Tristian’s cheek puckers up into a half-grimace. “It looks old, Linda.”
“Oh, but it’s been modernized!” the real estate agent says, fumbling with her briefcase and phone. “This home has been here since the town of Forsyth’s incorporation. But don’t let its age fool you, Mr. Mercer. The previous owners updated it in every fashion.” She gestures to the front door. “Well, I’ll let her speak for herself. Shall we?”
Tristian shoots me a look, but I just shrug back. The last house we’d seen had felt much too new. Sterile. Cold. Walking through it gave me nothing. No feelings. No comfort. No joy. Linda had apparently taken my malcontent to heart, because now she shoots me a wink, swinging the door open.
“You are going to love it,” she whispers. The foyer is just as impressive as the outside had been, with high ceilings and a bold pendant light that descends to a point. “The first lady of this house had that commissioned from a local blacksmith,” Linda explains, pointing to the heavy metal and glass design. “Her husband was a general in the army. She wanted a light to be seen from all the way across the world, so he’d always be able to find his way back home. It was originally gas-lit, but it’s been very carefully restored.”
I feel a bit of awe imagining something so antique above our heads. What was the first lady of the house like? Did she worry when her husband left, waiting impatiently for him to return home safe? Because lately, I’ve been finding myself doing the same.
None of the guys look like they could care less.
“I’m going to check out the kitchen,” Tristian says, throwing us a lazy salute as he wanders away.
“Living room?” Dimitri gestures to the entryway, letting Linda lead.
Despite my feelings, I fall behind, letting Killian and Dimitri walk ahead. It doesn’t feel like I belong here, even though I know they’d all tell me differently. The huge picture window above the eaves casts the large room in a bright patch of golden warmth, and despite my reservations, I can’t help but imagine what it’d be like to stand beneath it during sunrise. I do a little turn in the rays, my sundress swooshing.
“There are six bedrooms, including one main with a bath and sitting room,” she says, not even needing to read from her phone, “along with a large space in the basement that can be turned into an in-law-suite or an entertainment room.”
“Entertainment room,” Killian and I say at the same time, sharing a look. When your parents are dead, absent, fuck-you rich, or in prison, there’s no need for a guest room. Killian looks over his shoulder at me, realizing I’m hanging back, and instantly grabs for me, folding me under an arm. He’s wearing a crisp, well-tailored suit that hugs his muscles in ways I’m still unprepared to see, but he’s removed his tie and undone his top two buttons. These are the trappings of a King: luxury clothing and a nice home to hang them in. “Maybe a pool table?” he adds, peering around the space.
I grab the hand he has slung over my shoulder, reluctantly suggesting, “And a big screen?” Killian may not play football anymore, but he definitely watches it. “We might be too old to go to LDZ parties, but we could still invite people over.”
“Who’s too old for a frat party?” Tristian asks, walking back from the kitchen. Much like Killian, he’s dressed to impress, having just come from a meeting with his father’s investors. “Alumni come back all the time. We’re welcome and revered.”
“You were Lords for a year longer than you were supposed to be.” I remind him, eyes rolling. “You’ve had your glory days.”
Once again, I get a swell of emotion at the reminder they’ve all graduated now. That means no more walks with them across campus. No more lunches with them in the student center. No more library make-out sessions with Tristian. No more sneaking into the music department’s studio rooms to listen to Dimitri’s newest piece. No more sneaking off with Killian in the middle of the day for target practice and some hasty backseat fucking.
No more brownstone.
“This place gets fiber, and it already has a great sound system,” Dimitri says, shutting a closet door. He came here straight from some sort of Avenue dealings, and he looks the part, gun peeking from the holster hiding beneath his worn leather jacket. He jerks his chin at Killian. “Good security, but we’ll definitely have to upgrade.”
“Oh, hey,” Tristian says, eyes lighting up. “Maybe we can get a dog. Izzy and Lizzy have been dying for a puppy, but you know my mom and her ‘allergies’。” He makes finger quotes around the word and rolls his eyes.