing with you.” I add a giggle for good measure and spin around. “I’m gonna go now.” Before any of them can say anything, I dart toward the stairs and take them in record time, reaching the double oak doors. “Showtime,” I mutter to myself as I enter, my heels clicking soundly on the perfectly polished marble.
Putting my purse on the nearest table, I sweep my eyes over the magnificent interior that has the ability to surprise me even after growing up among all this wealth.
Red, gold, and brown dominate the color scheme of this spacious place, the floor glistening under the various lights. Expensive paintings hang on the walls, showcasing certain events from mythology—some from ancient Greece and others from ancient Rome if one looks closely enough.
One of my parent’s hobbies is to collect art pieces all over the world so everyone can admire them at our home, but ironically, Mom never allows her work to be hung inside.
As she once said, art is the expression of her deepest demons, so they have no place in her sanctuary, aka home.
The delicious smells float in the air from the kitchen at the far end of the house, twitching my nose and making my stomach rumble. Maids hastily run around, holding heavy trays and nodding at me in greeting.
