The boys return, the darker one handing Katsia the key. “Here you go, ma’am.”
She takes it and gestures toward the stairwell. “I’ll show you to your room, Madison.” We walk up the stairs and down the long, dimly lit hallway, passing red doors with gold numbers attached to them. The hallway is a lot longer than I remembered it to be.
Forget.
Reaching the end, Katsia pushes a button and elevator doors ping open. Stepping inside the small enclosure, the doors close, classical music dancing between the silence. I’m not a fan of this particular genre, but anything beats complete silence when in an enclosed space with someone you’re not sure is a good or a shitty person.
The doors slide open and we walk out then down another long hallway, only now the walls are glistening in gold paint, and the doors are all licked in white. It’s interesting how vivid the two colors are, but maybe that’s part of their deco and what they were aiming for. One would hope. If Tatum sees it, she’ll flip out, what with her deco-loving brain. Thinking of Tatum, I need to text her just in case I don’t make it through the weekend.
We reach a door, but where there were numbers marking the red doors, on these there seems to be some sort of foreign writing on them. I can’t make out the name because the cursive font is hard to read, let alone it being in a completely different language, so I brush it off for now.
Katsia pushes the key into the hole and opens the door. “I can meet you back downstairs when you’re all settled and ready.”
I nod, taking the key from her and stepping inside. Shutting the door behind me, I walk in, dropping my bag on the floor. The room, if it’s the same one I was in as a child, looks unrecognizable. Skimming my hands over the old oak wood that lines the deep gold walls, I check out the rest of the room. A large California king bed is tucked away to the left, on a platform that overlooks the woods from the floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s an en suite, walk-in closet, a fully functioning and stocked bar, but no TV.
Walking to the other side of the room, I open up a cabinet, thinking a TV might be hidden in there, only it opens up to a fully loaded cabinet full of guns. Semi-automatics, shotguns, the works. This is not surprising. There was a reason why dad liked bringing me here; it’s obviously a free-for-all ranch that supported the second amendment. Closing the cabinet, I pick my bag up and take it to the bed, pulling out all of my clothes. Deciding there’s no way I’m going to make an effort with my attire, I shove everything back inside and take out some skinny jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.
Slipping into the shower, I scrub up in double-time—even though I want to sit there forever. I seriously need to talk to Dad about getting a showerhead that fills the entire shower stall, because that shit’s amazing. Shuffling into my clothes, I let my hair down and fluff it up to fall in my natural curls, skip the makeup, and shove on my Chucks. I came here to shoot, not to play Clue with Mrs. Robinson, but color me intrigued. Although not much surprises me anymore since meeting the Kings and discovering the history, this has me enthralled enough to sit down and chat.
When I walk into the main lobby, the young valet from earlier is talking to Katsia. From where I’m standing, I can’t make out what they’re saying, but judging by the movements of his hands and the expressions on his face, they’re not talking about anything light.
The boy—who I should probably stop calling “boy”—stops his talking, his mouth slamming shut before he inches his head toward me slightly, like he felt me enter the room. Well, the connection is mutual, and I have no idea what to make of it at all. His eyes lock onto mine and something pangs in my chest. Recognition, guilt, confusion. They all swim inside me, and I have no idea what to do with it. He storms away from Katsia and into the back of the reception area. Katsia continues watching him with careful eyes. She looks back to me, plastering on a, what seems like, a fake smile before waving me over.
I walk toward her. “Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She brushes my words off casually. “Don’t you worry about Damon. You hungry?” she asks, leading me into the large restaurant on the other side of the stairwell. I remember this place a little, but walking into it, it’s like I’ve never been here before. Everything has changed and been upgraded. Chandeliers hang from the high ceilings, and all-glass walls line the entire room so you have a vast view of the woods anywhere you sit. We take a table on the other side of the room, tucked away enough for privacy.
She picks up the menu and smiles. “The fish is good. If you still like fish, that is.”
Smiling, but not sure of the angle she’s aiming for, I nod. “Love fish.”
The waiter comes and takes our menus, and as she suspected, I ordered the salmon and steamed veggies. Pouring us both a glass of water, she looks at me. “So, how’d I know who you were?” she asks my unspoken question with a smile.
Nodding, I take a sip of water.
“Well, I’ve known your father for a while now.”
“I sort of figured that. I remember this place a little,” I answer, placing my glass down.
“How much do you remember?” She aims
