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“You think that’ll change?”
“It might, depending on my client’s schedule. I’m at his disposal.”
She nodded. “Ms. Jeannie called me earlier. She wasn’t thrilled you aren’t coming, but I told her I’d get there early to help out.” Tiffany stared out the window. “Ivan, where do you live?” She laughed. “You’ve been driving almost thirty minutes. I don’t know why, but I just assumed you lived closer to downtown.”
“My parents’ house is in Beverly. I had an apartment in town, but I gave it up when I decided to spend the summer helping Cole renovate some stuff in the house and keep an eye on GiGi,” he told her.
A few minutes later, they pulled into the circular driveway and he shut off the engine. “We’re here.”
Tiffany’s mouth dropped open. “This is your home?”
He walked around and opened her door to help her out.
She stared up the stone steps. From there she saw a landing of large slate tiles, and on it a pair of black wrought-iron chairs with a small table between them.
Tiffany turned to him. “It’s a mini stone castle,” she exclaimed, glancing around the heavily wooded lot. “I didn’t know they had hills in Chicago. Ivan, this place is gorgeous. How big is this thing, anyway?”
Ivan slipped her hand in his and guided her toward the stairs. “Only seven thousand square feet.”
“Only? My loft could fit into this thing several times. You must feel claustrophobic coming to my house.”
“Not really.” He kissed her. “Actually, I’m quite content in it, especially in your fourteen-by-twenty-square-foot bedroom.”
She smiled. “You’re ridiculous.”
He unlocked the front door, and they went in. “Welcome to Mangum Manor,” he said in his best Count Dracula voice. “Come on, I’ll give you a tour.”
The house had arched doorways, and they all led off the main foyer. A living room was on the left with six windows on each side of the room that let in loads of natural light. The fireplace had a five-pillar wrought-iron holder with cream-colored candles. The floor was hardwood, and there were wood beams spaced across the high ceilings. The furniture was neutral, and there was a large colorful area rug, plus paintings and accessories that introduced color into the room.
Tiffany went across the hall into the dining room. The huge wood table and chairs looked like they were from another century. Down the hall, she saw a circular room with windows surrounding it on three sides, low bookshelves and an oval table and decorative rug in the middle of the room.
“The library, I presume?”
“Yep. This is where Cole and I did most of our homework.”
The family room had a huge flat-panel screen on the wall with another fireplace and leather furniture. It was homey, and Tiffany could imagine many a family gathering spent there. She picked up one of the pictures sitting on a table. It was a family portrait. Ivan and Cole’s mother was a well-tanned woman with strawberry-blond hair and the same amber eyes that Ivan had. Their father was tall, with a mocha-brown complex
ion and kind brown eyes. He exuded confidence and strength, just like Ivan. They were a good-looking family.
She set the portrait down. A lump formed in her throat. Her parents’ home also had a myriad of family portraits, all of them filled with smiles. From the outside looking in, her family appeared happy and her parents in love.
“All an illusion,” she whispered.
“What?”
Startled, she turned to Ivan, forcing the shadows away.
“Hey, what’s the matter?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
Ivan placed a hand at her chin and titled her face up to meet his. “If you’re fine, why did you look so sad a moment ago?”
Did anything get past him? Tiffany tried again. “No reason. You have a lovely family, Ivan.”
Ivan observed her momentarily before he said, “Wait till you meet them. Especially my grandmother—but I have to warn you. She has no filter. You don’t know what she’ll say at any given moment.”
“She sounds like another matriarch we know.”
