Page 24 of Her Counterfeit Christmas
While he hangs our coats in the closet, I try not to be intimidated by the foyer and fail. The ceiling vaults to the second floor. A wide staircase splits half way and goes up opposite sides to the landing above.
A huge Persian rug with bright reds and blues covers the floor. It’s at least twenty by fifteen feet. On the ceiling is a painting of people reaching toward heaven and angels. It’s the sort of thing I expect to see in a medieval cathedral, not a cabin in coastal Maine.
Between the ceiling, the marble floor, the bright chandelier, and the artwork that hangs on the walls, I feel like I’ve entered a museum. Statues bracket each doorway off of the foyer. Lions sit at the base of the stairs. I’m afraid to get too close to anything in case an alarm blares.
In all the beauty, there are no Christmas decorations.
It’s sad. This is the perfect place for a fifteen-foot tree.The banister is lonely without lighted garlands leading up to the second floor. It needs a large, colorful wreath on the door, Christmas figurines on the hall table, and decorations along the edge of the large mirror.
A pit of disappointment lodges in my throat. It’s Christmas, and no one would know by looking at this house.
The double doors to the left open, and a woman around my age exits with a child in her arms, the girl’s head on the woman’s shoulder. She walks as if the foyer is a fashion runway, and her green, floor-length silk gown adds to the illusion. If I had to guess, it’s Armani. She has the same height and lean limbs as Spencer. Her hair is a deep brown with lighter highlights, but what stands out the most about her appearance are her striking bright green eyes. I suspect they’re colored contacts.
The little girl hiccups like she’s just stopped crying.
The woman smiles at Spencer. “What are you doing hiding out in the hallway? Your dad has been waiting for you.” She looks in my direction and studies me from head to foot. Her perfectly plucked eyebrows raise. “I’m Tori, Spencer’s cousin. And you are?”
Before I can answer, Spencer does.
“This is my girlfriend Layla.”
I wish I still had my coat to protect me from her judgment.
She hums thoughtfully. “Grandmother knows how to twist you around her finger, doesn’t she? Anyway, everyone is waiting for you. I need to put Sadie to bed.” She notices my bag. “Is that a Boudron?”
I nod, my voice not making an appearance.
“Nice. I have a red one, but Sadie put all her markersinside. It ruined the lining.” She shrugs like it isn’t a big deal her daughter ruined a four thousand dollar bag. Considering Sadie’s tears stain the shoulder of her silk dress and she doesn’t seem to care, it probably isn’t. “Well, good luck.”
Her parting words leave a feeling of doom in my gut as she walks away. The little girl, her tear-stained cheeks framed by light brown hair, looks at me forlornly over Tori’s shoulder. She has the same green eyes as her mother. Not contacts then.
Spencer puts his phone in his inside jacket pocket and takes my hand. “Let me introduce you to my family.”
Chapter Six
LAYLA
Spencer opensthe door and waits for me to enter. I hesitate. In this situation, the lady should not go first.
Layla, you got yourself here. Don’t show weakness now.
Barely breathing, I step inside with my shoulders back and a small smile on my lips.
No one notices my entrance, which feels anticlimactic.
It’s a large room, blinding in its whiteness. White walls. White couches. White rugs and lampshades. The wood floor and the mantle over the large gas fireplace are the only splashes of color.
Spencer enters and the four adults sitting on the couches in front of the fireplace notice him. They’re all drinking amber liquid from short glasses.
Two men stand. One has thinning hair and frown lines around his mouth. There is a resemblance to Spencer in theeyes and nose, and they have a similar build with the same narrow shoulders. This must be his dad, Dorian.
The other man must be Spencer’s uncle Gerald. It’s obvious his full, black hair is a toupee. With his thick arms, barrel chest, and skinny legs, he looks like the cartoon character Popeye. Uncle Gerald needs a more balanced workout regime.
The two women stay where they are, but both of them study me just like Tori did in the entry. I make sure I stand confidently, my limbs loose, and smile back at them.
Gerald heads to the drink cart. Spencer’s dad walks in our direction.
“Father,” Spencer says.
