Page 98 of Pretty Nightmare

“No. Not for a long time. We rent it out for shit mostly. It’s wedding season, but this weekend’s wedding party checked out already and no one’s due to arrive until Wednesday. So it’s all ours.”

The inside is so ornately Southern, it almost makes you want to gag on the history. This is what Old Home looked like, though mostly in disrepair, before the reno and modernization just before Indie came to live with us.

People greet us, Adam makes pleasantries to the staff, then he points to the stairs and we go up. I follow him down the long hallway and he opens a door, panning his hand wide for me to enter first.

I lift an eyebrow at him. “One room then?”

He flicks a switch on the wall and everything lights up. “McKay, you can stay in any room you want. We have eleven of them.”

“I’m joking, dickface.” I push past him, toss my bag on the floor near a wingback chair, and decide… I am not this Southern. There’s a canopy bed—because of course there’s a canopy bed—and lots of little side tables with ruffle tablecloths that pool on the floor around them. There are two chandeliers, more crystal lamps than I can count, and framed oil paintings hanging on the walls depicting uptight white men with hunting dogs at their feet.

There’s also a seating area with two small white velvet, sorta half-circle couches with fringe along the bottom and an intricate polished-wood Queen Anne coffee table that looks like it got thrown out of the palace for trying too hard. On top of the table is a tea set.

“Wow,” I say, spinning in place.

“Shut the fuck up. You can stay somewhere else if you want.”

I chuckle. “I meant it like, ‘Wow, this is lovely!’”

“Fuck you. I’m not into this style, either. Obviously.”

I walk over and punch him in the arm. “I’m just fucking with you. It’s just… I feel like we’re on an episode of Bed and Breakfast Travel Dates. The gay version. I’m just waiting for the cat to appear. Those places always have some weird, creepy cat lurking about.” I actually look for it. It’s gotta be here somewhere.

He laughs, but walks off carrying his bag over to one of the stupid-ugly couches. “Never heard of that show.”

“Right.”

“Like I said—”

“I’m not staying in another room.” Then I bounce on the bed, cross my legs, put my hands behind my back, and smile up at him. “I’m looking forward to this.”

“You are?”

“Mm-hmm. It’s our first date.” Then I guffaw. I can’t help it.

“Why are you being an asshole? I didn’t plan this as some kind of romantic getaway, McKay. It’s just a place we own. That’s all.”

“We?” I point to myself. “I one hundred percent do not own this place.”

“Try again. Your name’s on the fucking deed, dumbass.”

“What?”

“McKay, are you fucking serious? Your name is on everything. If I died, I wasn’t gonna leave you hanging.”

“I have more money than I could ever spend. I don’t need your shit.”

“And more homes than you could ever sleep in too. And it’s not about need. It’s about keeping things in the family.”

“Hmm.” I have to admit, that’s kinda cool of him. He sighs and sinks into a ridiculous wing-back chair that reminds me of Donovan. “I wonder what Donovan and Indie are up to?”

He stares at me for a minute, then shrugs. “Call them and find out.”

“Nah. I’m sure Donovan feels safe with Indie there to protect him.”

This makes Adam laugh. “He was kinda worried, wasn’t he?”

“Yeah. He’s a fuckin’ wuss.”