“I built that house for Nathaniel.” His brown eyes sparkled. “Claire, I had this home built for you.” Standing in front of her, he tugged her hand. The uncertainty behind his eyes pulled her forward; she allowed him to lead her inside.
The entry was beautiful—instead of marble, the flooring was a light polished oak. Immediately, Claire felt the warmth of a home. Yes, the estate had been their house, but there were times it felt more like a museum. As Tony took her from room to room, Claire saw the attention to detail—bookcases, cabinetry, custom ceilings and intricate lighting. The back of the house was nothing but windows. In the living room, the windows extended two stories. When they entered the kitchen, her eyes shone. It wasn’t the industrial kitchen of the old mansion. This room was designed with a family in mind. The granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, ornate tile work, stone floor, and back wall of glass all added to the casual yet luxurious feel.
“Oh, this looks like a kitchen where I’d love to cook.”
Tony smiled. “You have a cook, but it’s your kitchen. You can do whatever you’d like.”
The lower level contained all the amenities of the old house: a theater room more modern than before, a fun family area, as well as an exercise room and lap pool. When they entered the pool, Tony squeezed Claire’s shoulders. “I couldn’t build you a house without your favorite room.”
Speechless, she shook her head. Finally, she whispered, “It’s beautiful, thank you.”
Next, Tony took Claire upstairs to Nichol’s room—it was a room fit for a princess. Shades of pink and purple dominated the senses as the canopy bed set center stage. Each door or drawer Claire opened was filled. The closets were stocked with clothes and shoes, while the shelves were full of books and dolls. Lastly, he led her to the master bedroom suite.
Compared to the rest of the house, Claire was surprised by the darkness of the room. Letting go of her hand, Tony walked to the far wall and lifted a switch. The draperies moved and the room filled with natural light—more ceiling to floor windows. Claire gasped. In the middle of the windows were two large French doors. He opened the doors, allowing the fresh air to fill their suite and motioned toward the balcony. They stepped through the glass and Claire exclaimed, “Tony, everything is so open and bright.”
Reaching for her hands, he stared down into her emerald eyes. Suddenly, the cooling autumn air no longer registered—Claire knew she could stand in his gaze forever. Before the sadness behind the dark registered, his baritone voice replied, “This is your glass house—one that won’t shatter. I don’t want you to ever feel trapped again. I want you to be able to see the sky and sun—or moon and stars—whenever you desire.”
She melted against his chest. “Thank you, I love it! But how—how did you do this? You were in prison.”
“I had a lot of help.”
Their balcony contained furniture perfect for enjoying the woods behind their home. Standing at the rail, Claire peered below and saw many other amenities—a pool, a basketball court, a play set—bigger than those in most local parks—and the gardens. Sitting on a gliding seat, looking over the tree tops, Claire sighed and laid her head against her husband’s shoulder.
Tony spoke, “Of course, you still have your island—if you’d prefer you can move back there. Although this view is beautiful, it’s difficult to compete with the view from your lanai. I just thought it might be easier on Nichol if you lived closer to John and Emily for a while.”
She looked up. “Why do you keep saying you? You mean we.”
Tony reached into his breast pocket, removed an envelope, and extended it toward her. “You and Nichol, Claire—this house—the entire estate—it’s yours.”
Her world stopped spinning. There weren’t enough masks ever created to hide her emotions. Whatever was in the envelope he offered—she didn’t want. Never in the history of time had any documentation he handed her been good. Claire stood and backed away from his hand. “I don’t know what’s in that envelope, but whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
Soothingly, he said, “It’s for you.”
“I don’t care. I said no.”
“You just said you didn’t know what it was. How can you say no?”
Her volume decreased. Fighting the sobs, she whispered, “Tell me—tell me why you’re saying you instead of we?” When he hesitated, she straightened her shoulders and spoke louder, “Tell me!”
“Calm down.”
“Don’t tell me to calm down. I deserve a straight answer.”
“If you’ll sit down, I’ll explain.”