He was the only one in the tiny airport holding a sign, so it was a bit laughable, but I walked up to him with a straight face.
“You Scarlett?” he asked me, looking bored out of his mind.
I nodded and held out my hand. “And you are?”
“Eugene. I’m, er was, Mrs. D’s gardener. Dante, er, Mr. Durant asked me to pick you up and take you to your, erm, lodgings.”
“Lead on,” I told him wryly. It was a random welcoming committee Dante had sent, but frankly, it was a warmer reception than I’d expected from the town of my nightmares.
He took my one rolling suitcase without another word and started to walk.
I followed silently.
The town was a small one by city standards, but not tiny. At about a hundred thousand residents, last I checked, it had a whopping three high schools, and more importantly, four Walmarts.
I couldn’t remember how many hotels it had, and didn’t particularly care which one I was staying at, so I didn’t ask. Anything would do, because whatever it was, I was used to worse.
Eugene didn’t open the door for me, and I didn’t take exception to that. I just got in the car, which happened to be an old beat-up truck, and stared out the window while Eugene steered us wordlessly through my despised hometown.
Time hadn’t been kind to the little hellhole. I’d read a few years ago that it’d become the drug capital of Washington, the entry point for cartel distribution into the northwest, and the signs were apparent nearly everywhere I looked.
I took in every change I saw with a stoic face. It was dirtier than I remembered, with more dead behind the eyes pedestrians loitering aimlessly in the busier parts of town.
It was as though every negative thought I’d ever channeled into this little slice of purgatory had taken root and poisoned each dark corner of the place while I was absent.
It gave me an unwilling and brief spiteful thrill. The way I’d been treated here, it felt almost like justice, like it’d finally gotten the reckoning it deserved.
But all of that was stupid, emotional drivel. It was only a place. A spot on the map.
It was the people here that deserved a reckoning. Not all, but many. Too many hostile faces and names for me to recall that had helped to shape me into the bitter, little ball of hate I was today.
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.