Dangerous Temptation (Dark Dream Duet #1)(20)

“A pleasure,” I murmured back, accepting his palm, noting the silky texture of the burns. “I’m sorry for Brandon’s rudeness, he didn’t mean anything by his question.”

“Of course.” He waved the issue away with one hand. “The sincerity of children is a good reminder to adults to be more honest.” He addressed Brando next, as if he were a grown man and not a boy. “I was in an accident ten years ago. My car crashed and caught fire while I was still inside. It left marks, as you can see.”

Brando stepped closer, peering up at Walcott curiously. “That’s really bad luck.”

A startled laugh. “I was drinking and driving, so it wasn’t a matter of luck but stupidity. My own fault. I was twenty and rather famous at the time.”

I frowned at him, trying to see if I recognized his face, but he caught me looking and laughed easily at my embarrassment.

“I hardly look the same, but I was once a male model,” he admitted, and if he could have blushed, I think he would have. “Vain and pretty.”

“Anca always says it’s better to be nice than pretty,” Brando parroted, reaching out to pat Walcott’s hand. “You seem pretty nice.”

Walcott’s smile was wide, pinching his waxy skin and bleaching it white. It could have been an ugly expression, but I found myself smiling back at the warmth in his dark eyes.

“Thank you, Mr. Belcante,” he said solemnly. “Now, let me show you to your rooms.”

He led us up the right side of the curving stairs, pointing out some of the notable paintings clustered on nearly every available wall.

“Eamon and Zelda McTiernan, Tiernan’s maternal grandparents, were rather fond of art,” he said drily as he indicated the long hall we entered filled with ornate frames. “There are rooms stuffed full of it.”

“What?” I asked, my chest tightening with excitement. “Has it been catalogued? Some of these are very rare.”

My fingers hovered over the gold frame of a Picasso painting wedged between a Franz Marc and an Andy Warhol print. I could feel my heart knock brutally against my ribs as we descended the dark hall of wonders.

The house itself might have been nightmarish, but this? This was a dream for a girl who loved art as much as I did.

“My sister loves paintings,” Brando was telling Walcott, looking up, up, up at the tall man, so he almost walked into a marble bust. The manservant adjusted his path with a hand on his shoulder, but Brando didn’t pause to stop talking. “She’s a big geek for it.”

“You’re a geek for Marvel comics and movies,” I reminded him, darting forward to squeeze his sides until he laughed and squealed.

“Superheroes are way better than stuffy dead guys who painted pictures of stuffy old things like flowers and things,” he protested, looking up at Walcott for affirmation.

It made my stomach hurt to see how much he yearned for male validation and influence.

“I am fond of the Hulk,” Walcott admitted with a wink.

“Really? But he’s big and ugly and mean!”

“Is he? I suppose I like the idea of being two different people. One on the inside and one for everyone else.”

“All superheroes are like that!”

“But the Hulk is the only one that seems mean and dumb yet still makes a positive impact on the world,” Walcott pointed out and I had a surreal moment of wondering how my life had come to this, philosophical discussions of superheroes in gothic mansions with an actual manservant.

“That’s fair,” Brando decided. “Anca, can we watch Hulk tonight before bed?”

“Sure, Brandy Boy.”

“You wanna join us?” he asked Walcott next.

The older man blinked, caught off guard as we stopped at a black door with a little plaque on it that read, “Mr. Brandon Belcante.”

It caught me off-guard to see such a permanent proclamation of our residency here. It made me realize some silly part of me had been clinging to the idea that this was only temporary. But this wasn’t a fairytale, it was real life, and there would be no prince charming to save us from the villain who had decided to take us into his haunted home. A shivered slithered down my spine.

“If you’d like,” Walcott finally decided, “I could make time to watch a movie.”

“Cool!” That settled, Brando bounced on his toes and indicated the door. “This is my room? It even has my name on it. That’s so cool.”

Without another word, Walcott opened the door to reveal the room within. It was large, too big for a little boy, and filled with old, heavy furniture that gleamed with care and wealth. Brando immediately ran to the four-poster bed and jumped on the thick, soft covers, rolling over the grey sheets and moaning at their softness.

“This room is bigger than our whole house,” he declared, going into a crunch to look at me from where he lay. “We just have to set up my comic book collection and get some superhero sheets and then it’ll be like…the best room ever.”

I grinned at him, moving over to ruffle his soft head of hair. “We can do that. Why don’t you read some comics in here while I go check out my room, okay? I’ll be back.”

He nodded, rolling over to pull off the little backpack he wore. When he pulled out the latest edition of Spiderman, Walcott and I were immediately forgotten.