Excerpt of The Engagement Party by Finley Turner

CHAPTER 4    

Although I’d mentally prepared myself for our arrival, the Sedgemont home was nothing like I’d expected.

            The most jarring fact was that it was not in fact a home, but an estate, just as the invitation had said. Not in simply the size of the sprawling building and its sweeping acres of land, but in the imposition of it. Murray’s family home was technically part of a gated country club community, but the mile-long driveway made it so far removed from their neighbors that it seemed to be in a county of its own.

            Honestly, I should have known the house would look like this as soon as the hired chauffeur waved us down at the airport. He’d ushered us into a shining black Mercedes, and after his initial greeting, he didn’t say a word.

            I’d been nervous already, but as soon as I saw the house, my anxiety tripled. I tried to slow my breathing, but my stomach gurgled and my mouth was dry. I was half tempted to ask the driver to turn around.

            “Don’t be nervous,” Murray whispered as he squeezed my hand.

            “Too late.” I tried to laugh but it sounded more like a whimper.

            “I promise they’re going to love you. This is probably the only time we’ll ever visit them here. And what’s the worst that could happen in one visit? We just have to get through the weekend.”

            He was right. Even if it went terribly wrong, Murray wasn’t close with his family anyway. Even if it all went up in flames, this trip would just be an embarrassing memory that we could one day laugh about.

            As if reading my mind, Murray said, “I hardly ever see them, so their opinion of us doesn’t matter either way.”

            Despite the car’s air-conditioning, nervous sweat trickled down the nape of my neck. The midday North Carolina heat was unbearable, and I swore it was penetrating the cracks of the car, seeping in through the slick, German metal. Our driver navigated the car through the shadowed drive, lined by thick-trunked trees with overbearing canopies.

            The trees broke and a circular courtyard came into view. The building rose above us as if challenging the trees, the ornamented towers and spires meeting in threatening points overhead. The gray stone was nearly black in the shadows of the trees, but as the wind shifted their branches, sunlight revealed that the stone was a light gray, punctuated by copper flashing along the roof that was greening with age. The home sprawled to each side so far in every direction that the closer we got to it, the less I could see, so I snapped a picture on my phone and turned my gaze back into the car.

            “Wow,” I muttered. The driver’s eyes met mine in the rearview mirror, and he glanced back, grinning at me.

            “I know. It’s a monstrosity.” Murray shifted uncomfortably, embarrassed by the magnitude of his childhood home.

            “It’s beautiful. My Prince Charming and his castle,” I teased, and he pretended to gag.

            Tires crunched over the pebbly gravel, and I couldn’t help but think of Downton Abbey. I held back a laugh as I pictured the Dowager Countess greeting us with a sly grin on her face, her cane digging into the gravel like a threat.

            Murray squeezed my knee. “Hey,” he whispered, drawing my attention away from the landscape and back into the car. “Just remember that we’re here to celebrate us. Nothing else really matters from here on out, okay?”

            It was a sweet sentiment, but it also had the undertones of a warning. I put my hand on top of his. “Okay, sweetie.”

            “Fuck what everyone else thinks. Just you and me.”

            He was staring straight at the house now, as if challenging it. I tried to focus on the sentiment, but it left me more worried than ever that his family wasn’t going to like me.

            Our driver pulled to a stop at the front door, climbing out of the car to help us with our bags. As we dug through the trunk, the expansive front door creaked open, and a man stepped out. He wore a dark gray suit and a dark green tie, his outfit mirroring the colors and shadows of the home he stood in front of. His hair was a stark white, and by the deep groove of wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, I guessed him to be in his mid- to late seventies.

            I plastered a smile on my face, even though nervousness made my cheek twitch with the effort. “Hi, I’m Kass.” I extended my hand to him after wiping it on my jeans, hoping he didn’t mind the slick sweat on my palms. “Kassandra,” I corrected. My shortened name somehow seemed too casual for such a grand home, and for a ridiculous moment I felt like I was trying to impress the building—to fit in.

            “Nice to meet you,” he said, gripping my hand. “There’s no need to bother with your bags.” He motioned to the bags that Murray was still struggling with, but Murray had his head lowered in concentration.

            “Mur?” I asked, wondering why he was ignoring the man I assumed to be his father. “Your dad wants to help with the bags.”

            The older man laughed, and Murray whipped around, his cheeks flushed red.

            “Silly dear, I’m not his father. I’m the butler,” the man said, still without giving me his name.

            Heat rose in my cheeks. I hadn’t even been here for five minutes, and I’d already embarrassed myself. But how was I supposed to know? Murray had mentioned that his family was well-off, but not so rich that they had a mansion and a butler, for Christ’s sake.