Inherited Malice: A Dark Secret Society Romance

She stopped walking and when I turned to see why, her eyes locked with mine. “I’m sorry. You’re right. That was rude of me.” She continued walking next to me. “Tell me about your childhood. I genuinely want to know.”

The question seemed odd to me. I wasn’t used to it or being asked something so intimate. Women of my past didn’t ask… maybe because they didn’t care. They knew what they were getting from me and that was good enough. I think I had the habit of finding women who were as emotionally detached as I was.

“It was just me and my dad growing up,” I began. “My mother died when I was really young from cancer. I don’t remember her really.”

I led her into the grand kitchen first. The chef was in there making some sort of sauce and looked over his shoulder at us and nodded. He didn’t engage in conversation but returned his attention to his culinary masterpiece. The kitchen was the only room in the house that didn’t have any real historical elements. It had been upgraded over time with the most up-to-date appliances and steel surfaces. It was the only odd one out with the industrial feel, but still impressive, nonetheless. I wasn’t a chef, but I was pretty sure it was any cook’s wet dream.

“Wow,” Abilene said under her breath. “Our meals are made in here? I pictured something so very different.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Like some sort of medieval witch’s den or something. Old. I expected old.”

I touched her lower back and led her out of the room with my favorite room as next on the agenda.

“My father and I ate a lot of meals here,” I said as we continued walking. “Just the two of us unless you counted Mrs. H. Mrs. H was like a mother in many ways for me.” I smiled at warm memories of the woman helping me with my homework or giving me womanly advice on how to handle schoolgirl crushes. She was always a real ball buster when needed, but genuinely loved me.

“Was your father involved in your life?” Abilene asked.

“Yes, I suppose so. He worked a lot, but if I wasn’t here at the Oleander, then I was in his office. I guess you could say we didn’t spend a lot of time at our house. But I grew up feeling loved. I think that’s what every kid wishes for, and I got that.”

She remained quiet until we reached the library. I opened the large, carved wooden doors with the ornate handles and waited to see her response. I was pleased to see it was what mine had been. Wide eyes, open mouth, and stunned into a quiet awe.

“This is my favorite room of them all,” I said. I wasn’t a huge reader, but how could you not be impressed with the floor to ceiling bookshelves? There was a ladder that slid around the room in order for you to reach every book.

“I didn’t peg you as a book geek,” she said as she walked into the room and spun around, taking it all in.

“I’m a history buff,” I admitted. “I appreciate this room for all the ancient tales on those shelves. There are first editions, collectibles, and books that have been passed on from famous historical figures. The history that floods this room is what makes it so remarkable.”

Rather than just continuing on with the tour, I walked over to a large high-back chair by a massive fireplace and sat down. It had been a long time since I’d sat in this chair, and it was like revisiting an old friend. Abilene walked over to join me and sat in the chair across from me.

“What about you?” I asked. “Was your childhood a good one?”

She smirked and avoided eye contact. “Hardly. At least you had one parent. I can’t say the same.”

I took a moment and studied her demeanor. I prided myself on reading people—it’s how I did so well in business and negotiations—and I could see this woman was not comfortable delving into this conversation deeper. I suppose it was only fair to ask her more since she was the one who started this conversation by asking me about my childhood, but at the same time, I decided I would cut her some slack. Not everyone liked to take a trip down memory lane, and I sure as fuck wasn’t going to be the prick to force her to.

“My father and I would sit here like this on Christmas night,” I said, giving her the gift of returning the conversation back to me. “He’d give the staff the night off with a large envelope of cash, and it would just be him and me. We’d go to a nice steak dinner, and then come here to have a bourbon. He’d even let me drink. He’d then give me my own envelope of money, wish me a Merry Christmas, and we’d just enjoy our time together.”