“Time machine,” he said, waggling his brows. “Let’s go!”
They drove with the top down on the quiet oak-tree-lined back roads, letting the cool springtime breeze float over them. She hummed along to the Milky Chance song on the radio while George tapped out the beat on the steering wheel, the silence between them easy and comfortable.
After about twenty minutes, George turned into a long gravel driveway that led to a large antebellum mansion.
“What’s this?” she asked, lowering her sunglasses.
“My childhood home,” George answered.
Madison’s mouth dropped as she looked at the gorgeous structure standing before her. It was painted yellow with black shutters and had imposing white columns. A large porch wrapped around the entire home and a wrought iron Juliet balcony was situated just above the front door.
“Who lives here now?” she asked in disbelief.
“No one.” He parked the car in the paved semicircle in front of the house and got out.
She opened up her door and followed him. “Why don’t you live here? It’s unbelievable.”
“It’s complicated,” he said as they walked up the front steps.
Madison continued gawking as he unlocked the front door. They stepped inside, and the smell of cedarwood, dust, and cardboard hit her. The first floor was empty, save for a few boxes, a large armoire, and a vintage leather trunk.
She ran her hand along the mahogany banister that lined the grand staircase inside and came away with a light coating of dust.
“My brother and sister and I would slide down these when we were little,” he said, gesturing to the steps. He pointed to a tiny scar on his forehead. “Christmas day, when I was five.” He chuckled. “Parents made the mistake of buying us new sleeping bags, so I used mine to slide from the top of the stairs to the bottom. It was the best moment of my life until I hit the last step and fell face-first onto my brother’s new toy bricks.”
“Oh my god, I have a matching one.” Madison lifted her bangs and pointed to a small scar on her forehead. “When I was four, Claire chased me around our grandma’s house with a remote control, saying she was going to control me, and I ran right into the corner of a glass coffee table.”
“Ouch,” George said, running a finger lightly over the raised skin.
Madison shivered under the unexpected touch. To cover, she gently punched him on his arm. “Whatever, I think it makes me badass. And you, too.”
He laughed. “Something like that.”
“So, why don’t you live here?” Madison walked into the kitchen, which had a large brick fireplace on one wall. “Not that your place on Darby Lake isn’t great, but this is spectacular.”
He leaned his elbows on the wooden island as she looked through the cabinets. “Family drama.”
She joined him at the island and bumped her hips against his. “You can’t keep teasing me with that. What’s the drama this time?”
He shrugged. “It’s a long story, but after my parents’ accident, my siblings and I inherited this place, split three ways. Henry and Chelsy wanted to sell it—they made a big fuss about needing the money, since they weren’t given the family business like I was.” He coughed. “The house stayed on the market for months, and it was looking like we weren’t gonna get what it was worth. So, I just bought them out to try and appease everyone.”
“I take it that didn’t work,” Madison said.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Nope. They thought I was rubbing my wealth in their faces.”
“So, is that why you’re not living here? Because your brother and sister made you feel guilty about it?”
George was silent for a moment, staring out the kitchen window to the manicured backyard. Madison followed his gaze to a set of wrought iron benches and tables positioned around a mossy fish pond.
“And because being here reminds me that I don’t have a family anymore,” he said finally.
Madison’s heart wrenched at his words and the deeply sad look on his face. She could tell that once his family had meant everything to him. She put her arms around his shoulder. “That’s not true,” she said softly. “I’m your family now.”
He looked at her and smiled, pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His silver Rolex caught the sunlight from the window, casting a rainbow on the cream-colored walls.
“Thanks,” he said, giving her a brief hug.
“So, show me the rest of this place,” she said when he pulled away, walking out of the kitchen and heading up the stairs.
They entered a small bedroom to the right of the landing, which George admitted was his. The walls were covered in map wallpaper. Upon closer inspection, she noticed there was handwriting over some of the locations. Madison leaned in and read one of the scribbles. “Florence, Italy: August 20. Had the best sandwich I’ve ever tasted—prosciutto è buono.” Above it, a city in Germany was circled. The writing read, “Stuttgart: February 7. Visited Porsche Museum—I will have one of those one day.”
“Um, this is the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen,” Madison said. “You kept a diary of your travels on the wall?” She walked over to him in the doorway and pinched his cheeks. “I can just see little George Dubois writing on his wall after every vacation.”
His face turned red. “You shoulda seen how mad my mom was when she caught me doing that.”
“Why? It’s so cool,” Madison said, running her fingers along an entry over Provence. “If I woulda ever traveled, I would have totally done something like this.”
“Well, I’ll make you a map room if you want. We’ll be traveling to all sorts of places.” He turned back to her. “Which reminds me, we still have to plan a honeymoon.”
Her stomach jumped with excitement. “Yes! I’ve narrowed it down to twenty places. The list is at home—maybe we can go over it tonight.”
He laughed as they walked into another room. It was larger than George’s and painted a soft lavender. A set of French doors led to a balcony overlooking the backyard.
“This was Chelsy’s room. She was the princess. Andrew and I were so jealous of this balcony—she got a rope ladder and used to sneak out at night to meet up with the boy who lived down the road.” George walked out onto the veranda. “You see those old oaks?” He pointed ahead. “There was this story about a guy in the eighteen hundreds who brought in a million spiders and set them loose on his oak trees so that they would make all these webs. His two daughters were getting married on the same day, and on the morning of the wedding, he had the servants spray the trees and cobwebs with gold dust.”
“Oh my god, the famous Gold Dust Wedding—was that this house?” Madison interrupted.