Walking Heartthrob

Chapter 3 Queen of Hearts

"Oh, you're finally here!" Gwan's high-pitched chalky voice hit my ears. I winced. Note to self, don't talk like that and end up like her. "Your mother called a little while ago, asking if you'd arrived yet," Gwan continued. "Such worry warts they are." I frowned. Sure I was mad at them, but they were my parents. Gwan had no right to call them that. Especially when they were concerned for me.

Gwan came down a grand staircase as graceful as royalty. I took in her appearance—podgy arms, gray roots, a blondish-grey tight bun at the nape of her neck, pale skin, wrinkled features, thin lips, and dissatisfied eyes. Same as ever. Her icy blue irises scrutinized me with x-ray vision. Her nostrils flared and her eyes bulged out a little as she took in my 'I got swagger' outfit, a stark contrast with the porridge-colored skirt and jacket suit she was wearing.

"Good heavens child, what on earth are you wearing?!" she exclaimed on coming close. I resisted the urge to display disgust on my face. But at least I succeeded in horrifying her. Score for me.

"I'm American, Gwan. It's the latest threads. It's all the rage in Cali," I said. Gwan winced at my abbreviation—she loathed short forms. I remember her looking like she was about to faint when I explained what T.T.Y.L. and R.O.F.L. meant in texting two years ago.

"My, but you have grown! Such a beauty, just like your mother." What an exaggeration, at least in the first part. I haven't grown an inch in two years. But I'll tolerate that since she complimented me. She planted a kiss on each of my cheeks before she twirled me around.

"But those clothes are ghastly. We'll have to remedy them soon." Gwan walked on without giving me a chance to talk. Hmph! Remedy my clothes? No freakin' way.

"Bealey, take the bags up to her suite. And make sure there's tea and sandwiches in the parlor," Gwan instructed Bealey in a pompous voice.

"Yes, Lady Westrope," he said and bowed in obedience. I was surprised. Gwan was stuck up enough that she wanted to be treated like royalty—in all the stuffy ways imaginable. One more reason to despise her.

"Come, let me give you a quick tour before we take tea with your cousins. Dinner isn't until seven," Gwan said imperiously to me. I don't know why, but I felt the sudden urge to squirm—like I was a freshly caught fish on a grill and the fire was too hot.

The house slash palace was over-decked, excessive, expensive, and showy in its furnishing. Typical Brit style, I thought. Too many tapestries and carpets, too many vases, and too much marble. Still, it was pretty well-kept, for an ancient estate. Bealey's work, probably.

"We have several suites of course and connecting bathrooms for all of them. Then of course there's the parlor, the library, the ballroom, the dining room—"

"Whoa, back up, ballroom?" I gaped at her.

"Yes, we hold summer and winter balls there, dear. It's quite the entertainment. Rictor used to love them." Gwan's face went soft, almost human as she spoke of my late grandpa. It was the only time Mom and I believed she possessed a heart—otherwise, she was just a reincarnation of the Queen of Hearts, who you know, didn't actually have a heart.

"We also have an indoor swimming pool—"

"Gwan, why do you keep saying 'we'? I thought you lived alone," I interrupted her. She gave me a look of displeasure at being interrupted but answered me anyway.

"Force of habit I suppose, thinking about your grandfather," she said, letting the vulnerability take over her countenance for a moment. She quickly dismissed it however and replaced it with that cold, grim regality that she loved.

"Of course, your aunt, uncle, and cousins do come over quite a lot and I suppose, as family, I do tend to incorporate them in my references." I heard the biting tone over the word family. That was meant to provoke me and get passed along to my mom—Mom hadn't ever come back home since moving to Venice over two decades ago.