I’d sacrificed going to the college of my dreams and stayed home in Malibu to commute to the University of California in LA so I could be there for my little sister. After my first two years at UCLA, my mother retired from modeling. With her home, I’d suggested I transfer and head to the East Coast. Mamma had such a dramatic meltdown at the thought of me leaving that I stayed for Allegra’s sake.
Our mother had never been more involved in our lives. I was grateful that Allegra got that time with her （even if it hadn’t stopped her from going off the rails）， but it frustrated me to have to deal with Mamma’s constant calls and texts now, too many years after I actually needed her.
“I should get to work.” I finally settled on a calm reply.
Her eyes washed over my outfit. “Oh, darling, cover your arms. You haven’t used those weights I gave you at all, have you?”
For the whole twenty-eight years of my life, I’d put up with my mother picking apart my appearance. She thought it was her way of showing she cared. I was pretty sure she probably fretted over my cute baby-fat rolls when I was a newborn.
This morning, she was referring to the sleeveless silk blouse I wore tucked into my pencil skirt. “It’s hot out,” I said.
“The castle has air conditioning. Wait here and I’ll get you something to cover up, okay?” Mamma patted my shoulder with a loving smile. “You need to look your best if you are ever to catch a handsome man’s eye.”
“Mamma, please join the rest of us in the twenty-first century.”
“Oh, pfft.” She waved a manicured hand as she turned, her robe billowing behind her. “Just because a woman thinks romance and companionship are important does not mean she’s not a feminist.”
“Coming from the woman who sees her husband a few times a year.”
“Exaggeration,” my mother threw over her shoulder, “and distance does make the heart grow fonder. Your father and I still cannot keep our hands off each other.”
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I muttered under my breath. My parents’ passion for each other was not something I’d ever questioned. “I’m going!”
“No, coccolona, I’ll be just a minute!”
“And don’t call me that!” My patience ended, and I hurried out of the house before she could stop me.
Coccolona translated to cuddly. I was my mother’s cuddly one. It was her affectionate way of referring to the fact that I was a pudgy child. As a teenager, I’d eaten small meals and never snacked, so I could maintain an impossible weight for my bone structure. I spent most of my time in class holding my belly so people wouldn’t hear it rumbling. And even then, my mother still made comments about my weight. Finally exhausted by the constant dieting, I gave up and embraced the fact that I was born to be a little overweight. Maybe if Mamma wasn’t always pointing out the things I least liked about myself （like my arms!）， I’d be more comfortable with my body. I’d be proud of my “tall voluptuousness,” as Allegra called it.
Catching sight of my arms in the reflection of my BMW’s window, I fought the urge to go back into the house to change. It was hot, goddamn it! So I didn’t have slender, toned arms like my mother and Allegra. So what? I’d inherited my figure from my father’s maternal side of the family and that was that.
My mother couldn’t leave soon enough.
Slamming into my car, I accelerated away from the house with more speed than necessary. Our house was one of only a few large, private, member-owned homes along the estate’s coastline. My father was on the board of Ardnoch Estate and had called dibs on one. The anti-drone perimeter that encapsulated the entire estate protected us. The main lodgings for the rest of the members were in the castle itself.
The ancestral estate of Hollywood actor Lachlan Adair, he’d turned his family home into a lucrative business and haven for Hollywood’s elite. Lachlan had retired from acting to run the Ardnoch and his other business ventures, but when his wife gave birth to their daughter Vivien, he’d stepped back from his duties to be a hands-on dad. I respected the hell out of that decision and appreciated it because it gave me a job to escape to when I’d desperately needed it. I’d never expected I’d love the Scottish Highlands so much. While my job title was Hospitality Manager, I’d taken over for Lachlan and was running the place. I didn’t mind. It kept me busy and fed my love of organization and bossing people around.
While the castle hosted most of the rooms, dining area, and entertainment spaces, separate buildings housed the spa, gym, and swimming pool. The property also offered tennis courts, a golf course, two small lochs, a private beach, and luxury lodges for members who preferred more privacy.
Including having to liaise with the head butler, a ma?tre d’， head chef, head housekeeper, and all of their staff, I had to oversee beauty therapists, personal trainers, physical therapists, masseuses, a yoga, Pilates, and mindfulness instructor, golf and tennis coaches, lifeguards, and one of the best private security teams in the country. Never mind that I was also the person members wanted to talk to when there was a problem.
Moreover, I was the welcome wagon, and today we were expecting our latest member. North Hunter, a renowned Scottish actor. I’d seen him in a couple of meh rom-coms he’d made. What? So I was kind of a film snob. I could say without bias my dad was one of the greatest directors of all time. Blame him for my film snobbery.
However, I had caught an episode of North Hunter’s TV show, King’s Valley, that had catapulted him to fame these past few years. He played a serial killer and won a Golden Globe for his performance last year. I’d been surprised by his acting chops when I saw King’s Valley. I hadn’t expected him to go from cocky, charming Scot to intensely charismatic and complex sociopath.
After I saw the show, I reached out to his management to see if he’d be interested in a membership. Part of my job was to bring fresh blood to the estate, and I wanted that fresh blood to be the cream of the crop. North had just bagged the lead role in what was sure to be the next big spy action movie franchise. Rumor had it filming started at the end of the year. It thrilled me when North paid for a membership without even coming to tour the estate. He’d apparently heard enough about Ardnoch through the grapevine and understood that membership here was gilding for credentials. Yes, that sounded elitist and pretentious, but it was the truth. There was a long waiting list for membership to Ardnoch. To bypass that waiting list meant you’d made it.
It was a five-minute drive through woodland to the castle, and I was one of the first to park my vehicle in the staff lot. I liked to be early to work. Hurrying into the castle’s cool interior, I nodded hello to the staff who had just arrived or were coming off the night shift, and greeted Wakefield, our head butler. He wore his formal black-and-white butler uniform of tailcoat and white gloves. In the year I’d been working at Ardnoch, I’d never beaten that man to work.
“Good morning, Wakefield.”
He gave me a small bow. “Ms. Howard. Mr. Hunter has arrived.”
I stumbled to a stop on the edges of the opulent reception hall, my heels squeaking on the parquet flooring. The room was empty. No sign of North Hunter. A grand staircase descended into the center, fitted with a red-and-gray tartan wool runner. It led to a landing where three floor-to-ceiling stained glass windows spilled sunlight. Then it branched off at either side, twin staircases leading to the floor above, which I could partially see from the galleried balconies at either end of the reception hall. It was too hot for a fire in the huge hearth on the wall adjacent to the entrance and opposite the staircase. Tiffany lamps scattered throughout on end tables gave the space a warm glow, as it wasn’t the most light-filled space.