Chapter 25 #2
I step out of the car, gravel crunching beneath my shoes, and stand there for a minute longer than necessary.
The air is cooler and cleaner, tinged with pine and damp earth.
The land rolls away endlessly in every direction, unbothered by the fact that a castle stands at its center.
I look back at Gregg standing there with the house at his back.
No wonder he carries himself the way he does.
No wonder he moves through the world like someone constantly balancing weight only he could feel.
“It’s beautiful.” I sigh honestly. “And… very overwhelming.”
His mouth curves into a smile of relief. “That’s a fair assessment.”
He pops the trunk and lifts our bags out with ease, setting them down on the gravel before slinging one over his shoulder. I linger, still half-stunned, my eyes tracing the carved stone above the entrance.
“Does anyone in your family live here… like, full-time??” I ask, lowering my voice as if someone might overhear me, noting the several windows with shining light.
“No, not full-time,” Gregg explains. “Just when someone needs a break. A small staff lives in the village, so I asked the caretaker and housekeeper to open the house a few days ago.”
I laugh to myself. The house. The simplicity in his voice.
“For us?” I clarify.
“No,” he deadpans. “A group of nuns on retreat.”
I nudge him with my shoulder in annoyance and chuckle.
“Yes,” he says, winking and planting a small kiss on my lips. “For us.”
He steps up to the massive carved oak door, a set of keys glints from his hand. “We usually only come here for the winter holidays now. Christmas, mostly.”
I watch as he fit a large key into a brass plated lock, the mechanism clicks with a heavy and deliberate sound, and he pushes the door open with an old, low creak.
The entrance hall swallows us whole. Smooth, polished stone floors stretch beneath our feet, covered by the occasional beautiful woven rug.
A wide staircase stretched up in front of us to a landing, before stretching across the hall and up again overhead.
Its thick, polished banister has been darkened with time.
A deep burgundy and sage patterned runner hugs each step closely.
Tall leaded and stained glass rises from the landing to the carved timber ceiling, letting in the dark evening light.
The shadows of color illuminate oil paintings whose eyes seem to follow.
Gregg clicks a series of switches on the adjacent wall, bathing the space in warm light from a chandelier that had probably once held candles instead of electricity.
“So through there,” he gestures through an arch to our left, “is the drawing room, the grand salon, the music room, and library.”
I peered into the dark corridor, illuminated only by grayish blue light filtering through several tall windows.
“And through there,” he continues to the right, “is the dining room and a billiard room. And straight through there across the hall, is the tapestry gallery, which can also be used as a ballroom. And also the terrace and breakfast room.” He sits his bag down at the foot of the stairs.
“Bedrooms are upstairs and, oh, the kitchens are downstairs.”
I sit my bag down next to his, feeling very small and overwhelmed. “This is…” I search for the right words but can’t find anything eloquent other than, “a lot.”
Gregg shuts the door with a lively chuckle, the sound echoing through the hall. “Yeah, I know it is.”
He says it pretty plainly, matter-of-factly, not defensively. Simply honest.
“I forget sometimes,” he adds. “That this is certainly not normal.”
“And here I thought only the Royal Family lived like this.” I sigh a laugh and turn to him. “When you’re here, does it feel like someone’s watching you?”
“Oh, every day,” he mocks, reaching out his hand.
I take his hand and he pulls me into him, inhaling deep as he plants a soft kiss to my forehead. As if he’d always wanted to in this place.
I look up into his emerald eyes and kiss his lips. “Thank you for sharing this with me. It’s stunning, truly. And so are you.”
Later that night, after a short, informal tour that left me quietly overwhelmed, the house settles into a deep silence. Beyond the windows, the wilderness presses close, and somewhere in the distance, the night breathed.
Gregg sleeps behind me, his chest rising and falling in an unhurried rhythm.
With each breath, the light brush of his short chest hair brushes my back.
The long day of miles of road, finally ended here, with me wrapped in his arms. I match my breathing to his without meaning to, and his warmth seeps into places I didn’t know were cold.
I stare out the window, unable to sleep.
It frames a scatter of stars, sharp and brilliant, silhouetting the pine-covered hills like ink.
For years, I’d turned over the frightening question in my mind, what comes after this life, if anything at all. Lying here in the dark, held and unafraid, the answer feels suddenly irrelevant. If there is a heaven, I think, then surely this is it.