stand in front of the dark, ominous house. What I own fits in two suitcases, a duffle bag, and a backpack. All of it is slumped in a shabby pile behind me as I try to process what I’m seeing.
I check the address again.
Yep, there’s no mistaking it. This is the place. The very same house that sent a shiver down my spine on my walk from Brooklyn Brewed is the house that I’ve agreed to move into.
I’m pretty sure that somewhere, fate is belly laughing at me.
Jagger has been delayed. He promised to be with me on moving day, but Executive Privilege has extended his stay abroad. I have no idea what country he’s in, let alone when to expect him back.
For the first few days, I’m in this all alone.
I take a deep breath and let my lungs fill until they ache. It’s just a house. There’s nothing to be afraid of. The image of the house I have in my mind from that morning walk doesn’t match what I see now, anyway. The house is still dreary and dull, but it looks kept. The lawn is freshly mowed and lush. The gardens are weeded and planted. The job looks professional. The porch is a little crooked and old, but it gleams like it’s new.
Jagger doesn’t strike me as the kind of man who enjoys fixer-upper projects, but I can’t deny what’s in front of me. This house is his.
Ours, I think to myself in wonder. I look around as a chill in my spine makes me shiver.
This house is ours. I remind myself. This is a really good thing. Even if I’m here on my own and I have no-one I can share the moment with.
The sooner I can get used to it, the better.
I drag my suitcases up the driveway and pull them up the steps. The wheels clack on each of the stairs, embarrassingly loud. The key is beneath the potted tree by the front door, so I drag the pot aside and retrieve it. It fits in the lock smoothly and twists. The door swings open.
I’m stunned.
From the outside, the house is a nightmare, but inside it’s a dream. The wood floors shine like they’re new. The floor is dark, but the bright white walls and the skylight bathe keep the hallway in bright light. Everything is polished until it shines. Paintings, bright and pastoral, lend the hallway color. It’s like a different house and I’m blown away.
I tug my suitcases through the door and leave them just inside. I don’t want to scuff the floor. The inside of this house is beyond belief, and I’d hate to ruin it on my first day.
Doors line the hall, four on each side. Each one is closed. At the end of the hall, a grand stairway leads up to the second floor. I know that ultimately I’ll head upstairs, but for now, I want to explore the lower floor. I try the first door but it’s locked.
My brows furrow. Locked? Maybe the door is just jammed. I turn the knob again and rattle the door a little bit, but it quickly becomes clear to me that I am not mistaken. The door is locked.
Weird. I frown at the door. Maybe it’s a storage closet.
I try the next door and discover the same thing.
In fact, every door along the downstairs hall is locked. Suddenly, the beautiful, welcoming house feels disturbing. I don’t understand why the downstairs is closed off. The house is big enough that there has to be tons of room beyond these doors, but I’m unable to see any of it.
What gives?
I bite down on my lip anxiously, but decide it’s not worth my time to worry. It’s probably just an oversight. Jagger said he would be here to meet me, after all. Once he arrives, I’m sure he’ll unlock the doors and laugh it off.
I head to the staircase instead.
The staircase is beautiful. I stand before the bottom step and run my hand along the railing. It’s made of the same dark wood as the floor, and it’s been sanded smooth and shaped so there are no hard corners. The treads of each stair are done in dark, polished wood that matches the floor, but the risers are crisp white. So are the balusters on the railing. The effect is stunning, and I almost feel like I’m in a painting.
It’s like a dream. A real life palace.
My expression lightens. This place will turn my everyday life into a work of art.
With my hand on the railing, I climb the stairs to the second floor.
The hall stretches to the left and right. It also encircles the staircase and leads to a sitting area that’s over the main hallway. Light pours into the upstairs from broad windows, all of them sparkling. I don’t see a hint of dust or a cobweb. The house doesn’t even smell musty—all the scent I can pick up on is of fresh laundry and a hint of rose.
I turn to the left. Like the downstairs hall, all the doors here are closed. Unlike the downstairs hall, not all of them are locked. At the end of the hallway I discover a suite. It has to span the entire side of the house. The door opens into a living room, fresh and modern. A huge flat screen television is suspended on the wall. Luxurious leather couches are positioned artfully in front of it, and there’s a desk set in the corner that makes my heart wish I had a use for it.
Beyond the living room is a kitchenette. Or is it more an open concept kitchen? I approach the long marble counter that divides the living room from the kitchen. There’s a stove and a fridge. Inside, the fridge is full. The cabinet doors are all recent. Pots and pans hang over a central island. I spot crystal wineglasses in a stand-alone cabinet, and expect to find good china to go along with them. I would bet money that there is proper silverware in the stand-alone cabinet’s drawers.
The kitchen dazzles.
But it’s the bedroom, nestled at the far end of the suite that makes me catch my breath.
The king sized bed is the most gorgeous thing I’ve ever seen. It rests on a dark wood canopy frame, four rectangular pillars rising up from each corner. The pillars are carved like Grecian columns. From the top of each, spilling down, are green, leafy plants. The canopy isn’t a canopy at all, not in the traditional sense. Flowering vines are woven above the bed, a living canvas.
I’m breathless. I’ve never seen anything so gorgeous in my life.
No matter how unsettling the downstairs part of the house was, this suite has stolen my heart. I’m at ease. And as I take my suitcases up the stairs one by one, careful not to scuff anything, I start to feel at home.
What will it be like when Jagger moves in with me and we share this place together? I brim with excitement at the thought. All this time I’d been afraid to take a chance, but in the end, taking a chance led me straight to happiness. Jagger’s story holds true.
The closed off parts of the house intrude into my thoughts. My lips press together. I can’t decide whether I’m more comfortable in the room with the door open, or closed. I try to chase the unsettling thoughts away.
“Good morning, Alexa.” Jagger’s voice is what I’ve been dying to hear, and it comes through the tiny speaker of my phone and whisks me away with delight. “Did you sleep well?”
It’s nine in the morning. I slept through the night in the strange old house without a care in the world. I’m at peace here.
“I did,” I tell him.
“I’m glad.” Wherever he is, it’s quiet. I hear his voice without background noise or static. It’s like he’s in the room with me. “What do you think of the house?”
“It’s gorgeous,” I respond automatically. “I can’t believe you’d own a place like this but still want to live in your condo.”
“I’m glad you like it.” He sounds thoughtful. “All of it’s for you.”
The admission chases a smile onto my face. I curl up beneath the Egyptian cotton sheets and hold the phone to my ear. “All of it? What about the locked doors?”
“Those doors are locked for a reason,” Jagger tells me. “You’re not to go inside any of them.”
“Well, it’s not like I can, anyway. I’m not a master thief, you know. I can’t pick a lock.”
“As well you shouldn’t.”
With the soft sheets wrapped around me, I roll onto my back so my head is cushioned from behind by one of the bed’s plush pillows. “Where are you right now?” I ask Jagger.
“Far, far away,” he laments. “But you know I’m always there with you, don’t you? You remember?”
My cheeks heat. Oh, I remember very well. “I do.”
“Then why don’t we pretend like I’m there with you again?” Jagger asks. “Are you ready to hear more of the story?”
“Yes.” It’s all I’ve been craving. “I want to know how it ends.”
“The story never ends, Alexa.” The words inspire something inside of me, a kind of eagerness, thinking of our future as unlimited. “Not unless you want it to.”
“Following the party, the king waits, and waits, but the third prince isn’t as hasty as his brothers had been, and he does not approach the king. The king finds this behavior curious, and so he sets aside his royal duties to check in on the prince one day.
“‘Perhaps,’ the king says to himself as he makes his way to the prince’s room, ‘the prince has changed his mind about my daughter after what has happened to his brothers.’”
Not all of Jagger’s stories have been romances no matter how hard he tries to convince me otherwise, and I’m starting to think this story won’t have a happy ending, either. “Does he find the prince?” I ask.
“Patience, Alexa,” Jagger reminds me. “Wait for the story to come to you.”
“It’s difficult to wait when you cut the story short so often.”
“You’ll simply have to trust me.” I can hear Jagger’s grin in his words.
I resign myself to silence and listen. The story resumes.
“The king doesn’t find the prince in his room. That troubles him, and doubt begins to cloud his mind, so he goes to check his daughter’s room. Heart pounding in his chest, he slowly opens his daughter’s door, expecting to find the prince in his daughter’s bed. Instead, he finds the room empty.”
“They’ve run away with each other,” I gasp. I didn’t think the story would go like this.
“Do you want to finish the story for me?” Jagger asks flatly.
“I don’t know. Are you actually going to finish it?”
He doesn’t deign to give me an answer. Instead, he pushes onward with the tale.
“The king is relieved not to find the prince robbing the princess of her purity, but he is concerned that they are missing. He crosses through the palace, searching all the most likely places. They’re not in the ballroom, they’re not in the dining halls, and they’re not in the library. But in the library, the king beholds a most curious sight.
“From the window, he has a clear view of the palace’s interior courtyard, and there, amongst the flowers, he spots the third young prince with the king’s youngest daughter. They’re seated together in the sun. The prince is talking and making grand gestures with his hands, and the princess is giggling uncontrollably.
The king watches for a while, studying the joy on his daughter’s face and the light in the prince’s eyes, until at last he is satisfied. He leaves the library and returns to his post. There’s work to be done in the kingdom, after all, and the king is a patient man. Now that he understands what’s going on with his daughter, he will wait.”
I stretch my legs, going so far as to fan my toes. The sheets are cool and comfortable against my body, and I move my legs slowly to try to increase that feeling. “What does the king understand?” I ask.
“He understands that the prince will be coming to see him in time,” Jagger explains. “He won’t rush a single thing. What happens is meant to happen. The king is wise enough to know that.”
I’m still not sure I understand, but the wholesomeness of the scene puts me at ease. After the betrayal of the first two princes and their fate, I’m starting to feel a little better about where this story is headed.
“So the king resumes his duties. He bides his time and as each day passes, he grows more confident that soon will come the day he puts the final prince to the test.”
There’s something wrong with that. I frown. “But I thought the king was happy with what he saw in the courtyard?”
“He is happy,” Jagger says. “But happiness is only the base coat, it doesn’t paint a whole picture.”
“Then what else do you need?” I ask.
Jagger chuckles. “Always so impatient, Alexa. Will you ever learn to hold on and wait for the story to unfold?”
“Will you ever learn to tell a complete story?” I ask, teasing.
“My stories are always as long as they need to be.” There is a note of finality in Jagger’s voice. “And today’s story is exactly as long as it needs to be. The rest will come later, when the time is right.”
“And when will that be?”
“The day you learn to be patient,” he scolds me.
My cheeks burn red, but before I can fire back a reply, Jagger ends the conversation. “I need to go. I’ll call again soon. Goodbye, Alexa.”
“Jagger, I—”
The call ends. I’m left flustered.
All I want is for him to come home. If he’s trying to teach me patience, he has a long, long way to go.
I get up and close the door to the room. then I can’t settle, knowing that I can’t hear outside the room.