Page 22 of The Thug And His Doll

Sitting on ten acres of land, it’s less flashy than the three other founding families’ homes, but it is impressive nevertheless. With its brown tiled roof–mostly hidden now by the snow–tan stucco walls, wooden windows with shutters, it’s a nod to the Spanish architecture the Hammer family left behind in their homeland.

“It’s bigger than a palace!” Toby exclaims excitedly.

“Not quite,” I chuckle. “Besides, there are no Kings or Queens living here. Just me and Daise. Just us.”

“You're rich,” Lia states, and it comes out as an accusation rather than a statement, as though I hid that fact from her. Truth is, it never occurred to me to mention it. What was I going to say, hey my name’s Drix and I’m a millionaire, in property at least?

“My father, Hubert, was a wealthy man. Daise and I inherited his home when he died,” I reply, tiptoeing around the complicated details of our inheritance. Even Daisy is unaware of the true extent of our predicament. “Truthfully, I’m more comfortable sleeping at the flat above the gym I run in town than here. I earn my own living.”

Lia frowns, colour seeping into her cheeks. “I’m sorry, that sounded really judgemental,” she apologises.

“It’s no big deal.”

“Why?” she asks after a beat, looking out of the window at my home, taking it all in.

“Why what?” I reply, switching off the engine.

“Why are you more comfortable sleeping elsewhere? You have a beautiful home.”

I shrug. “I guess it doesn’t feel like much of home without Hubert living in it.”

“Not even with your sister here too?”

“That came out wrong. I love Daisy, she’s the best, but this place hasn’t felt the same since he’s been gone. His absence has left a huge hole, one both me and Daisy have struggled to live with.”

Lia nods in understanding. “I’m sorry for your loss, Drix.”

“Thank you,” I reply, grief hitting me so suddenly that it feels like a punch to my gut. Clearing my throat, I open my door. “Shall we head inside?”

“Sure.”

Grabbing their suitcase from the boot, I wait for Lia to get Toby out of the car. She gathers him in her arms, trudging across the snow-covered drive behind me, white puffs of air escaping their lips as we walk towards the arched wooden door that opens up into the main living area. Decorated simply, with white walls, wooden beams, and neutral cushions and throws, it’s a welcoming home. Warm despite its apparent grandeur.

As soon as I close the door behind us, Lia removes Toby’s shoes and coat, then her own. Brushing a dusting of snow off his hair as she straightens up. The minute she lets him go, he runs straight to the leather sectional situated in front of the huge widescreen TV hanging on the wall opposite.

“Can I watch some cartoons, Mama?” he asks, swivelling his head around at us as she hangs up their coats on the hook by the front door.

Lia grimaces. “I’m sorry. If you just show us where we’re sleeping, I'll settle him down. He’s very excited right now. We’ll stay out of your way.”

“No need to apologise, and you’re not in anyone’s way. How about Toby watches some cartoons whilst I show you around?” I offer, trying to put her at ease.

“I don’t know,” Lia replies, casting her gaze around the space, wringing her hands.

I wish I could take them in mine and reassure her with my touch that she doesn’t need to feel awkward. Instead I use my words, hoping for the time being, that’s enough.

“He’s perfectly safe where he is. If he decides to go for a wander, all he’ll find is a kitchen through there,” I say pointing towards the back of the room. “Apart from the gym that’s off the kitchen, the doors to the other sections of the house are locked up as Daise and I don’t tend to use them all that much given there’s only two of us living here.”

“Please, Mama. I promise to stay right here,” Toby adds, patting the seat as he grins at the both of us. Pretty sure those puppy eyes he also gives her win her over every time.

“So long as you don’t move a muscle,” she concedes, nodding. “And just in case you break your promise, remember what I said about handling anything dangerous in the kitchen.”

“No touching anything sharp or hot,” he reels back.

“That’s right, good boy. You enjoy the cartoons then.”

“Thank you, Mama!”

“Perfect! Let me find you the right channel,” I say before she can change her mind.

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