Expensive - Amy Bellows Page 0,39
right to hold him like this.
“I should bring you into the house,” he says, his breath tickling my chest where my button-up shirt is only half-fastened. I wanted to show off a little for my boy.
“We have time. So far, Marjorie’s trunk seems pretty nice.”
“What is that?” He points to the bag where I’d stashed all his toys. The blue wings of the stuffed dragon are poking out of the top.
“Oh, that’s a little something I got for you.”
He looks up at me with a shy smile. “You bought something for me?”
I kiss his forehead. “Yes. I couldn’t help myself. Now go on and show me this bedroom of yours. I want to see where you were jerking yourself off last night.”
Our text conversation the previous night may have gotten a little sexual. He needed some relief, and I was more than happy to provide it.
Andrew jumps down, and I grab my bags to follow him into a large garage where dozens of sports cars are parked.
“This is where Edward kept his cars. Obviously. I’m not really sure what to do with them. I’m assuming that some of them will go down in value at some point, and I don’t need them, but… I don’t know.”
I wonder if Andrew’s father is aware there’s well over a million dollars’ worth of cars in this garage.
“Do you ever drive?”
Andrew shakes his head. “I prefer to fly or have someone else drive.”
In the midst of all the drama and emotion, I forgot Andrew could fly.
“Will you take me sometime?” I ask. “Into the air?”
He smiles. “I’d love to.”
The garage opens to a large mudroom where all the curtains are drawn. At the center of the room is a rack with five different canes for a man who’s been dead for almost five years. There’s also a ramp up to a large room with no fewer than five couches and an enormous painting of a bright blue dragon. Unlike the dragon tattooed on my back, this dragon stares into the room with big piercing eyes that seem to bore right into me. It’s so disturbing it must be magical in some way.
What kind of person commissions a painting like that, then puts it up in their living room?
“The painting is called ‘The Power of Ice,’ but I like to refer to him as Gerald,” Andrew tells me. “I’m not allowed to take him down, which is too bad. This room would be a lovely place to read.”
Who said he couldn’t take the painting down? The Monroes? The servants? I hate the idea that Andrew has no control over his own living space.
He leads me down a long hallway filled with similar paintings that scowl and glare from their places on the walls. It’s strange because the image of an ice dragon has always meant hope for me. An ice dragon was my savior in the pits, and the tattoo I got not long afterwards symbolizes my gratitude.
But these ice dragons don’t seem brave or kind like my savior.
At the end of the corridor, Andrew turns into a room that’s very different from anything I’ve seen so far. Instead of the harsh paintings and fancy engraved woodwork, it has light-blue walls and a white bed frame with a matching white desk and bookshelves along the right wall. A big window, now covered with curtains, extends over the bed.
Staying in a hotel room together had been far more impersonal. The reality of Andrew’s situation is much thicker here, in this bedroom that’s a stark contrast to a house almost teeming with animosity.
I was right to go see Manny. Andrew doesn’t belong here.
“You hate it,” Andrew says, sitting on the edge of the bed.
I close the door and walk across the room to kneel in front of him. “I love being with you, regardless of where we are. Do you want to see the surprises I have in this bag?”
He nods. I sit next to him on the bed and hand him the bag of toys. He takes it from me and pulls out the stuffed dragon. I guess I hoped he’d smile, but he doesn’t. He runs his fingers along the dragon’s fuzzy body, then hugs it to his chest, closing his eyes.
“What is it? It’s okay if you don’t like it.”
He sets the bag on the bed. “No, it’s just… you don’t have to do this.”
“Do what?”
He doesn’t say anything, he just leans into me. I wrap my arms around his body, wondering why the