Page 57 of Enthrall Shadows
Henry pivoted toward the manor as though seeing the home from a different perspective. “You should have spoken with me first, Mom.” He glared at his father. “Are you in on this?”
“Well, it’s done now,” said his mom. “You’re moved in.”
Henry scowled at Cameron as though it was partly his fault.
Cameron raised his hands to declare his innocence. “Dex seems to like it.”
“Will you please excuse me?” Henry gave a polite nod and turned, walking across the lawn.
He disappeared inside the house.
“He’s gone off to explore?” his mother said. “He likes it, right?” She directed that question to Cameron.
Cameron hesitated, seemingly searching for an answer that would appease her.
Chantelle broke away from us and followed Henry inside.
Chantelle would have tracked Henry down by now.
That’s if she had found him in this maze of hallways. With no insight on their friendship, I only had my instincts to go on. She seemed a little hard-natured for Henry. He’d need a woman less intense—someone worldly but with softer edges.
His family had thought he’d taken too long to buy a house. His reaction proved he’d found his mother’s generosity overwhelming. For anyone else, being gifted a home would be remembered as the happiest day of their life. But not for him, apparently.
I peeked behind doors, searching for him, breathing in the familiar, refreshing lemon scent that lingered in the air. I could also smell fresh paint.
My momma had once told me that hardly any of the rooms were ever used in these big old houses, the kitchen being the most popular, followed by the sitting room. The others were usually left for guests or staff.
A door banged.
Chantelle stomped toward me.
“Did you find Henry?” I asked.
He’d brought me along to block her from moving in on him—something we both seemed to sense.
“He’s impossible,” she snapped.
“Is he okay?” I asked, as she hurried by. “Henry’s been through a lot.”
“Haven’t we all?” Chantelle paused, turning around to face me. “What are you to him?”
“A friend.” Her iciness was unsettling.
“Is that an old Prada?” She gestured at my clutch.
“This?” I held the delicate bag tighter. “It’s sentimental.”
She’s already made up her mind about me.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said, raising her chin. “If it’s all too much.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re behaving like a fish out of water!” Chantelle turned and stormed off.
I was beyond needing anyone’s approval. Or having my ego bruised by a cruel socialite. Jealousy came in many forms. It wasn’t a mood I found helpful.
“How is he?” I called after her.
