Page 9 of Midnights
Rachel and I also happened to buy tickets to a masquerade ball at a castle. She found them online one day, and honestly, she had me atball.
Now, it’s the main event of our trip.
We arrived last night, grabbed a bite to eat, and came straight to our place. Since then, we’ve been sleeping off the jetlag.
Our little cottage isn’t a castle by any means, but it’s cozy, and I can almost picture some brooding aristocrat who once lived here, pacing the halls, whiskey in hand, waiting for a long-lost lover to return.
At least, that’s the story I’m sticking with.
The cottage has two bedrooms that are each decorated to match exactly what you’d imagine a Scottish hideaway to look like. It’s rugged, yet modern. Minimalist, yet somehow still edgy. The room I’m in is straight out of a gothic fairytale. It’s dark, dramatic, and ridiculously luxurious.
The walls are a deep, stormy charcoal, shifting in the light like rolling clouds. There's black crown molding that frames the ceiling and it's the kind of detail you don’t see anymore, but it’s stunning.
The furniture is sleek and most of it is black and modern, softened by dim lighting. There's also a massive fireplace that sits along one wall, with a carved stone mantel wrapped in twisting ivy patterns.
The artwork scattered across the walls are haunting figures frozen in time. The scenes tell stories I’d love to know. One painting in particular catches my eye, there's a woman standing on the edge of a stormy cliff as the wind rips through her dark hair and gown, looking off into the distance.
Then there are the deer heads, watching over the space. It should feel creepy, but somehow, it just… fits. Dark aristocratic manor vibes, fully intact.
And this bed?
I sink deeper into the four-poster king bed, which probably isn’t even a king. It’s obnoxiously oversized, draped in sheets that feel like they belong to an actual goddess. I’m certain they have no less than a three-million thread count.
I reach blindly for my phone on the black marble nightstand, feeling the weight of exhaustion settle in my bones.
Two things hit me at once. One, I didnotdo this place proper justice when we got here. I should’ve been examining every inch, not passing out the second my head hit the pillow.
And two, I have absolutely no idea what time it is.
I hate jet lag.
It's like your period showing up unannounced. You're relieved you’re not pregnant, but exhausted and completely useless to the world.
“Finally, you’re awake!” Rachel practically yells, bouncing like a caffeinated toddler, while I nearly roll off the side of the giant mattress.
I groan, then turn and attempt to shove her off the bed. Only to realize she’s too far away.
This bed ishuge.
I pause, staring at the ridiculous expanse of pillows and silk sheets.
Wait. Do beds this size even exist in the U.S.? Whatever it is, I need it in my life. Immediately.
“Oh my God, why are we yelling?” I groan again, dragging the blanket over my head.
“There’snowayyou’ve been awake for hours,” I mumble. “If that were the case, we wouldn’t still be in bed, and you would’ve woken me up ages ago.”
I yawn, poking my head out from under the blankets, already regretting it.
“Who knows. I'm just relieved you’re finally awake.” She dramatically clutches her stomach. “I was about to die of starvation. Oh, and by the way, I’d like you to know that I like your room better than mine.”
I open my mouth to respond, but she throws up a hand, stopping me mid-breath.
“Before you ask,nothing’swrong with it. It's gorgeous. I mean, obviously, we have taste.” She flips her hair, which only makes me want to laugh even more. “But it's justwaytoo far away from your room, and honestly it's spooky as hell. First night in a foreign country? Alone? No thanks.”
I snort because I already know where this is going.
She crosses her arms like she’s preparing for a fight. “Look, I don’t want to be in my room alone. And who knows if somePeeping Tomcould be lurking outside my window. You’d be all the way over here, fast asleep, totally unaware that I was getting kidnapped.”
