Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
My boots break through a crunchy layer of untouched snow as I step out of the shelter of the garage. The first breath of mountain air is a shock to my system. It’s so cold it burns my lungs, and I cough, pulling my scarf over my mouth.
“Jesus,” I whisper to myself. My teeth are already chattering, the tip of my nose stinging. I’m not used to this kind of chill.
Louis grabs our bags from the trunk and takes a step toward the cabin.
My heart sinks as I wonder if he’s going to keep ignoring me.
This weekend will be even more awkward than necessary if he keeps it up.
But then he moves closer, putting an arm around my shoulders.
I lean into the solid warmth of his body, inhaling the pine-and-musk scent of his coat.
“Let’s go warm up in the ‘bunker,’” he murmurs in my ear.
He holds me against him like the last ten minutes never happened. It isn’t exactly an apology, but I’m so relieved that I let it pass.
The cabin is built into a cliffside. The garage is tucked neatly beneath the main house, but to reach the entrance, we have to climb a steep stone staircase.
I’m out of breath once we reach the top, and Louis is struggling with the bags.
He unlocks the front door with an ancient-looking key, and we step into an empty, quiet mudroom.
I follow Louis’s lead in stomping the snow off my boots and shedding my coat and scarf.
He leads me through a door and into the main part of the cabin.
I expect his family to be waiting for us, but there’s no one here.
Only the faint sound of classical music playing from somewhere deeper inside.
It’s warmer here than outside, but still surprisingly cold. I’m reluctant to relinquish my coat to Louis, but I do it anyway.
“Sorry,” he says when he notices me shivering in my dress. “This place is old-fashioned. Wood stove heating. More reliable in case of a blackout, but it’s hard to keep the whole place warm.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. I’m sure I’ll get used to it,” I say, and clamp my jaw shut to keep my teeth from chattering.
Louis takes my hand, and I follow him deeper inside.
Seeing this place from the outside was one thing.
Inside, it is an entirely different beast, far more decadent and luxurious than the stark exterior design would suggest. It seems bigger somehow, with the open-concept layout combining the kitchen, dining, and living room into one huge, high-ceilinged space.
Polished wooden floorboards and a stone fireplace lend a rustic charm, but the rest of the house is all sleek modern luxury, from the marble countertops in the kitchen to pristine leather furniture which looks like it’s never been sat upon.
Yet it’s also old-fashioned in odd ways, like the heating Louis mentioned. Gold sconces line the walls with real, flickering flames within, instead of electric lighting.
There is also what appears to be a chandelier made of antlers, which gives me pause.
But Louis passes by it all like it’s completely normal.
I suppose it is, to him. I try to follow his lead as he brings me up the spiral staircase to the second floor, down a long hallway with a dizzying amount of doors.
Louis pauses at one to bring our bags in, giving me a glimpse at the gorgeous guest room we’ll be staying in.
We toss our phones on the bed—there’s no service here anyway—and then we carry on down the hall.
A low murmur of conversation gradually grows as we approach the end of the hallway. A mix of unfamiliar voices, hard to parse as they twine with one another and the music. I have an urge to stop here, to eavesdrop, to try to get my bearings before I walk into the room.
Without looking at me, Louis reaches back to grab my hand as if sensing my urge to balk. There’s nothing to do but follow as the voices grow louder, and louder…
And stop as we step into the room.
I have barely a moment to take in the room itself: a luxurious lounge with a record player, a crackling fireplace, plush leather couches, and white carpets.
Who the fuck gets white carpets? I think, absurdly, my attention laser focused on that before I raise my eyes to see the four faces turned in our direction.
My gaze darts from person to person without managing to take in the details.
I search for a hint of a smile, a spark of warmth to ground myself with.
But in the flickering firelight, they all appear cold and white and expressionless, as though they’re carved from marble.
They look at me like they can smell the poverty on me.
“Louis!” someone cries—his mother, I think—and the spell is broken. They’re all rising, laughing, reaching out to us.
I must have imagined that moment of strangeness. A trick played on me by my own imagination, an awkward half moment made into something greater. But still, unease prickles along my spine, and I hang back as Louis steps forward to greet his family.
The first to reach Louis is the woman who spoke, his mother. A pretty woman who I only know is in her 50s due to her son’s age. She’s tall and willowy, fair-haired and blue-eyed just like Louis, and she doesn’t spare me a single glance.
Nor does Louis introduce me, for that matter, turning immediately from his mother to a man who envelops him in a bear hug.
Adrian, his brother. Louis warned me about him.
Rough around the edges were his words, which to me meant don’t be alone in a room with him.
He looks a lot like Louis but bigger, broader, louder.
The woman standing behind Adrian, hanging back from the reunion like me, must be Adrian’s wife.
I stalked their pictures on social media, but even her stunning candids didn’t prepare me for how beautiful she is, with her long red waves of hair and a tight dress that emphasizes her tiny waist. I squinted and zoomed in on so many pictures, trying to find a wavy background that would betray her self-editing, but…
wow. I guess she just looks like that, though in person it looks less modelesque and more concerning.
She’s the only one in the room who looks at me, and it isn’t a friendly stare.
More of a quick, cutting glance, one top-to-bottom scan before she looks away. Sizing me up as though I’m competition.
Then there’s Louis’s father. He’s the last to rise from his seat—an oversized armchair set closest to the fire—and the rest of the family angles toward him without seeming to realize it. That includes Louis, whose spine stiffens as his father approaches.
I study him over Louis’s shoulder. He’s a tall man, even taller than his sons.
His hair and beard are almost entirely gray, but if anything it only lends a stately air to his classic good looks.
A silver fox, for sure, especially when he’s dressed in that tailored gray suit.
It makes me feel underdressed, despite my carefully selected, designer wool dress.
The Kohler patriarch catches my eye for just a moment and then pulls Louis into a hug, thumping him on the back.
“Good to see you, Son,” he says.
Louis’s posture relaxes, like he’s been granted approval in some way. Only then does he turn to me, holding a hand out. I step forward and take it, looking at him instead of the rest of the family.
“Everybody,” he says, though his eyes are on mine, his encouraging smile just for me. “I’d like you to meet my fiancée, Diana.”
“Pleased to meet you,” I murmur, keeping my eyes downcast, as if I wasn’t just judging them silently a minute ago.
Eyes crawl over my skin like the feet of a dozen creeping insects.
“I’m so glad we finally have a chance to meet you,” his mother says. “I wish we would’ve had the pleasure of your company before the engagement, but we’re so happy to have you here now.”
I smile like I didn’t catch the dig, or the side-eye she shot her son as she said it. “I’ve been so excited to meet you all after hearing so much about you.”
“Oh?” Louis’s brother steps in next, studying every inch of me aside from my face. “Please, I’m dying to know what he said about me.”
I accept his handshake with a wan smile. “Oh, you’ll have to ask Louis. I would never betray his confidence.”
Adrian’s eyes finally meet mine. His grin is wide and toothy. “How very loyal of you.”
The second he releases my hand from his constricting grip, I turn to his wife with a far more genuine smile. “And you must be Anna.”
“Done your research, have you?” Her fingers barely graze mine. They feel almost brittle.
“What can I get you to drink?” Louis’s father asks before I can muster a response. “I heard you’re a whiskey drinker. I’m quite a collector myself.” He steps behind the bar and gestures to a shelf of bottles. Glittering crystals containing rich amber liquid that screams wealth.
I bite the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to glare at Louis for passing that tidbit on.
I am a fan of whiskey, but I doubt asking for Jack Daniels on the rocks will go over well with his highbrow family.
Now, my fiancé is off talking quietly with his mom, leaving me to fend for myself.
“Yeah…” I say. My eyes dart over the shelf of unfamiliar bottles.
I’ve never seen any of these, except maybe when I ogled the bottles behind locked doors at the liquor store, far out of my price range. “What do you recommend?”
My future father-in-law’s lips dip slightly, like I’ve failed some sort of test. “Well… I’m having the thirty-four-year-old Laphroaig tonight.”
The name sounds vaguely familiar. Scotch is not my usual thing, but it can’t be terrible if it’s expensive, right? “Sounds perfect.”
He sets a small crystal glass on the counter and grabs the bottle. My palms are already sweating as I stare into the cup; even that seems too expensive to belong in my hands. He pours me a couple fingers of golden liquor and nudges it across the bar to me.