Page 81 of Unraveling Charlotte

“Yeah, that woman. She wanted your attention so badly. I swear, anytime we were at the club, she’d dry hump your leg,” Dante mutters, sprinkling a few choice curses under his breath. “None of us wanted anything to do with her.”

I turn in my seat and arch an eyebrow at Desmond. For the first time since I met him, he’s at a loss for words. Siblings have a way of rendering each other speechless, and once again, it’s a sight to behold.

“Just drive, Dante,” Desmond instructs, raising my hand to his lips and gently kissing my palm.

“Ah, she’s already lost to you.” Dante sighs wistfully. “Lyric claimed her too. What a shame. I had such high hopes that your best friend would come around—to me, of course.”

My eyes nearly pop out of my head at Dante’s words, and my mouth falls open. This time, Desmond chuckles, and his dark eyes gleam with lust. “Did you think I wouldn’t know about him chasing you in the woods?”

“Hot as hell,” Dante adds with a smirk.

Embarrassment washes over me, and I stutter, “No.”

“No one would let me watch.” Dante pouts. “But Dessi here watched.”

My relief is short-lived as I turn to Desmond for confirmation. “You watched?” I whisper.

“Yes, does that bother you?” he asks.

“I…I don’t know.” I relax back in my seat, staring out the window as I attempt to process my emotions. Does it bother me? I would probably feel more bothered if Dante had watched, but with Desmond, a thrill races through me. I have many questions, but I don’t want to discuss them in front of an audience.

Dante turns onto a road not far from where I ran that day, taking us deep into the forest and up a gated lane. Wrought iron gates part as if welcoming us home, and tree branches brush against the car as Dante drives, as if he’s being chased, but then the trees part, revealing a massive mansion.

“Welcome home,” Dante murmurs.

It’s not at all what I expected. An L-shaped mansion rises almost organically from the earth, adorned with gothic Victorian spires. The various peaks clearly designate different parts of the house. Moss and ivy crawl along the dark gray slats, and the trees loom so close that it appears like they built the mansion to hide among the forest.

It reminds me of a Victorian tree house, if such a thing exists—a structure that has risen from the earth, constructed of stone and foliage.

“Oh.” The word slips from my lips as I stare at the beautiful home.

“Yeah, she’s quite something,” Dante remarks as he guides the car to the back, where the driveway slopes down to an underground parking garage. Darkness envelops us, sending a shiver of foreboding down my spine.

“Our mother wanted a home that no one could see until they were right upon it,” Desmond explains, drawing my attention back to him. “She had this home built a few years after she settled here.”

“It’s beautiful, almost fantastical,” I say playfully.

As Dante parks the car, lights flicker on, revealing a garage that resembles a public space filled with cars and parking spaces. However, I notice something peculiar.

“Yes,” Desmond acknowledges my unspoken question as I exit the car. “They are labeled,” he says sourly.

Dante climbs out of the car, laughing. “Our mama got so fed up with us arguing about the best parking spot that she came down here herself and painted our names on the spots to stop our quarreling.”

In the dim light of the garage, I get a better look at Desmond’s youngest brother. He appears slimmer than Desmond and has a playful air about him. He stretches and yawns as though we’re interrupting his nap time.

I avert my gaze and take in the large garage space. There are various types of cars, from beaters to one that looks like an Impala and even a brand-new Porsche. They vary in their states of use, indicating that some are better maintained than others.

“Charlotte,” Desmond says, reaching for my hand. There’s a seriousness in his tone that dispels the earlier banter and amusement.

“Serious face on,” Dante advises as he strides ahead, his steps brisk.

I slip my hand into Desmond’s, feeling a flurry of nerves fluttering in my stomach. Swallowing hard, I let him lead me across the space to a set of doors.

“So taking me home on the first date?” I tease, but my attempt falls flat.

“It’s a test,” Dante remarks, holding the door open for us. As Desmond passes by, he playfully slaps his brother on the back of the head. “What the hell was that for?”

“It’s not a test,” Desmond states, although his eyes don’t quite meet mine.

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