Page 33 of Deceit

Iquietly follow Asher up the front steps of his father’s mansion. When we get to the top, we’re greeted with two large doors that are at least fifteen-feet tall. They appear to be hand carved wood and are absolutely stunning. I wait for Asher to push the doors open, or maybe I should? I steal a glance to see him staring at them blankly, like if he tries hard enough he could suddenly become invisible and slip away. It’s the most vulnerable I’ve seen him, his cocky ‘I rule the world’ aura gone, and not the least bit sorely missed. Still, it is a little odd to see him so off.

He closes his eyes, letting out a near silent breath before offering his arm for me. I slip my hand through the crook of his elbow, allowing it to rest as he pushes one of the doors open. Immediately, we are greeted with the sound of classical music playing throughout the mansion, accompanied by nearly one-hundred people all donned in striking suits and luxurious gowns.

Familiar faces are recognized everywhere. My eyes roam around the room before landing on Liam, his cheesy smile looking a lot more plastic than usual as he speaks with an olderman and woman. In the corner I see Vincent sulking, which is no surprise there, but he is wearing a nice tuxedo so that’s definitely a shift from his typical punk style. I even see Andrew from my history class. He’s with a kind looking couple and making small talk with a few men when his eyes catch mine. His cheeks pink up as he looks at me and gives a discreet wave, before turning back to the man in front of him.

Unfortunately, the next person my eyes land on is my father who looks unbelievably irritated.

Lovely.

Asher smoothly walks us towards him, a man in front of him turning to face us with a slow smile.

“Ah, you’ve finally arrived,” the man says, his mouth moving in a way that makes my skin crawl.

Asher is practically a carbon copy of him, just twenty-five years younger. There is something else about him though, something that turns my stomach and tells me to flee far and fast. Unfortunately I can’t, instead staying perfectly silent as Asher speaks.

“Apologies for our tardiness, father. You know how women can be about being ready on time.”

I shoot him a side-eye that I hope burns him to his core while my father’s face pinches up in disgust as he steps closer to me, a dangerous air surrounding us as he does. Asher’s dad just laughs though, turning to face me as his eyes take in every inch of me. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, and I want more than anything to squirm under his gaze. I resist though, doing my best to keep my head held high and a demure smile on my face.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,” I say with a nod.

He holds out his hand to me and I hesitate for a moment, until I feel a sharp pinch come from my side. I know it’s my father and I know what he’s saying.

Let him take your hand, do not embarrass me.

I slip my palm into his as he lifts it up to his mouth, before he presses his lips against my knuckles and smiles as he speaks.

“Please, call me Christopher. After all, we are going to be family.”

I give him a soft smile and wiggle my fingers in an attempt to pull my hand away, but he doesn’t seem ready to allow that to happen.

“You’re even more beautiful than your pictures,” Christopher muses, almost to himself.

My smile doesn’t slip as I nod my head once more.

“Thank you. Your home is lovely. When was it crafted? Mid-eighteenth century?” I ask.

“Early,” he says, something like interest flickering in his eyes as he tilts his head to the side. “How could you tell?”

“The architecture reminds me a lot of this home back in London. It was built in 1705, but I assumed being across the pond it would take a little longer for similar influences to reach here.”

Christopher’s smile curls, practically taking over his entire face as he speaks.

“Salem has been blessed with the finest craftsmen for some time. Have you made it down to the town museum? I’m sure you’d find it absolutely fascinating.”

History was never my passion, by a long shot, but that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate a beautifully built home. In my opinion, I found the way of life in England from the seventeenth to twentieth century much more interesting than America’s, but maybe I’m biased because that’s all I was taught for practically my whole life.

“I have not. I’ll have to do that.”

“Asher will take you soon.”

Christopher smiles with a cutting look to his son.

Asher nods dutifully, a lot like the way I do with my father as he speaks.

“I’d be honored.”

“Wonderful,” Christopher says, before finally releasing my hand.

---