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“Okay,” I agree, rising from the nest of blankets I made on my couch.
“Are you cold in here?” She asks suddenly, observing the way I was bundled. “The thermostat is by the door, and we can always send someone up to start a fire for you if you like.”
“Oh, no I’m fine. I was just being cozy.” No need to tell her that being swathed in layers of blankets makes me feel safe—with no proper shelter on the street, I just wrapped myself up in as many blankets as I could. I haven’t done it for a while, but clearly the change of scenery is making me feel a little out of sorts.
“Alright. Well, how about you meet us in the breakfast room in half an hour for dinner? Is that enough time to get ready?”
I shrug. “Sure, sounds good.” I was just planning on pulling down any dress and pulling it on, which should take me about thirty seconds. Now the realization hits that I’m expected to ‘get ready’, which is a lot more involved.
“Great, I’ll see you downstairs!” Roxanne closes the door gently and bustles off.
Sighing, I drag my hands over my face and pass through my bedroom, heading into the massive closet. True to her instruction, there’s an entire rack of dresses, varying from light, casual sundresses to long-sleeved cotton, and finishing with several knee-length short-sleeved dresses in various colors.
Running my fingers over them all, I pause on the small selection of warm-looking cotton dresses. Some of them are bodycon and some are A-line, but they’re all incredibly soft and I actually look forward to wearing them. They look like perfect fall dresses to be worn with…
My intuition sparks and I search the shoes for a minute until I spot them: several pairs of knee or thigh-high boots in shades of black and brown.
I chuckle to myself—I know Roxanne too well now. I’m actually following her outfit logic.
Returning to the task at hand, I select a dark purple dress with crystal beading and locate a matching pair of ornate low heels. Formality might require me to don pantyhose, but that simply will not happen. Roxanne can be disappointed with me all she wants. I hate pantyhose.
Once I’m appropriately dressed, I head into the bathroom where all the beauty supplies Roxanne purchased for me are neatly arranged and waiting for my use. After a year of her tutelage, I’m at least decent with makeup, so I use a minimal amount of complexion products, just a little powder and blush, and focus on my eyes. The purple pallette makes it easy to coordinate with my dress and brings out the green in my irises. A little liner and mascara, then gloss on my lips and I’m done.
I drag a brush through my hair, but to be honest, I have no interest in trying to style my mane. It’s wild and wavy, and I kind of like the way it looks just naturally. As a nod to what Roxanne taught me, I clip one side back with a decorative barrette, then call it good.
Checking my watch, I can tell I’m a little early, but better early than late—another pro tip from Roxanne. I head downstairs and find my way to the breakfast room easily enough. The nooks in the main living space that were too dark to see last night are interesting little arrangements of furniture with distinct purposes. One a music room with a small piano and two chairs facing it. Another some kind of formal sitting area for four. Yet another is a small reading area, with a low shelf of books and a pair of cozy chairs, a fuzzy throw blanket draped invitingly over each.
Even though I’m early, when I walk through the doors, I am clearly the last to arrive. The adults are all standing around sipping champagne. They rush to welcome me, Roxanne giving me a warm hug and Uncle Dom an awkward pat on the back. Even Dr. Rosen is here, and the household staff who aren’t serving dinner join us at the table as well.
Of course there is a stack of presents, plenty of things I don’t need and a pile of books from my wish list. They delight in watching me open the gifts, and I try not to be too awkward about it all.
It’s a struggle to reign in my emotions, the tears stinging my eyes that I refuse to let fall. Not only is it overwhelming, but the last time I had a birthday party—which this definitely felt like a party, despite the lack of decorations—was the year before my parents died. It was smaller, with just a couple of friends, but that was the pinnacle of happiness in my life until now.
Am I happier? It’s difficult to say. I’m an adult, although I can’t fool myself with the belief that the title carries any sort of independence. I have regained a future I thought was lost to me forever, and in fact, a life I never knew I was destined for. Every girl grows up dreaming that secretly she’s a princess, and this definitely feels like I’ve actually drawn that winning lottery number.
But despite the festive atmosphere, something in my intuition is telling me this party isn’t all about me. So many smiling faces, drinking to my good health and celebrating my safe return from obscurity, but the warning blaring from my inner voice is difficult to ignore.
On the surface, everything is wonderful. The people are kind and generous. I am being pampered and adored in the way every lonely street kid can only dream about. But underneath there’s something more, something I can’t put my finger on.
And I can’t forget that my parents ran away from this place. So despite how wonderful it seems now, there has to be more to the story.
When I finally settle into my bed, alone at last, I promise myself that I’m going to search for the truth tomorrow. My mother grew up in this house, so it seems as good a place as any to unravel the mystery.
When someone gives you something, there’s always more than meets the eye, as Derrek says. And I’m determined to find out what it is they don’t want me to see.
ChapterSix
Layla
* * *
The next morning it’s pouring outside, and it would be nice to sleep in, but I’m determined to get up early. Despite being awakened in the middle of the night by another wolf dream, I make a point to be downstairs for breakfast. My primary goal is to show face, observe how things work, and try to get a feel for which of the household staff might have known my mom. Uncle Dom hasn’t offered any more information about her, but then again, I haven’t asked. However, there are lots of people bustling around the house that seem old enough to have been here twenty years ago.
My secondary goal is to make sure no one is suspicious about what I’m up to. I know Uncle Dom said he welcomes questions about my mom, and Roxanne promised I’d get all the answers I could ask for when we arrived, but so far no one has been very forthcoming and something just tells me open questions would not be received well. So, I’m going to see what I can learn just by poking around first.
Breakfast is nice, with an excessive spread to choose from laid out on the banquet table. My mouth waters before I even reach the room, and I breathe in the aromas of fresh-baked bread, bacon, pancakes and coffee. Uncle Dom already has a full plate when I arrive, and the household staff are selecting their food. Anyone who was reaching for something when I walk in the door backs away and waits for me to claim my food, then returns to fixing their plate once I’m finished.
Odd, but then again, they work here, so I suppose it makes sense to have some sort of priority.
