Page 26 of Filthy Little Regrets
“Jesus Christ,” Cassia murmurs as soon as I pull through the gate.
I look at her, but she’s gazing at the extensive property. It’s surrounded by a massive brick fence with pointed iron stakes poking out of the top.
“The Astor compound has been passed down for generations,” I explain, taking a right and heading toward one of the smaller mansions. “Rumor has it, Great Great Grandpa Astor bought it to show up the Farinas in the late eighteen hundreds and almost bankrupted the family.”
“Apparently you all survived,” she murmurs as I park to the right of a two-tier driveway fountain. “Is this your house?” Her eyes widen as she leans forward to stare out the windshield.
A smaller version of the main house, my home has the same Georgian-inspired architecture. Gray brick turrets, large windows, two chimneys. The landscaping is pristine. Vibrant green grass. Planters filled with a wild array of summer flowers.
“What do you think?”
She glances at me. “What do I think about themansion?” she asks with an incredulous laugh, then clears her throat. “I mean, it’s fine, I guess.”
Smirking to myself, I turn the car off and get out, nodding at the guard who walks around the side of the mansion. Cassia gives him a suspicious once-over. To her, I guess it wouldn’t make sense why the guards are necessary, but after someone tried to kill my father a few years ago, he insisted we hire our own security detail.
Too bad the guy wasn’t successful. Life would be a lot different if Darius Astor was dead. Cassia trails after me, eyes bulging as she takes it all in, the barest hint of wonder playing on her lips.
Good.
She can be pissed, but this is where she belongs.
I open the door and gesture her inside. “Welcome to your new home.”
eight
CASSIA
Welcome to my new home?My eyes stray over the marble floors, the rich mahogany paneling covering the hallway, and decor that probably cost more than my entire life’s savings and then some. This place isnotmy home.
Irritation ripples through me, but Mace is either oblivious or chooses to ignore it as he takes me on a tour. A grand kitchen any chef would die for. A fancy dining room. A movie-theater-style living room. A library. Room after room.
Thishousemansion is fucking huge.
I don’t belong here.
A creeping sense of inadequacy prickles over my skin. I follow Mace down a longer hallway, trying to keep my insecurities in check. “Does it ever end?”
He smirks at me over his shoulder. “The indoor pool is the last stop on the first floor.” The walls give way to floor-to-ceiling windows that provide a perfect view of a semi-Olympic pool, with five lanes long enough to swim laps without getting dizzy.
The excitement suddenly buzzing in my chest feels wrong, but I can’t deny it’s a relief to have a pool close by. Swimming grounds me. Something tells me I might spend more time in the pool than out of it as I adjust to this...situation.
“I didn’t bring my swimsuit,” I say with a frown.
Mace leans against the wall, one hand stuck in his pocket. “Your things will be here later tonight.”
Irritation pulses, hot and dense, in my chest. Who does he think he is? “What the fuck, Mace?”
He lifts an eyebrow. “Would you rather buy new things?”
“No, but you can’t just decide to pack up my things without talking to me.” That’s not okay.
“I thought you’d appreciate having your clothes.”
Closing the distance between us, I glare up at him. “I’d appreciate at least the illusion of control, but you can’t even give me that.”
Silence descends between us. The muscles in his jaw ripple, and he takes a breath, his next words calm. “The bedrooms are on the second floor. Our room is to the left of the stairs.”
No. No fucking way. A fake marriage is one thing, but does he really expect me to play wife? “I’m not sharing a bed with you.”
