Page 138 of Bite Me

The room comes back into view, and now I feel the sore ache in my forearms and legs where I latched on to him. We need to get out of here, but I sit a moment longer in the safety of his smell.

I’ve found my person. My glue. The rain to my fire.

“Where will we go?” I ask, still not wanting to separate.

“I know a place.”

Chapter Fifty-Five

Dacre

It was a long drive from the gala, but arguably the safest place I could take her. She hands me the key I gave her for safekeeping, and I stick the key into the lock.

“This is where you grew up?”

We stand outside the estate, where only the porch light is on. John never used the house and didn’t keep any staff on-site to maintain it, so there are overgrown weeds and old branches in the flower beds. The blue shutters have seen better days, too.

“In the early months of the year, there’s this wild lilac that grows close by, and you can smell it for miles. You’re going to love it.”

Emma bites her lip in delight and bounces with a surprising amount of energy for how long of a day it’s been. I’ve given up my jacket to make up for the fact that I ripped the front of her dress. I need to get her inside and get her more comfortable.

We were able to hop in the car undetected and start driving, stopping only to snag some burgers. I expected her to fall asleep, but she stayed alert the whole drive, singing and telling me everything I had missed this week.

“Wait.” I place her hands on my shoulder and pick her up bridal-style. “You may not be my wife, but you still look like it.”

Emma’s laughter blesses our first steps into the house. My house.

The chaos of Doxlothia is locked outside the front door. Everything with my family is up in the air, but as the dust settles around us, I have all the comfort and assurance I need. My sister is safe, and so is Emma.

I shed my jacket and shoes and run my foot over the weak spot in the floorboards right by the dining room.

“Wow.”

“What?”

“I remember this creak in the floor. Every time I came to the kitchen at night, I’d try to avoid it.”

It’s as I remembered, but strangely different. There are things I remembered, like the white trim along the walls, and some things I didn’t. Like my mom’s apparent love for floral wallpaper.

“This house is . . . beautiful. Everything your family owns is breathtaking.”

I open my hand for her. “Will you walk with me?”

She lights up and takes her place at my side while we roam from room to room.

We take a tour downstairs first, and I show her the places on the wall where I made scuffs as a kid. I thought maybe it would be boring for her, but she’s excited about everything, soaking up my small recollections like a sponge.

I lean on her when we reach the kitchen. Its smell is the most familiar, and the dining room table is just how I remember it. Pressed up into the corner, by the window, the chair in the back was always mine. The fresh flowers in the white pitcher have been replaced with fake calla lilies.

“Did your parents build this house?”

“Yeah, I think my dad had it built for my mother.”

He must have loved her. There’s a rustic scalloped trim above the cabinets that’s nothing like any of the Everhart estates. This whole place isn’t. It was their oasis from the marble floors, the meetings, and the obligations. I run my fingers over the butcher’s block countertop and the scratches left from a knife.

Emma roams from corner to corner, searching. I’ve asked her twice now if she’s too tired from the long day and blood loss, and she told me I’m not allowed to ask her that anymore. I’m glad she’s enjoying this journey to the past as much as I am.

We search the bottom floor, and then the second. Emma giggles when she finds my room and rummages through my things. My old toys are there. I didn’t remember them till I held them in my hand. Thankfully, unlike my father, I don’t have any journals stored away in drawers.