We were nearly to our destination before I shook myself out of my memories enough to realize just where we were going.

“I’d like to go straight to my hotel.  I need to freshen up and change before the funeral, since I still have a few hours,” I told Eugene, voice firm.  “Thank you.”

He shot me a glance, cleared his throat, and kept driving.

“Did you hear me?” I asked him when he didn’t respond.

“I did.  You’ll have to take that up with Mr. Durant.  He didn’t tell me anything about a hotel.  He just said to bring you to Miss D’s house.”

My jaw clenching in agitation, I pulled out my phone, sending off a hasty text.

Me:  Which hotel am I staying at?

Bastard/Stalker/Liar/Cheater/Ex/TheDevil:  You’re almost to the house, right?  We’ll talk when you get here.  

I shot Eugene a hostile look.  He’d officially reached collaborator status in my book.

I punched out another furious text.

Me:  I hope you don’t think I’m staying at that house.  

He didn’t respond, which was just as well, as we were pulling into the long drive that led to Gram’s large estate.

As usual, manipulative bastard that he was, Dante had orchestrated everything before I saw the trap that had closed around me.

There were several cars in the drive, and I assessed a few of them with an eye for whom they might belong.

A few nondescript sedans: whoever had been hired to prepare the huge house for refreshments after the funeral.

Silver Rolls Royce:  Dante’s father, Leo.

White Mercedes:  Unknown but worrisome.  Any sign of money pointed to either Dante’s family or someone even worse.

Black Audi: Dante, because he always freaking loved Audis.

I didn’t even want to get out of the truck, in fact, I sat there for a few awkward minutes, Eugene holding my door open for me, just staring at the house before Eugene muttered, “Well, shoot.  I can take you to a hotel.”

Sure, I thought scathingly, now he was offering, right as Dante emerged from the house.

With a heavy sigh, I got out of the car.

He was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt.  I hadn’t seen him wearing anything but a suit or, well, nothing, for ages, and the sight struck me, reminded me of when we were teenagers.

Already off to a horrible start, I noted.  As bad as I’d dreaded it would be.

“I’m not staying here,” I told him as he approached.

He didn’t respond, didn’t even aim his stern eyes my way, just took my bag from Eugene and started heading back to the front door.

“What are you doing?” I asked his back, following him with a quick, furious stride.  “I need to go to a hotel to get ready.”

He paused at the door and finally looked at me.  I could tell he was angry with me, some remnant of the temper he’d last left me in still present.  “Your room is untouched.  Gram kept it for you from the time you left.”

This got to me.  The sentiment of it.  In my last year of high school my grandma had decided she was done dealing with my shit and kicked me out.  I hadn’t had to go far.  Just that five-minute walk uphill from my grandma’s trailer, and I’d been welcomed here with open arms.  It had meant the world to me.  Still did.

“The house will likely be sold by whoever inherits it,” Dante continued, “so I assumed you’d want to go through your old things yourself before all of that happens.  If I assumed wrong, Eugene will take you to a hotel, but in case you forgot, there isn’t one close.  You’re looking at a forty-five minute drive each way.  The funeral is in two hours, so you won’t have much time, but if that’s what you want to do, by all means, be my guest.”

I glared at him, temper boiling up.  “I should have seen this coming.  I should’ve guessed you’d pull something like this.”

“What did you expect?  Did you think I was going to put you up at the shitty hotel over on Main Street?”

“I’m used to shitty hotels.”

“You know what?”  His voice was unsteady suddenly, volume going up with every word, ”I don’t give a fuck what you’re used to.”  By the unholy light in his eyes, I could tell he wasn’t talking about hotels anymore.

Perversely but predictably, his apparent fury calmed my own.  I leveled a serene look on him, one meant to either stir him up or stop him cold.  “Okay, fine, it’s hardly worth arguing over.  I’ll stay here and I’ll go through my old room, though I can’t imagine I left anything behind that I wanted to keep.”

His jaw was clenched, eyes still flashing hotly at me.  Stir him up it was.  “You might surprise yourself,” he told me softly.

That made my eyes narrow, serenity gone.  It was amazing the landmines we set for each other with the most innocuous phrases, and I wasn’t interested in walking over even one of his, particularly not at the start of what was bound to be a trying few days.

“I’m quite certain,” I enunciated slowly, “that there is not one thing I left behind in this town that I have any interest in now.”

He seemed to deflate at that, eyes darting away, shoulders slumping, and without another word, I walked into the house.

Point for me, though I wasn’t sure it counted.  It certainly didn’t feel like a victory.

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, 

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.”

~William Congreve

I went straight to my old room, leaving the bag for Dante to handle.

It was a huge old house, with ten bedrooms and several living spaces, but while I heard people working (cooking, cleaning, preparing) somewhere in the house, the kitchen and dining room I assumed, I didn’t pass by one soul as I made my way through, which was a relief.  I wanted a brief respite before I went straight into battle again, especially here, where every unchanged thing I saw brought back bittersweet memories.  From the entryway to the old den where we used to spend hours our senior year of high school watching movies.

All of it was bad, but my old bedroom was the worst.  The second I walked in the door, I had an almost overwhelming urge to flee.

I shouldn’t be here, I thought to myself, staring at the dresser that remained exactly as I’d left it, covered in sweet, little knickknacks, almost all of which had been gifts from either Gram or Dante.  Every one of those things had meant something to me once upon a time.  Years’ worth of Valentines, birthday, and Christmas gifts from the boy that had broken my heart and the woman who had tried to save it.

No matter the circumstances, I should not be subjecting myself to this, I thought, eyes fixated on a small silver key strung across the corner of the mirror.

“Uncanny, isn’t it?” Dante’s voice came from the doorway, mere inches behind me.  “She didn’t move one thing.  Ten years later, and she was keeping it for you exactly how you’d left it.”

“Like a tomb,” I murmured.

“Or a shrine,” he returned, moving past me, brushing against me like it was nothing, and setting my suitcase onto a large ottoman at the foot of a comfy armchair in the corner by my old bay window.

He didn’t look at me on his way out, but he did stop at the door, clearing his throat, his back to me.  “If I were you, I’d search that dresser before my mom gets to it.  She’s going to clean this place out fast, mark my words, and everything in this room is yours by right, so claim it now if you want it.”

I waved my hand, dismissing the notion.  “She can have whatever she wants.  I won’t be taking any of it with me.”