thoughts.
My brows pull together as I notice my surroundings. Planks of age-darkened wood cover the walls and floor. A patch of moonlight shines through the roof, casting silver light across the aged floor. In the center of the small room is the trunk of a massive oak tree. I blink again.
“How hard did I hit my head?”
Translation: Where the fuck are we?
“Welcome to Casa Dei Diamanti,” Sean answers, laughing. He breathes in the night air lustily, mirth reaching his eyes for a brief moment before the sadness sucks it away again.
“Welcome to the demented house? Seriously?” My eyebrow shoots up inquisitively.
Sean shakes his head, his dark locks falling forward. When he looks up, he glances up at me from beneath those dark lashes, as if he were going to share some deep dark secret.
“You’re joking, right? Everyone has to take a second language in high school. You are an over-educated woman, Miss College Graduate. How do you not know what ‘diamanti’ means?”
Offended, I smile with feigned patience.
“Spill, Mr. Jones. Where am I? The Batcave? Did the tree lift your evil underground lair into the sky as it grew?”
He snort-laughs boyishly as if I tickled him in the perfect spot.
“Why does everyone say that? I wasn’t a dark child.” He drops his gaze and looks at his hands, his tone serious now. “That came later, much later.”
I know this place is right on top of a raw nerve for him, but I’m not sure why. I look around, hoping he’ll tell me more, but he’s silent. There’s a chest on the side of the room, right below a little window. There’s no sign of the escape hatch or hole in the floor, but there is a rickety rope ladder piled into the corner. I wonder how he got me up here. He must have carried me.
The ceiling is low and crumbling, cedar shakes tumbling through holes in the roof. In its heyday, the little fort must have been swicked. I feel almost sad to see it in such disrepair, vines and branches growing through it unchecked.
“So, we’re still by the mansion, then?” I ask, crawling over to the window. I test the floor carefully, pressing on each plank, worried I’ll fall through.
“It’s sturdy. You won't fall. And yes, we’re still by the house.” Sean scoots back and leans against the wall.
I glance over the sill and look out. All I can see is trees. Disappointed, I sit back down. The floor beneath me creaks under my weight, and I crab-crawl forward toward the tree.
“Are you sure this isn’t like Owl’s house? That sucker blew away with Piglet and Pooh in it.”
“Are you talking about a children’s book?” Sean blinks and grins.
“Winnie the Pooh was stuffed with fluff. I’m a little more, well, stuffed with bones that don’t want to shatter when this thing falls out of the sky.”
My heart is racing, unable to calm down. Sean smiles softly, taking my hand and pulling me toward him. I shake my head, refusing to move.
“Are you afraid of heights, Miss Smith?”
“Only when there isn’t a plane around me.”
“Seriously?” Amusement lights his face, his expression betraying his belief that this is a silly thing to fear.
“Tell me something," I say nodding and closing my eyes tightly. "Talk, or I’m going to flip out.”
He notices the way I’m shaking and comes to sit beside me. He places his hand on top of mine and gently squeezes it.
“We’re in my old tree house. Peter and I played up here as children. I had a tendency to find the tallest tree and climb it. My mother,” his voice catches in his throat, but he spits out the rest of the thought, “didn’t like it, but my father encouraged us to climb higher and go further. One day he took us back here and asked which tree I liked best. I picked this one. I showed him how high I could climb. The next time he walked us out this way, this tree house was two limbs higher than I'd climbed. When we were children, the man was always pushing us to go further, to climb higher, and to
My brows pull together as I notice my surroundings. Planks of age-darkened wood cover the walls and floor. A patch of moonlight shines through the roof, casting silver light across the aged floor. In the center of the small room is the trunk of a massive oak tree. I blink again.
“How hard did I hit my head?”
Translation: Where the fuck are we?
“Welcome to Casa Dei Diamanti,” Sean answers, laughing. He breathes in the night air lustily, mirth reaching his eyes for a brief moment before the sadness sucks it away again.
“Welcome to the demented house? Seriously?” My eyebrow shoots up inquisitively.
Sean shakes his head, his dark locks falling forward. When he looks up, he glances up at me from beneath those dark lashes, as if he were going to share some deep dark secret.
“You’re joking, right? Everyone has to take a second language in high school. You are an over-educated woman, Miss College Graduate. How do you not know what ‘diamanti’ means?”
Offended, I smile with feigned patience.
“Spill, Mr. Jones. Where am I? The Batcave? Did the tree lift your evil underground lair into the sky as it grew?”
He snort-laughs boyishly as if I tickled him in the perfect spot.
“Why does everyone say that? I wasn’t a dark child.” He drops his gaze and looks at his hands, his tone serious now. “That came later, much later.”
I know this place is right on top of a raw nerve for him, but I’m not sure why. I look around, hoping he’ll tell me more, but he’s silent. There’s a chest on the side of the room, right below a little window. There’s no sign of the escape hatch or hole in the floor, but there is a rickety rope ladder piled into the corner. I wonder how he got me up here. He must have carried me.
The ceiling is low and crumbling, cedar shakes tumbling through holes in the roof. In its heyday, the little fort must have been swicked. I feel almost sad to see it in such disrepair, vines and branches growing through it unchecked.
“So, we’re still by the mansion, then?” I ask, crawling over to the window. I test the floor carefully, pressing on each plank, worried I’ll fall through.
“It’s sturdy. You won't fall. And yes, we’re still by the house.” Sean scoots back and leans against the wall.
I glance over the sill and look out. All I can see is trees. Disappointed, I sit back down. The floor beneath me creaks under my weight, and I crab-crawl forward toward the tree.
“Are you sure this isn’t like Owl’s house? That sucker blew away with Piglet and Pooh in it.”
“Are you talking about a children’s book?” Sean blinks and grins.
“Winnie the Pooh was stuffed with fluff. I’m a little more, well, stuffed with bones that don’t want to shatter when this thing falls out of the sky.”
My heart is racing, unable to calm down. Sean smiles softly, taking my hand and pulling me toward him. I shake my head, refusing to move.
“Are you afraid of heights, Miss Smith?”
“Only when there isn’t a plane around me.”
“Seriously?” Amusement lights his face, his expression betraying his belief that this is a silly thing to fear.
“Tell me something," I say nodding and closing my eyes tightly. "Talk, or I’m going to flip out.”
He notices the way I’m shaking and comes to sit beside me. He places his hand on top of mine and gently squeezes it.
“We’re in my old tree house. Peter and I played up here as children. I had a tendency to find the tallest tree and climb it. My mother,” his voice catches in his throat, but he spits out the rest of the thought, “didn’t like it, but my father encouraged us to climb higher and go further. One day he took us back here and asked which tree I liked best. I picked this one. I showed him how high I could climb. The next time he walked us out this way, this tree house was two limbs higher than I'd climbed. When we were children, the man was always pushing us to go further, to climb higher, and to
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