Mason, on the other hand, looks amazing when he picks me up at my apartment. I mostly see him in T-shirts and jeans, so the khaki slacks and dress shirt are a stark change. He’s got on a dark-green tie that makes his hazel eyes look greener. He’s sohandsome in his outfit that my knees get a little weak. But the best part is how his eyes light up when he sees me.
“Wow,” he says. “You look… really nice, Sasha.”
I look away, not wanting him to see how pleased I am. “Well, let’s go.”
The ride to the Howards’ house takes about half an hour, and it’s filled with easy conversation. We’ve talked so many times and had plenty of sex, but this is the first time I’ve felt any kind of spark between us. It’s almost like we’re on a real date. About halfway through the drive, Mason removes his hand from the gear shift while at a red light and takes my hand for a minute. It’s such a sweet gesture that a tingle goes through my entire body.
But as soon as I see Mason’s house, my excitement vanishes.
I knew Mason was wealthy, but I wasn’t prepared for the enormous mansion that stands before me. It’s three stories high and stretches out for the length of a city block. There’s a gate to gain entrance, and I half expect to see a moat with a dragon guarding the front door. I can’t help but think of the tiny apartment where I grew up, the three of us girls squeezed into one bedroom. As I step onto the walkway, I trip over my heels.
Mason gently places a hand on my back. “Are you okay, Sasha?”
“Fine,” I manage, thinking that once the shock of seeing the house wears off, it will get better.
Except it just gets worse.
We’re greeted at the door by Mason’s mother, although I had been half expecting a butler. Mrs. Howard is beautiful. I mean, she is really, really beautiful. She has the same chestnut-colored hair as Mason, wide hazel eyes, and a slender but shapely figure. She looks much too young to be the mother of a twenty-two-year-old medical student.
“And this must be Sasha,” Mrs. Howard coos as we step inside.
Even though she’s beautiful, I can see in her eyes that Mason’s mother is no dummy. And that she’s extremely protective of her son.
“That’s right,” I say, wishing I could run away. I might have bolted for the door, except at that moment, Mason puts his arm around my shoulders. The gesture shocks me but also eases my anxiety. I look up at Mason, and he smiles and winks at me.
Mrs. Howard insists on giving me a tour of the house while Mason goes to put our coats away. As I follow the older woman upstairs, I feel ill. I wish Mason were with us—I feel lost in this enormous house. I’m worried that if I get separated from Mrs. Howard, they’ll find me days later, trapped in a closet somewhere.
Mrs. Howard leads me down a long corridor, lushly carpeted and dimly lit. I point out a room filled with bookcases and antique furniture, which she says is “the library.” They have a library. I’m hooking up with a guy who lived in a house that has alibrary. Then we pass two guest rooms and, finally, Mason’s old bedroom.
I like Mason’s bedroom best out of every room on the tour. It’s by far the least pretentious room in the house. It looks like any teenager’s room, with a single bed, a computer, stereo equipment, and music posters on the walls. My eyes rest on one shelf of his bookcase, which is packed with trophies. Naturally. But it isn’t the trophies that catch my attention—it’s the framed photo in the middle of the shelf, featuring Mason with his arm around a stunning blond girl.
“That’s Sienna, Mason’s girlfriend from college, during their trip to Switzerland,” Mrs. Howard says.
“Oh,” I say.
I wonder why Mason has a photo of his ex-girlfriend featured so prominently on his shelf but then remember he hasn’t been in this room in months. Quite possibly, his mother put the photothere. I could tell from her voice that she thinks very highly of this Sienna girl.
“Sienna went to Paris to study art for a year,” Mrs. Howard says. Because obviously, I want to know all about Mason’s ex-girlfriend. “What did you do after college, Sasha?”
The question catches me off guard. Like I’ve said, I look young for twenty-six. Most people think I’m straight out of college or usually even younger. How did Mrs. Howard figure it out?
“I worked as a nanny and took classes,” I say a little defensively.
“And where are you from, dear?” she asks me.
“Brooklyn,” I reply, lifting my chin to look her straight in the eyes.
She narrows her eyes at me. “I mean, originally, where are you from? Where were your parents born?”
“Russia,” I admit. I am guessing that Mrs. Howard and her parents and their parents were all born in this country.
“Interesting,” Mrs. Howard murmurs. She raises her eyebrow. “How long have you and Mason been seeing each other?”
Seeing each other.She grimaces as she asks the question as if she’s just said a dirty word.
“Not that long,” I mutter.
“Mason and Sienna were together for two years,” Mrs. Howard says.
