Page 78 of Evil Queen

But I had a new plan in mind now. Something that was going to take the house of horror and turn it into a place of warmth and love. There were people in my life who meant the world to me, and I wanted the main house to be a tribute to that fact. So I stepped up to the front door, ignoring the shake of my hands as I set the key in the lock, and finally stepped through the door for the first time in over six months.

It was dusty and dank inside, which was to be expected. The overwhelming smell of cleaning products still dominated the space, likely because with no windows or doors opened, the ones that had been used to clean the carpet after my mother’s murder hadn’t had a chance to properly ventilate. It was weird, almost like I’d expected the place to have changed somehow, but the living room was still pristine and untouched—a place I was never allowed to go as a kid. The kitchen still had pans stacked on the oven, likely prepared for a new day’s meal before I fired the chef.

I spent about thirty minutes walking around the house. When it was my home, before my parents had my own house built on the land, there were several rooms that I was never allowed into. One was my parents’ plush, well-appointed bedroom on the third floor, complete with a gaudy four-poster bed. Another was my dad’s office, with its stacks of papers and the only thing he ever truly loved—his work.

Then there was my mom’s studio.

A lot of my memory of my childhood was filled with her disappearing into the room for hours on end, doing god knew what. I always thought that she was doing something untoward inside, but when I walked in, I was presented with some of the most beautiful paintings I’d ever seen. There was even a painting that looked like she was trying to paint me from memory, but it looked much more beautiful than I felt like I looked. I loved my mom a lot, but thanks to my dad’s oppressive reign over me, we were not allowed to bond the way any mother and son should. People thought she was evil, but she was just another of Connor Loche’s victims, hanging on by a thread.

As I looked over the collection of stunning pieces, tears slowly started to slide down my cheeks. Everyone kept telling me that it was strange that I hadn’t seemed to have mourned my mother, but the feelings never really hit me. It didn’t feel like she died, more like she’d gone on vacation, and she’d come home one day.

She wasn’t coming home.

For all her talent, the only mark she left on the world was the nasty reputation she earned as an extension of my father. She didn’t deserve that. Over the course of the next hour or so, I collected all of the paintings in the studio. She had a closet in the back of the studio with hundreds of paintings in it, all various paintings of landscapes, people, and close-ups of objects. There was enough to fill an entire gallery, which was what they’d do.

I kept the painting of myself. It felt a little too narcissistic to hang it up anywhere, but if my mom saw me in that beautiful light, I couldn’t just sell it or give it away. I selected an additional ten or so paintings to hang around the house, and the rest I stacked to be wrapped. I’d commission a gallery somewhere and get my mom the notoriety she deserved, even if even post-mortem.

Wiping my eyes and wishing that I hadkept Nikita with me, I finished my tour of the house, taking stock of all the rooms. Then I went back down to the living room to lay out my plans. I could never sleep in my parents’ bedroom, but that was fine because we’d mostly be staying in my house behind the main house. That room would be turned into a club room, which would work fine since it had an attached sitting room, and the massive walk-in closet could be turned into a room for drinks and snacks.

My dad’s office space would be turned into a utility office with multiple desks and computers, and my mom’s studio would remain there as a homage to her incredible skill. My old room would be modernized and made comfortable for Nikita and me when we wanted to be in the main house with our friends instead of at our house. I earmarked four of the guest bedrooms for my friends. One for Jaxon and Colette, one for Avery and Alistair, and so as not to make too many assumptions, Brayden and Kyle each got their own room.

There were still extra guest rooms, so I’d be sure to make sure each one of them was equipped to take additional people if any of the couples split and needed an additional room, or for when Brayden expanded The Royal Court in his senior year. Mostly, this house was for my friends and me, but if Brayden surprised me with his choices, and I had a feeling he would, there would be extra space for visitors.

I set aside a room for Sicily, as well, and chuckled to myself as I imagined asking him to legitimately join The Royal Court. We were probably beyond titles, but if I were to give him one, what would he be? The baron? Baron Sicily? I planned to put some sort of placard to the extent in the bedroom as a joke.

I went down to the room that had been Deon’s for the year that he was there. It hadn’t been touched since he left it, which I always found odd. Learning that my father had made Deon an officer at his company suggested that he was hopeful that Deon would come back at some point. He aided me so much in my vengeance against Deon that I wasn’t dumb enough to think it was out of love, but his master plan was still unclear to me. That room would be updated for Cherri and Deon to occupy—hopefully, together.

It was well after midnight by the time I was done. I’d ordered food and decorations for the graduation party and would have to come back in to set everything up the day of, but that was after the walls were all painted, the new furniture was moved in, and the carpets were pulled up. I’d always been a natural wood floor kind of guy.

As I locked the door behind me as I left, the feeling in my gut was much different than the one I walked in with. It was anticipation and excitement. I was excited to offer my friends a place to stay, a place where they could be comfortable and, more importantly, where we could all be together. Alistair and Avery wouldn’t be there a lot of the time since they’d be in New Haven, but they could come home for holidays and have a nice, relaxing place to stay.

That’s when it hit me.

I felt like I’d done so much for everyone else, but Alistair was still the one person that eluded me. Avery said that he got a job in New Haven, but they hadn’t mentioned a place to live yet. Neither of them was short of cash, and they probably planned to take care of housing when they got there, but I had a better idea in mind.

I called my family’s accountant, wincing as I heard the sleep in his voice and remembered what time it was. “Shit, Lindsey, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, Nathan,” he replied. “What’s up?”

“Well, you can do it in the morning, but I’m hoping you can look into nice apartments in New Haven, Connecticut.”

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