Page 2 of Tangled Rose

Chapter 2

Knowing I can’t wait any longer without feeling like a real weirdo, I open the door, gather my wits about me, and step out onto the driveway. The driver, who’d introduced himself as Jameson when he’d picked me up (and I have no clue if it’s his first name or his last), has lifted my banged up roller bag out of the trunk already. I look between my bag and the fancy-as-hell house in front of me. Shit. This is embarrassing. I didn’t have any other choice, though. It’s the sole piece of luggage my mother and I own. There’s never been money for travel, so we’ve never had to worry about it.

Jameson and I reach for my duffel bag at the same time.

“Excuse me, miss. I can get that for you.”

My eyes go wide when he calls me miss, and I almost burst into laughter. Managing to control myself, I murmur, “Oh, okay. I’ll get my backpack, though. Thank you.”

I hike my bag over my shoulder and let him lead the way up to the front door, where the woman waits for me, her head cocked to the side like she’s confused.

They’d sent Jameson for me, so they had to have been expecting me. I have no fucking clue what the problem could be. At the bottom of the steps, he stops, glancing back at me.

I smile cautiously and give her a little wave. “Hello. I’m Lyla Taylor.”

“I’m Greta, one of the housekeepers. Mr. and Mrs. Danbrook are waiting for you inside.”

My eyes bug out when she says, “one of the housekeepers.” One of. As in, there are more. Holy crap. What family of four needs multiple housekeepers?

A significant crease has formed right down the middle of her forehead. “Did you say your name is Lyla?”

I nod, chewing on the inside of my mouth as my gaze holds hers.

“Well, this ought to be interesting.” She presses her lips together. “Right this way, Lyla.” She gestures that I should follow her into the house.

My heart thunders hard in my chest. What the fuck is going on? Jameson nods once, indicating I should go ahead. On unsteady legs, I climb the front steps and head cautiously through the open doorway, my eyes taking in the biggest foyer I’ve ever seen. In fact, the entire trailer my mom and I lived in my whole life would fit neatly in this area. Swallowing hard, I force myself to pick up my pace. Shit. I cannot let these people know where I come from.

“Right this way. They’re back here in the living room.”

We walk down a long hallway to the back of the house. I’m stunned into silence by the huge room; there’s a fire crackling in the fireplace at one end, windows span the length of the room, facing out to the back patio. It’s getting dark, so it’s hard to tell, but I’m certain there’s a pool back there. Holy luxury, Batman. My eyes do another sweep of the living area. Several cozy-looking couches and chairs are scattered about the room and two people, who I assume must be my hosts, are looking at me in bemused shock.

Mrs. Danbrook is wearing expensive-looking leisure wear and diamonds sparkle in her ears, at her neck, and on her ring finger. She’s got perfectly styled wavy blonde hair and carries an air of sophistication that comes with confidence and money.

Mr. Danbrook, on the other hand, is a beast of a man—about six foot two and built like a tank. I’d read that he was a defensive end and knew he’d be big from what I’d seen in photos, but seeing his size in person is still impressive. He’s dressed in track pants and a Henley that just barely fits across his broad chest and strains at the biceps.

As I focus on them again, their confused expressions continue to throw me off and make me feel uncomfortable.

Greta shoots them a tight smile and says, “Mr. and Mrs. Danbrook, this is Lyla Taylor.”

Mr. Danbrook’s mouth gapes for a moment before he closes it. He clears his throat as he stands.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Danbrook has raised one hand to cover her mouth. “Oh. Oh no.” The pair glance at each other. She gets up too, and they both come toward me, each with a hand outstretched.

Gah.Why the oh no? And I hate shaking hands. My palms are constantly covered in calluses from bars practice. Sucking it up, I extend my hand, quickly shaking each.

Mr. Danbrook glances again at his wife before smiling calmly at me. “I’m Mike and this is Carissa. And you aren’t quite who we were expecting.”

My brows raise at his comment, and unease tickles at my spine. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You’re not a boy. You were supposed to be Lyle. That’s why we picked you. We heard from the headmaster via Rosehaven’s PTA that the scholarship dorm is full, and they needed a few host families for athletes arriving for the upcoming sports season. We happen to have two sons, so we figured a third boy would be easy to accommodate.” Mrs. Danbrook grits her teeth, giving me an apologetic smile. “Except it’s quite clear you aren’t the young man we’d expected. There must have been an unfortunate typo on the information we received.”

“Oh.” The blood drains from my face as I wonder if she means I can’t stay here. Oh my God.Please don’t make me leave. My particular scholarship covered the cost of my schooling, room, and board. They’d told Simon at the last minute about the situation with housing, but he assured me all would be well, that I had a place with a family that had agreed to take me in. I hope I don’t have to find another place to live. I can’t afford to rent a pillow, let alone an apartment.

To her credit, Mrs. Danbrook sees my distress immediately. “Oh! Don’t worry. It’s okay, honey, you can stay. But I’m going to need to move your room, I think. Maybe not. I don’t know.” She looks at her husband, visibly flustered.

He shrugs. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. You put her in the last room near the boys, I take it?”

“Yes.” She inhales a deep breath and presses her fingertips to her temple.

Wetting my lip with my tongue, I hold up my hands. “Mrs. Danbrook, I’m fine wherever. Promise. I’m here so I can move on to college athletics. My coach said this would be a great opportunity for me to get seen. I intend to work hard to make that happen.”

“Please, call us Mike and Carissa. And you sound like a very motivated young lady. I appreciate that. We’ll make this work.” Mike gives a brief nod. “Why don’t you show her the room, and then we’ll introduce her to the boys. Maybe they can give her a tour a little later.” He puts his hand on his wife’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’ll be in my office if you need me. Dinner’s at seven?”

She nods, and, accepting we’re moving forward with this, she smiles. “This way.”

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