“I-I-I’m twenty-five!” I stammer out as I pull my hand from her grasp.
“She’s just fucking with you,” Nate says, glaring at his sister. “Nora, cut it out. We’re the same age.”
“And you stop with the swearing!” Nora snaps at him. “So rude! Now give me a minute to get to know her before you start trying to show off.”
Nora grabs my hand forcibly and drags me over to a small, Queen Anne loveseat. I glance at Nate, but he only gives me that half smile and lets his sister drag me away. She plops herself down next to me and takes my other hand in hers as well, holding them both as she stares at my palms.
“I see.” She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed. “Have you ever had your palms read?”
“No.”
“See this line here?” She points to the long crease running from the space between my thumb and forefinger to my wrist.
“Yes.”
“That is your love line…or maybe it’s the life line. It’s a really important one, I think. Or maybe the other one is the important one. This one here, hmm? I don’t know. I’ve never had my palms read either. I think we should go get it done. Wouldn’t that be fun? I wonder where they do such things.”
I try to pull my hands back, but she keeps her grip.
“I have another question for you,” she says as she stares at me with her dark brown eyes. “Have you ever been in love?”
“I don’t think so.” I clear my throat.
“Are you going to break my brother’s heart?”
“I-I-I…” My mouth opens and closes a couple of times. I look to Nate for help, but he’s leaning against the wall near the doorway, grinning. “I wasn’t planning to.”
“Wasn’t? Does that mean you didn’t want to plan such a plan before, but now you do, or that you don’t want to plan such a plan now?”
“No!” I shake my head as I try to count the number of negatives in her sentence. “I’m not planning to break his heart!”
“Well, okay then!” Nora yanks my arms forward just before releasing my hands, then wraps her arms around me in a tight, brief embrace. “Let’s open a bottle of wine, shall we?”
She jumps up and scampers over to a large rack of wine occupying the corner of the room. I look up at Nate and shake my head. I have no idea what just happened.
“She thinks she’s cute,” Nate says with a shrug. “I ignore most of what comes out of her mouth.”
“Rude!” Nora calls out from the other side of the room.
A blonde woman in her mid-forties bounces into the room and announces that dinner is ready. She looks at me for a moment before walking up and extending her hand.
“I’m Andrea,” she says. “Mr. Orso—”
“It’s dinner night, Andrea,” Nate says. “Keep it casual.”
“Right. Sorry.” Andrea grins. “Nate asked me to make something extra special for you for dinner.”
Nate hands her the bag with the banana bread in it, and she pokes her nose in the bag before heading right back out of the room. I don’t get a chance to speak at all. Nate takes my hand once again before leading me to another doorway. Antony and Nora follow, arguing about which wine to open first.
The dining room is—in a word—insane. I’ve never seen a room like it. Red and gold wallpaper lines the room but manages not to look garish. It fits perfectly with the huge wine rack that covers half of the far wall—far more than what was displayed in the sitting room. Two matching Victorian buffets line another wall, and they would have captured my attention if it hadn’t been for the item looming in the middle of the room.
The dining room table absolutely astounds me. I recognize the furniture immediately; it’s a nineteenth century mahogany table surrounded by fourteen balloon back chairs. I can’t help but gasp as I look a little closer at the table.
“This is handmade!”
“It is,” Kate says as she takes a seat. Nate leads me to sit across from her, and he takes his place at the head of the table. “1860, if I remember correctly. Made by a man named Sheraton.”
“Thomas Sheraton?”
“I believe you’re correct.” Kate raises an eyebrow.
“He did a lot of work with flame mahogany.” I check the edge of the table. “This one has been restored beautifully.”
“My dear brother’s wife, Nataniele’s mother, did love her antiques. You seem well versed.”
“Cherry’s aunt had an antique store,” Nate says. “You’ve probably seen a lot of pieces like this one.”
“This is pretty rare,” I tell him. “The Victorian buffets are much more common.”
“I guess that’s why we have two of them.” Nora moves around the table, pouring wine into glasses before claiming the seat next to me. Apparently, she won the argument with Antony. “Furniture is boring, I think. What do you do aside from spill your drinks on it or plop your ass on it?”
“Language!” Antony laughs, and Nora flips him off.
In quick succession, a man and woman—clearly the Thrace twins Nate has told me about—enter the dining room and take their seats on the other side of Nora. My landlord, Reid, also enters and sits across from them.
“Hello, Cherice,” Reid says with a smile. He’s a deeply tanned, somewhat chunky man with dull green eyes. “I hear you’re one of my tenants.”
“Yes, I am. I met you the day I moved in.”
He nods, clearly not remembering
