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“Say what?”
Zeke rolled his eyes. “That you’re not smart enough to drive a car.”
I laughed. It wasn’t funny. But the way he said it like it was the most absurd thing he could think of added some amusement that might not otherwise have been there. “I’ve had no reason to drive. I was chauffeured or we lived in a city where no one drove.”
“Didn’t matter what city I was living in, I drove.” He shook his head. “Driving is one of the great pleasures of life.”
“Maybe in a car like this one.”
We turned a corner, and he slowed down. This was the first time I got a look at Zeke’s mansion. It caught my breath. Maybe I’d been wrong when I thought I wasn’t impressed with displays of wealth. I’d seen some of the biggest, most expensive homes and apartments in the world. Sailed on yachts. But I’d never seen anything like Zeke’s home in Paris.
I sat up straighter. “Wow.”
He smiled. “I wanted a place I could love and that also told certain members of the world to go fuck itself, that I was richer than they were.”
“Well, goal achieved.”
We’d lived in a lot of places, moving every one to two years it seemed. Perhaps it really would have made sense for my father to place us in boarding school and leave the four of us there. Maybe it would have given us stability. Maybe if I could have stayed in the same place long enough, a teacher or two might have helped me with my learning issues. Or maybe that waswishful thinking. There might not be help for me in that way. Moving hadn’t held back Hope or Bridget.
We parked in a detached garage and walked through a white guard house that would presumably keep unwanted people away from entering if Zeke didn’t want them to. A guard wearing all black nodded to us, and Zeke stopped to speak to him. I heard my name, but the rest of what he said was lost on me.
Still in my wedding dress, I probably looked a sight. Or maybe they were used to Zeke bringing home strangely dressed women. I still held my shoes in one hand, and I’d slipped the socks into them, one each so they wouldn’t get lost. I had my cell phone in my other hand.
“Zeke?” I interrupted him, sorry to have to do so since I couldn’t follow the conversation and didn’t know if it was a poorly timed moment. “Can you open up the car so I can get my bags?”
He shook his head. “I’ll get someone to bring it in. Come on, let’s go inside. I was just getting you on the approved list so you can come and go as you wish, since you’ll be staying here.”
I didn’t know that we’d actually settled that. “Am I?”
“Obviously, I’m not going to force you, but I think after we talk, you’ll want to.”
I followed him onto a cobblestone path that led to the house, white like the guardhouse. It was funny about security. Or maybe funny wasn’t the right word. Odd…perhaps. Most people didn’t have to go through life living with security. My father did. Zeke did. Arguably, Zeke seemed to have less of it than my dad, who had to be followed around by his. And because of the threats against him, his children did, too. Well, three of them did. I no longer had any.
They got so rich, that they had to employ people to help keep both them and their stuff safe all the time. Was there some kindof middle ground? Enough money to feel flush with it, but not have to worry that they were going to constantly be robbed?
There was another gate that could be locked behind us, but it looked more decorative than useful. It wouldn’t actually stop anyone from busting through should they want to.
Everything was white on the outside of the house except the windows and the painted black lanterns that were probably, I imagined, actually electric lights designed to look old. It really would be weird if someone had to come out and light a flame in them every night. In fact, that would be ridiculous. Oh, the places my mind went. Small details didn’t matter, I really had to focus on bigger things. But then all I could see was that there were eighteen windows and they were spotless. Not a stain on them. Not a smudge that I could see, and, thanks to corrective eye surgery, I had great vision.
There might be more. I strained my head back to look at the roof. I was pretty sure there were some windows up there, too.
“What are you looking at?” Zeke stood next to me as he asked me the question.
“Windows.” I shrugged. “I like details.”
I turned left and stared at the side of the house. It was shaped like an L so I could actually see the whole area if I wanted to and…
“Come on. You can see them from the inside. They work both ways.” He winked at me.
Was he teasing me? I wasn’t good when people did that, because I couldn’t really tell if they were making fun or if they were being nice or some combo of both. Rather than say the wrong thing, I stayed silent. It tended to work in most circumstances if I just stayed that way.
But I almost lost my silence when I stepped inside. There was never a time that Zeke didn’t look perfectly dressed. Fashionableand tailored, but never overdone. I couldn’t say the same for the inside of his house.
It was such an odd display. Not everyone knew how to style homes, and I was certainly not an expert and wouldn’t claim to be. We’d never lived anywhere long enough to own furniture for any length of time. We’d arrive at a new house, and it would be a whole new set of things for us to use and get used to just in time to go again. It was almost like we were criminals—always fleeing the chance that we might get settled somewhere. Being accustomed to some place was illegal in our world.
But Zeke clearly thought that because he lived in this huge French mansion he had to decorate it like he was in the Palace of Versailles. Gold chandeliers. Persian rugs covering marble flooring everywhere. It was cold on my feet, which didn’t feel good under the circumstance. It was almost as though the cold burned.
I limped after him, keeping my decorative opinions to myself. Room after room didn’t change my impression, which of course begged the question as to whether it actually wasn’t him who had done it. No, this was a decorator. In fact, with their long, heavy drapes and fabric striped couches I saw displayed here and there, I would bet that no one ever came in these rooms at all. He lived here, but he didn’t reallylivehere.
