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“No one has time for me to list all of your misdeeds. Just stay away from Cassidy.”
My eyes lock with Isabella’s. “He’s not wrong,” she says deadpan.
I giggle. Something tells me there are plenty of stories there.
“Could you two try to act like normal people so Cassidy doesn’t think I live with a bunch of baboons?”
Austin playfully knocks his little brother over again who lets out another infectious belly laugh.
“Come with me. Let’s get you settled in.”
I follow along behind this petite woman who clearly rules the roost. “I can’t thank you enough for taking me in like this. It’s very temporary. I promise, as soon as I can find a place, I’ll be out of your hair.”
“Nonsense! I won’t hear of it.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I’ve been trying to manifest some estrogen since I married into this family. But the good Lord has a sick sense of humor.”
“Are you having another boy?”
“Yes,” she groans. “Please save me. You are welcome to stay as long as you possibly can. I mean, I can’t even escape for drinks with the girls anymore.”
“Well, I say we start having margarita mocktail nights.” I laugh. This woman could be the medicine I need. She clearly doesn’t take any guff from anyone.
“Sold!”
Isabella extends her arm toward an open doorway. I walk inside and gasp. It’s absolutely stunning. The only way to describe this guest room is opulent. For a minute there, I forgot I was in a private residence and not a five-star Paris boutique hotel.
The suite is divided into three distinct zones. One for sleeping, a sun-drenched sitting area, and a spa-caliber dressing room.
The bed is a California king adorned in 1000-thread-count Egyptian cotton, layered with a silk duvet. Two velvet swivel chairs in a soft champagne color face a floor-to-ceiling window. A small, built-in bar is tucked into a marble niche, stocked with artisanal sparkling water, a high-end espresso machine, and a selection of crystal glassware.
The walls are wrapped in seamless silk wallpaper with a faint metallic thread that catches the morning light. Underfoot, a hand-tufted wool and silk rug provides a cushion so deep it muffles every footfall.
And don’t even get me started on the bathroom. It rivals a professional spa. It has heated marble floors and a freestanding soaking tub. The walk-in shower is equipped with aromatherapy infusions, chromotherapy lighting, and six different showerhead settings.
“Jeez, Isabella. I’m never going to want to leave.”
She rubs her hands together, giving me a wicked grin. “My plan is working flawlessly.”
The humidity of the Virginia morning clings to the screen of the lanai, but here by the edge of the turquoise water, the air is perfect. I lean back in the cushioned lounger, watching the sunlight dance off the surface of the pool.
This place is a jaw-dropping masterpiece of glass and stone, a gorgeous home to a family just as beautiful. It’s a far cry from the thumping bass and neon strobe lights I used to call home. Not that I’m criticizing it. Gianni was more than generous to provide a place to stay when I needed it. And as much as I’m enjoying my current digs, I know it’s only temporary. Regardless of what Bella says.
“If you get any more relaxed, Cassidy, I’m going to have to check your pulse.” Bella laughs, strolling out with a tray of iced tea. She’s glowing, that beautiful pregnancy curve of her third child making her look like a woman from a Renaissance painting.
“This is all your fault.” I laugh, reaching for a glass. “I’m on to you. Making the women who visit here completely fall in love with your family and this peaceful place so you can entrap more girl power.”
“Peaceful.” She snorts. “This place? Well, don’t get too comfortable.” She smirks, patting her stomach. “Once this one arrives, the peace treaty in this house is officially null and void. Austin!” she calls out toward the glass-walled art studio that overlooks the gardens. “Time for a break, honey!”
Austin emerges a moment later, his hands stained cobalt blue. If Bella and Sebastian hadn’t told me he was on the spectrum, I never would’ve known. He needs little support and is a brilliant artist, his mind a symphony of colors that Dr. Lee has turned into a world-renowned gallery. Austin looks at my sketchbook, then at me, his eyes sharp.
“You sketch?”
“Not often. Occasionally, to clear my mind. And nothing like what you do.”
He looks over my drawing. “I’d move that over here a few degrees,” Austin says matter-of-factly.
