Chapter Ten
Two
Golden: I got us an appointment for this afternoon at 4. Do you mind picking me up?
I continue to stare at the text even after she sends her address.
Golden: Please.
Me: You have a car. Remember? You hit me with it.
Golden: Fine, I’ll pick you up then. Where do you live?
In a house with two men who were almost your daddies…
Me: I’ll drive.
I glance at my watch and am annoyed to see I’ll need to go now. I’m knee-deep in wallpapering the foyer of Cedarwood Mansion, which will be a bitch to try and pick up where I left off, but Hemingford Hall is more of a priority at the moment. With a huff, I close everything up and turn off my space heater. This project will have to wait for another day.
Rather than dealing with questions from my dads, I avoid the house altogether and head straight for my car. Once inside, I have to try the engine four times before it turns over.
“Good girl,” I say, patting the cracked leather on the dash. “You purr like a kitten.”
The heater doesn’t work great in my car, but I don’t need it. My military jacket keeps me warm. As I drive, my thoughts drift back to yesterday when Gemma told me she was a Type Three.
I did a deep dive last night, digging into everything that went into a Type Three Enneagram personality. Basically, they’re obsessed with success, accomplishments, and their self-image. From what I know of Gemma, it seems spot-on.
I’ll see Tate again tomorrow between classes. This time, I’m going to get his cell number. I have tons of questions about this shit that I think he can answer.
My phone GPS barks at me and I turn down the road that leads to Gemma’s house. It’s the biggest and fanciest one on the street. Her black weapon of a Tahoe sits in the driveway. My shoulder now sports a big-ass bruise thanks to her.
Rather than going up to the door, I lay on the horn. Seconds later, she rushes out of the house, glaring at me.
I don’t acknowledge her irritation, choosing to fiddle with the radio instead. There’s a local station that plays rock from the fifties that I really like. Settling on that station, I wait for Gemma to climb in.
The door squeaks in protest when she opens it. Some trash I forgot to take out gets whipped out and tossed into her yard. Whoops. They’re paper napkins. Biodegradable. The earth will be fine.
“Drive,” Gemma huffs, slamming the door once she’s inside. “Otherwise, Dad will come out here and give you the third degree.”
I’m not about to talk to her parents, so I put the Rover in reverse and cruise back down her road to the main one.
“Your car is a mess,” she says, shoving one of my filthy boots out of the way with her pristine black one. “How can you deal with this?”
“It’s not that messy.”
“Two, you littered my yard when I opened my door. It’s a dumpster.”
“Tristan.”
“Here we go.” She sighs heavily. “I’d rather not go into all this with you today. Can we call some sort of truce? I had a bad day yesterday and I’m on edge.”
This intrigues me. “Why? Because of me?”
She smirks at me. “You wish.”
Kind of. It’s satisfying to know I get under her skin as much as she gets under mine.
“I went to Hemingford Hall by myself,” she says softly, looking out her window. “The guy was weird. Made me feel uncomfortable.”
At least I know why she wanted to go together this time.
“Most people aren’t happy when you show up unannounced at their place of residence.”
“I know.” She glances back over at me. “That wasn’t even the bad part.”
I wait for her to elaborate. “Just spit it out already, woman.”
“Someone followed me there. They left me a flower and a note.”
“I’m sure it was your boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend?” She shakes her head. “I do not have a boyfriend.”
“You just grope dudes in parking lots for fun then?”
“What are you—oh. That was my twin brother, you idiot. Gross.”
Twin brother.
Would he have been living in my room too had Jamie not changed her mind?
“Looked intimate.”
“It wasn’t,” she grumbles. “It’s a stalker.”
I snort out a laugh. “Golden has a stalker?”
“This isn’t funny. It was scary.”
“Well, next time you’ll listen to me. I told you not to go there.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, clearly fuming at my words, and refuses to say another word. Shrugging, I turn up the music a bit and enjoy the beat of the next couple of songs on our drive. By the time we turn off on the road that takes us to Hemingford Hall, she’s relaxed again and eagerly taking in the sight of the stately building perched on the side of the lake.
An old truck and a maroon minivan are parked out front. I park beside the minivan and shut off my car. Gemma doesn’t immediately get out, instead glancing over at me beneath her thick lashes.
“Will you stay close?”
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell her no because riding in the car was close enough for me, but real trepidation shines in her eyes. She may be my nemesis, but I won’t let some random guy make her feel uncomfortable. That’s my job.
“Yeah, Golden, I got you.”
She grins at me, a megawatt smile that nearly blinds me. It’s unfortunate she’s so fucking pretty. My dick twitches in agreement. That line of thinking needs to go out the damn window because I will not get distracted by her glossy perfection.
I climb out of the vehicle to avoid her disarming smile. An older woman with her blond hair in a messy ponytail greets us from the porch.
“You two must be the PMU students,” the woman says, beaming. “You’ll have to excuse my grouchy husband. Gregory prides himself on scaring everyone away. I’m Paula Nordstrom.”
“Gemma Park and Tristan Sheridan,” Gemma says for both of us. “Thank you for letting us come over on such short notice. We’re both eager to get started on our project.”
Paula’s eyes twinkle. “I remember being just as excited as you two when me and Gregory purchased this place. Somewhere along the way, we got overwhelmed. Mr. Pederson assured me his students are really good at what they do. Perhaps, after this project, we’ll have a plan of action we can finally take.”
“We’ll do our best,” Gemma vows, turning her charm up to what feels like an obnoxious level to me. “We may have to come over multiple times as Mr. Pederson may or may not have mentioned. We promise not to intrude. Just tell us where we’re not allowed to go and we’ll respect that.”
“You’re welcome anywhere, darlin’,” Paula says, gesturing for us to follow her. “Gregory may give you a little grief, but you just have to ignore him. That’s what I do.”
Gemma shoots me a quick look and it’s the uneasiness in her gaze that once again has me feeling stupidly protective over her. This Gregory dude can fuck off as far as I’m concerned.
“I’d give you the grand tour, but I have a feeling you’ll do a lot better if you explore on your own.” She points toward an open doorway. “I’ll be in the main sitting room with Gregory at the end of this hallway. This place is too big to heat, so we tend to stay in the front of the building as much as we can. Just holler if you need anything.”
I give her a nod and the two of us wait until she disappears down the hallway and into the main room. I’m itching to start going into each room one by one, but Gemma stops me when she grabs onto my wrist.
“When I was here yesterday, I think I saw an office. It could have belonged to Heming or Ford. Seems like a fun place to start.” She smiles at me and then starts tugging me behind her. “This place is freaking amazing, right?”
I stiffen but don’t pull my arm away from her, allowing her to lead the way. Her hand projects warmth through my jacket that radiates up my entire arm.
“I’m shocked you also find it amazing.”
She snorts out a laugh. “I’m more than a pretty face, Two.”
I don’t chide her for calling me Two. Her face is indeed pretty, but the more than part is yet to be discovered. I’m not exactly eager to go on a Gemma Park exploration mission, digging for hidden treasures beneath her shiny surface. But I do love this class and I definitely love this place already.
“I’ll accept the truce,” I say with a grunt. “While we work on our project, I mean.”
She gives my wrist a squeeze. “Thank you. This is going to go a lot smoother without you hating me with everything in you.”
Though she’s probably right. I still have my guard up. I’m not going to allow her to burrow her way under my skin, making me forget everything about my past that haunts me and the fact she’s basically responsible.
Technically, her mom is, but still.
Jamie’s name wasn’t on that wall. Neither was her twin, Dempsey.
No, it was Gemma.
Just Gemma.
“Here,” she exclaims, voice pitched with excitement. “Wow. Look at this place.”
I follow her into the office. She finally releases her hold on me. We both take in the ancient room in awe. It’s covered from floor to ceiling in dust, wallpaper has peeled off the walls in some areas, and a few bookshelves have shelves that have completely collapsed. This place is a mess—a wonderful, beautiful mess.
“Do you think there are artifacts hidden in here?” Gemma asks, practically giddy as she bounces on her heels. “What if we find love notes? How freaking romantic would that be?”
Listening to her babble reminds me of Dad. Whenever he’s passionate about one of his interior restorations, he can’t contain his excitement. He also bosses Pops around and tells him what sort of hard shit that needs doing. Pops always does it with a gentle smile on his face.
“The artifacts they hid were silly things like jars of random stuff. Edgar once collected hundreds of dead moths, put them in a jar, and then hid them someplace in Hemingford Hall for Alexander to find.”
“That’s so sweet,” Gemma says, grinning. “Right? You know they were in love.”
Again, she reminds me of Dad, finding romance in everything. My gut twists at the thought of her being more like him than me. Fate, in an epic plot twist, gave him me instead.
“Perhaps,” I say, “or maybe they just liked to terrorize one another.”
“My nephew, Spencer, is always pestering his woman,” she reveals, “and he’s wildly in love with her. Maybe they can be friends and lovers. It’s a thing, you know.”
Actually, I don’t.
My experience with lovers is one person, one time, and we didn’t exactly stay friends after.
Dax sleeps with lots of his friends, but I think they all want to be longtime lovers after. He’s never interested in more than a few nights of fun.
“Where do you think they hid their artifacts? Surely they weren’t in difficult places like beneath the floorboards,” she says as she closely inspects a bookshelf. “Their guests who would go on these hunts with them wouldn’t like having to destroy the floor to find their prize. It had to have been obvious.”
I nod, letting her giddiness bleed into me. “Like hidden in a false book?”
Her eyes widen comically and she starts checking the books on the shelves, gently tapping on their spines as she goes along. Since I’m much taller, I mimic her actions but go for the ones that are out of her reach. A few minutes in and I thump one that feels hollow.
“Bingo!”
She squeals and rushes over to me. “Hurry. Pull it down.”
Definitely bossy like Dad.
I pluck the book from the shelf, coughing when a plume of dust flutters down on my face. Before I have a chance to open it, she takes it out of my hand and gently flips it open.
It’s indeed a false book, but there aren’t love notes inside.
A tiny golden key sits in the bottom.
“What do you think this opens?” she asks, voice filled with awe. “This is so much fun!”
I can’t help but grin at her. It is kind of fun. I’ve never known anyone besides my parents and Mr. Pederson who agrees with me.
“If I had to guess,” I say, forgetting for a moment that I hate her, “it opens a secret compartment in that desk.”
Her eyes glimmer as she beams. “We’re going to find where it goes. Our project is totally going to be the best, right? How can it not be?”
“Hell yeah, it is.”
For once, I actually agree with her.