Chapter 55: Highjacking the Heir
RAINE DROP (BELMONT)
The Belmont "old house" wasn’t so much a house as it was a monument to generational wealth. It had an old-money architectural grandeur that made Grandma Nettie’s luxurious lake house seem like a quaint cottage in comparison.
Marble floors stretched out like frozen rivers, polished to such a high shine that I caught my own reflection scowling back at me—disheveled and bruised (Grandma Nettie fought dirty).
Chandeliers dangled overhead like crystal spiders, each one probably worth more than the average person’s yearly salary. The walls were lined with portraits of dead Belmonts, all of whom seemed to be judging me from beyond the grave. "Ah, Raine," their painted eyes seemed to say, "do you think you really belong to this family?"
Not really. Because the only family I’d ever had was my grandmother, and she wasn’t going to be in the world for much longer.
Speaking of Grandma Nettie...
I unceremoniously hauled my furious grandmother into the grand parlor like a sack of very opinionated potatoes and placed her on a Louis XVI settee that probably had a museum plaque hidden somewhere under its gilded legs. She looked absurdly out of place—a wiry, sharp-tongued woman in a frayed cardigan sitting on furniture that had likely been upholstered with the tears of French aristocrats.
"This is kidnapping," she announced, for the third time in ten minutes.
"It’s protective custody," I corrected, plopping down into an armchair that immediately tried to swallow me whole. (Note: Belmont furniture was designed to make you feel small and poor.)
"I don’t think the previous kidnapper gets to complain about being the current kidnappee," said Grandpa Belmont.
"What are you going to do?" Grandma crossed her arms and glared at Grandpa Belmont. "Tape my mouth shut?"