Edward
The Cotswolds mansion was not supposed to feel stressful.
That was the whole point of it. It was white. It was gold. It was marble so polished that I could see my own reflection in the floors. Everything was expensive in that quiet, old-money way Dad loved. The staircase was white marble with a gold rail, the kitchen was all white marble and brass with those cupboards that had no handles, the living room had two massive fireplaces that never actually had fires in them because Pa said real fire ruined the marble. It was the house Pa called "the family pile" when he was being dramatic, which was always.
It was beautiful. It was calm. It was supposed to be calm.
It was not calm that day.
I stood at the top of that marble staircase in sweatpants and a hoodie that was definitely Connor's, my hair still damp from the shower, holding my phone with a list I had made at 7am, staring down at the chaos in the entrance hall.
