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The other?
Don’t waste time hoping for things to change because things never do.
And when things have changed? It’s only because they’ve gotten worse.
Chapter6
Everleigh
No one helps me out of the car in front of a white modern-looking mansion. Mostly because I scramble out of the limo before anyone can move.
It had a black gate and an intercom that made me release a quiet breath. Intercoms and gates are good for keeping Lawrence out if he finds out I’m here. They’re bad because I’ll be locked in this incredible mansion with three big alphas.
I can’t trust the three men who lead the way from the white gravel driveway and the beautifully landscaped front lawns to the house. But I like the way they look, and I love the way they smell.
And their mansion. I’d known they were wealthy. Billionaires. So I was expecting a gorgeous mansion, maybe something as coldly beautiful as Lawrence’s house. Bigger, though, since Lawrence is rich, most of the Wentworth money is tied up in trusts, stocks, and shares.
Their mansionisbeautiful, though not as big as I’d thought it would be. As I step in through the towering white door Rune pushes open, I blink in surprise because it’s not the least bit cold or clinical.
The outside was modern and white, all masculine and square, sharp angles.
But inside…
I step into a cozy foyer decorated in warm, creamy tones with soothing green plants—monstera, I think—in large, orange terracotta pots. It’s a world away from the antique-laden coldness that was Lawrence’s mansion. This feels like a home and not a museum.
An enormous painting dominates one wall. Seeing it is like a slap across the face, reminding me this home may be cozy, but the men who own it are beyond wealthy.
I know that brushwork from the old art books Della would buy me. I’ve seen a similar golden sky painted in warm amber hues, vivid red oranges, and mustard yellows.
And the landscape…
I know that too.
The south of France. Home of one of the most famous artists in history.
My voice is so faint I barely hear myself as I stare at the painting with wide eyes. I lock my knees because ordinary people like me do not see paintings like this anywhere but in a museum. If they’re lucky.
“A Renoir,” I whisper. “You have a Renoir.”
“An investment,” Cian says in his quiet, serious way. “We had an opportunity to pick it up at a steal.”
My eyes slowly track back to Cian, and I’m fully aware my mouth is still hanging open. “Asteal?”
A crooked half-smile pulls on one corner of his mouth in a sweeter smile than I’m used to seeing on an alpha. “Maybe a little more than a steal. You like art?”
If a Renoir ever went up for sale, it would go for something in the region of double digits.
Of millions.
And he called it a steal…
He’s looking at me as if he’s still waiting for a response to his question about art. I pretend not to have heard it at all as I focus on the painting instead.
“This way, cher.” Rune leads the way up a winding white marble staircase that dominates the high-ceilinged foyer.
I dart another rapid glance at the painting before I follow, noting three closed doors that could be leading to reception rooms. A pair of matching white damask armchairs brackets a golden wood entryway table. One door I pass is open, and I take advantage to peek inside the dark room, spotting a large square table that tells me I’m looking at the dining room.
“Our servants are asleep.” Rune glances over his shoulder as he leads the way up the staircase. “Since it’s too late to wake them, you’ll have to do with whatever we can rustle up for you to wear to bed tonight. You hungry?”
