Page 27 of Scars Like Wings
“Hey! That’srichcoming from Little Miss Guncle Paid For My Schooling.”
In a quarter of a mile, the destination will be on your right.
“I’m getting kinda nervous, y’all.” Simone leaned on the middle console.
“I feel you. How many people do you think will be at this thing?” I asked.
“Cole said it was supposed to be small. His cousin doesn’t like crowds.”
“What do we know about Cole’s family? Anyone hot?” Maisie asked, turning to look at Simone.
Simone chuckled. “Cole is a triplet, and he has a younger sister. He also has an older cousin who he sees as their oldest sister. They are all less than two years apart, so they are pretty close.”
“I do love to have options.”
“You are the stereotype about pansexuals that the community is trying to break.” I shook my head.
“I am a polyamorous pansexual who has a list of kinks a mile long. Honestly, I’m the icon everyone should strive to emulate.”
“You are definitely something else,” I snorted.
The destination is on your right.
I slowed the car before an open, tall-as-fuck wrought-iron gate. The spiked, matching fencing seemed to stretch for miles in either direction. I turned onto the paved road surrounded by woodland. It was like I was driving into a forest.
We rode in silent awe for a good minute. I couldn’t remember when Maisie had paused the music, but I was grateful. There was something about arriving that called for quiet, like we needed to pay reverence and get our thoughts together before everything began.
After a couple of miles of driving, the mansion finally came into view. It washuge. It was what you would typically think of. There were no columns in front, and it looked nothing like your typical colonial-style mansion. No, this one was a spectacular Cape Cod-inspired estate, like a normal house stretched out and expanded. It had many large windows and a facade that was striking in its size and normalcy. It was like someone wanted to be luxurious but didn’t want to lose their roots in showcasing that.
“Holyfuck,” Maisie and I said at the same time.
“I told you that they wereloaded!” Simone said, but I could hear the wonder in her voice, too.
“This fuckingestatehas to be one of the largest homes in Georgia,” I said.
“Actually, this is not evencloseto the biggest house. That belongs to Mister Rick Ross and has one-hundred-and-nine rooms with twelve bedrooms. This one only has eight bedrooms.”
“Only,she says.” Maisie hit my shoulder with the back of her hand.
I shook my head. “Tell me you grew up hella privileged without telling me you grew up hella privileged.”
“Says Miss Middle Class! Your house had, what? Four bedrooms and several acres of forest in the back?” Simone teased.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t acastle.”
“And it didn’t come withbutlersandmaidsandchefsat our beck and call,” Maisie added for me.
“Touché,” Simone shrugged.
We reached the front of the house, and I turned into the circular driveway. There was a line of cars, each worth at least two years of my salary—and my director overpaid me to the tune of six figures, as is. My blue Toyota 4Runner, while practical and adorable, immediately stood out behind them.
I had just pulled behind afuckingAston Martin and hadn’t even put my car in park when a thin youngish man with a clipboard came running up to my window. I rolled down my window, and he gave me a polite smile. “Hello! What is the name on the invite list?”
“Should be under Simone Thalassa,” I answered.
He barely glanced at the list before finding Simone’s name on the first page and checking it off. “You and your friends are some of our guests of honor, as requested by Mr. Collier. You can drive up to the front and leave the keys in the ignition. I will be happy to park your car for you.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Oh, okay!”