Page 10 of Twisted Love

“Raven! Oh, my goodness, I’m so glad to see you!” she exclaims, her hands clasped in front of her as she approaches.

“Hi, Nora,” I greet. I’ve always liked Nora. She’s always been kind to me whenever I’ve come around. Her presence feels familiar and grounding, even as everything else feels unmoored.

“You look wonderful, Mrs. Jackson,” she says, her pale blue gaze sweeping over me. There are questions in her eyes, but she’s too well trained by Charles’s mother to ever voice them. “I’m sure you must be exhausted with the day you’ve had. I’ve made a pot of tea for you and your favorite blueberry pie.”

Nora’s warm concern takes me off guard, and for a moment, I don’t know how to answer. “Thank you, Nora. I don’t think I can eat just yet. I’m a little nervous, I think.”

“Well, that’s to be expected,” she says with a kind smile. “But don’t you worry. The pie will keep. We’ll take care of you here.” She gestures toward the house, inviting me to follow her inside.

Walking through the front door feels like crossing some invisible threshold. The grand entryway is exactly as it was on my last visit, so are the gleaming hardwood floors, and the lofty ceilings, but the traditional chandelier I used to marvel at is gone. In its place hangs the most exquisitely sophisticated, massive white vine chandelier. I gasp at its ethereal beauty and once more feel a knot tightening in my chest. What did he do to get this kind of wealth? The thought doesn’t sit right.

“The staff wanted to congratulate you in person,” Nora says cheerfully, leading me further inside.

The other staff members stand in a polite line and convey their best wishes. They do so warmly enough, though I catch a few curious glances exchanged when they think I’m not looking. I can’t blame them. What happened in the church was bizarre, to say the least and I probably seem as out of place as I feel.

The house is bustling with activity, movers hauling boxes out through the front doors as others carry Earl’s things inside. The air hums with the sound of footsteps, shuffling cardboard, and muffled conversations.

Nora, noticing my distracted gaze, chuckles softly. “It’s quite the scene today, isn’t it? The movers are finishing up with the Belafonte’s belongings. They should be out shortly.” I turn towards her and she is watching me with her wise old eyes. “You belong here. You always have.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugs. “Houses are like dogs. You can never get one that is not meant for you.”

“Oh.”

Not knowing what to say I turn away, and through one of the long windows, watch a man carefully maneuver a box marked FRAGILE into the back of a long mover’s lorry. It’s surreal, to see the status symbols of Charles’s family’s life packed away and driven off. The house feels like it’s in flux, caught between what it was and what it’s about to become.

I wonder if I will see him in the house. Somehow, I don’t expect to, but the thought still makes me nervous. He thinks of me as a gold digger, and my behavior today must have confirmed his opinion. I’ve always been clear and straightforward with everyone; in fact, it’s always been everyone else who hasn’t been straight with me. I told Charles I wasn’t in love with him. All I wanted from him was a loan so I could pay for my father’s medical bills, instead he manipulated me into marrying him. What did he think would happen when I found out he had no means to help save my father’s life?

My thoughts once again go to Earl. Once, I loved him so much that I nearly went crazy after his disappearance. Sometimes I think I have never recovered from it. That hole is still gaping in my chest. I’ve wondered so many times what I would do if I ever saw him again, and now that I have I cannot believe he’s making me feel like I’m the one who was in the wrong. Like I’m the one who has something to be sorry for when he is the one who broke my heart into a million pieces.

Nora gestures toward the grand staircase. “Once things settle down, I’ll take you on a proper tour. This house has a rich history. You’ll want to get to know it.”

The sound of heels clicking against the polished floors draws my attention. I look up to see Charles’s mother descending the staircase, her posture as proud and regal as ever, her expression carved from stone. She looks every bit the picture of class and authority, her tailored dress immaculate, her chin tilted just high enough to make her disdain known.

When her eyes meet mine, they darken with something close to hatred. She pauses on the last step, her gaze sweeping over me. I’m an invader in her domain.

“Raven,” she says, her voice clipped, each syllable dripping with venom. “Enjoying yourself, are you?”

I force myself to stay composed, even as my chest tightens. “Mrs. Belafonte,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

Her lips curl into a sneer. “Well, well, well. Taken to the high life like a duck to water, I see. I always knew you would destroy my son, and you have, but be very careful, my dear. You have married a monster who detests you. I suggest you start your tour from the Music Room.”

I glance at the movers coming down behind her, their arms laden with ornate lamps and hastily wrapped portraits. Her belongings. Her life. Everything she’s built here is being taken away piece by piece. But I feel no pity in my heart. Not for her.

“Safe travels,” I murmur and she sails past me, her expensive perfume lingering in her wake like a challenge.

I can’t help but exhale a quiet breath of relief as she disappears through the front doors. The tension in the room shifts, like a storm that’s finally passed.

Nora places a comforting hand on my arm, her smile warm but knowing. “Don’t let her get to you, dear. The house is yours now.”

I smile weakly, though the weight of her words settles heavily on my shoulders. My house. My life. No. This is not my house. It is Earl’s. I desperately want to ask Nora to take me to the Music Room first, but I don’t want to give any importance to her suggestion.

Nora continues the tour, her voice upbeat as she gestures toward various rooms and describes their functions. I try to focus on her words, but my thoughts are scattered. Every creak of the floorboards, every faint sound of the movers echoes too loudly in my ears. The house, with its vast hallways and ornate decor, feels both suffocating and empty. And the dread of what I will find in the Music Room hangs over me.

“I think you’ve probably already been in here,” Nora says, her voice suddenly nervous, as she pushes open a pair of double doors, “but just in case you haven’t, this is the music room.”

I haven’t. Charles’s mother never let me go beyond the living room or the dining room. She never wanted me to feel like I belonged or was part of the family. I step inside the room. It is bathed in soft evening light slanting in through towering windows. A brand new black grand piano gleams in the almost empty room. The walls still bear the marks of all the paintings that once hung on them. But there is one painting that has recently been mounted over the fireplace. A life-size painting that stops me in my tracks. It can’t be. I gasp in disbelief.

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