Page 5 of Shy Girls Can't Date Rockstars
But it’s her face that stops me cold.
She looks like Mom, but harder somehow. The same green eyes, but without the warmth. The same delicate bone structure, but set in lines that suggest smiling doesn’t come easily.
“Ms. Knox,” Mrs. Rodriguez says, stepping in front of me and extending her hand to my aunt. “I’m Lucia Rodriguez, from social services. We spoke on the phone.”
Miranda’s expression softens into something approximating warmth as she shakes Mrs. Rodriguez’s hand. “Of course, Ms. Rodriguez. Thank you so much for bringing Alice all this way.” Her eyes land on me, and her smile widens. “And Alice, darling. Look at you.”
She steps forward and pulls me into a brief hug that smells like expensive perfume. When she releases me, her hands linger on my shoulders, feeling the damp material.
“Oh, dear. You’re wet.” Miranda clears her throat. “And, dirty.”
Mrs. Rodriguez swipes a hand across her damp hair and fixes her crumpled blazer. “Alice needed some air during the drive. The storm didn’t help.”
“You poor thing,” she says, her voice dripping with practiced sympathy. “You’ve been through so much. But you’re here now, and we’re going to take such good care of you.”
Mrs. Rodriguez visibly relaxes beside me. “Ms. Knox, I can’t tell you how grateful we are that you could take in Alice. Family is so important during times like these.”
“Of course,” Miranda says smoothly. “Sarah was my sister. It’s the least I can do.” She gestures toward the door. “Please, come inside. I imagine you’d like to see where Alice will be staying.”
Somehow, inside the house is more overwhelming than outside. The foyer’s vaulted ceiling stretches up into darkness, supported by thick wooden beams. As we make our way further inside, a black iron chandelier hangs overhead with flickering bulbs that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Everything is a mix of dark wood, stone, and heavy furniture. Tapestries hang on the walls, depicting hunting scenes and mythical creatures. Holy cow, there’s an actual suit of armor standing guard in the alcove.
“Quite the place you have here,” Mrs. Rodriguez says, her professional smile faltering slightly as she takes in the gothic décor.
Miranda waves a dismissive hand. “I only purchased it a few months ago after selling my record label. Knox Records, perhaps you’ve heard of it? Anyway, this property was too good to pass up. It came fully furnished, would you believe? The previousowners left everything. Well, in truth, it’s been vacant for decades. I haven’t had time to redecorate yet with the Sky Chaos breaking out. It’s an up-and-coming band I manage.”
I stare at the suit of armor, my stomach turning. This isn’t a house; it’s a mausoleum. “Are you planning to... change things?” I ask quietly, hoping she’ll say yes.
Miranda glances at me, her smile unwavering. “Eventually, dear. Once things settle down. For now, I think it has a certain charm, don’t you?” She doesn’t wait for an answer. “Let me show you upstairs.”
The staircase is wide enough for three people, with an ornate wooden banister carved with vines and flowers. Family portraits line the walls, featuring stern-faced people in old-fashioned clothes who seem to judge me as I pass.
“Are these your ancestors?” I ask, trying to make conversation.
“The previous owners,” Miranda says with a light laugh. “Their portraits came with the house. I haven’t gotten around to taking them down yet. Perhaps you could help me with that, Alice? You’d like a job to do, would you?”
It’s said so smoothly I have to double-take to fully take in her words.
“Alice is very artistic,” Mrs. Rodriguez says. “Especially with photography. Perhaps some of her work could replace some of these, uhh, older pieces.”
“I’m sure we can find opportunities to showcase Alice’s gifts,” Miranda says, stepping onto the second-floor landing.
I follow Mrs. Rodriguez onto the landing, and a door opens down the hall, and a boy emerges. He’s tall, probably six feet, and he’s about my age, or a little older. His dark hair looks styled by his own fingers running through it, and he has sharp features that belong in a magazine.
He’s wearing a black button-down shirt with the top three buttons undone, and two silver chains sit against his chest.When I look up at his eyes, I’m met with the darkest brown I’ve ever seen.
“Oh, perfect timing!” Miranda’s voice brightens. “Alice, this is Ryder Hamilton. Ryder, come meet my niece.”
Ryder approaches with the easy confidence of someone used to being watched. He nods at Mrs. Rodriguez, then turns his attention to me.
“You’re Sarah’s daughter,” he says, and there’s something in his voice I can’t quite identify.
The mention of my mom’s name turns my stomach inside out. “You knew my mom?”
“Miranda mentioned her,” he says, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to look away. “Sorry for your loss.”
It’s the first genuine condolence I’ve heard all day, and it almost undoes me.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
