The Man in the Library

*Hezzlie*

My head hurts. It’s not uncommon for me to wake up with a headache, but it’s usually from the sedatives. I wasn’t given any last night, so as I go about getting ready for the day–taking a shower, getting dressed, etc.--I have no explanation for the ache in my head.
As I go through the routine, using all of the amazing products Wilma provided for me, I go back over my dream the night before. It isn’t the dream itself that has my mind reeling–it’s the person who came into my room to wake me up.
Why the fuck was Rowan here?
I can’t understand that to save my life. Of course, Dr. Bolton had said that he would be here if I needed any help. When I finally managed to yank my mind back to reality, Rowan had been sitting on the edge of my bed, and I could feel the warmth around my wrists like they had recently been in my grip.
None of it makes any sense to me.
Neither does the fact that he stormed out of her so furiously.
I swear he was calling to me in a calming tone right before I finally managed to open my eyes. So why had he gotten so mad?
When I exit the bathroom, Mama is there, sitting by the window where a table has been set up. Her bright smile forces all of my questions to the side for now. I rush over to give her a hug. “Good morning, darling,” she says, kissing my cheek and then wiping off the smudge of lipstick she leaves behind. “How are you today?”
“Fine,” I lie. It won’t do either of us any good to talk about the bad dream I had. “How are you?”
“Oh! I slept like a dream,” she begins as she pulls the cloches off our breakfast. Every meal I’ve had here so far has been fabulous, and this does not disappoint either. The scent of eggs, bacon, sausage, and fresh biscuits has my stomach growling before I can even sit down and start shoveling food into my mouth. This makes the breakfast at Peripheral look like a dog’s dinner.
Mom goes on about how comfortable the bed is for about ten minutes before she finally says, “I'm going to have to buy a mattress just like that one for each of us.”
I giggle and say, “At this rate, you’re going to spend all of that money before I even get home.”
She tries to seem offended but then laughs. “You’re probably right. What would you like to do today, dear? We could go exploring.”
“I’m actually not sure I’m allowed to do that,” I tell her. “It’s not like I’m a guest here, Mom.”
“Oh, I bet we can find someone to show us around.” She takes a sip of her coffee with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, and a moment later there’s a slight knock at the door.
My eyebrows furrow as I try to determine what she’s up to. She calls out in a sing-song voice, “Come in!”
“I thought this was my room,” I murmur.
The door opens, and Dean sticks his head in, looking a little alarmed, like he’s not quite sure what he’s doing here.
Mom leaps out of her chair and rushes him like a linebacker trying to stop a touchdown. “Dean!” She kisses his cheek and squeezes him tight enough that if he wasn’t so musclebound, he might get hurt.
“Good morning, Ms. Stone,” he says, loosely hugging her back. “Wilma said you wanted to see me.”
My mom can barely release him enough to let him walk all the way into the room. I clear my throat and pick up my toast, not quite ready to end my breakfast yet, despite my mother’s attempts to get me to marry Dean–or whatever she has in mind.
“Yes, we were hoping you could give us a little tour of the mansion,” she says, strolling back in my direction with her arm looped through his. “If you have a bit of time.”
I look up–way up–at him, and his eyebrows are raised. “Oh, uh….” Nervously, he glances over his shoulder as if he thinks Rowan will burst through the door at any moment and tell him not to even think about taking me outside of this room. “I guess it would be okay for me to show you parts of the house.”
“Oh, wonderful!” Mom jumps up into the air with more energy than I’ve seen from her, maybe ever. She’s hugging Dean again, and he glances at her uncomfortably, and I have to wonder if she’s after him for me–or for herself.
All I can do is shake my head.
Dean is polite as he shows us around. I notice we make a wide berth and don’t go anywhere near Rowan’s office. I’m grateful for that. I don’t want to see him ever again–especially not after last night. Soon, we are on the first floor. I try not to stare at the paintings, but it’s hard. So many of them have wolves depicted in one way or another.
“This is the kitchen,” he says, taking us to a large area in the back of the house. “That’s Smokey Sam.” He points at an older woman who scowls at him at first and then breaks into a grin. “Okay, her real name is Samantha, but I like to give her a hard time.”
“Don’t let him fool you,” she says, continuing to stir a large pot on the stove that smells like the best soup ever. “He likes to give everyone a hard time.”
Dean grabs a cookie off a platter in the center of the island, and Smokey lifts her spoon like she might hit him with it. He laughs, and we exit the kitchen into an enormous living room.
“This is the formal dining room. There are a couple of smaller ones elsewhere.” Dean gestures at the table that seats at least eighteen as Mom runs her hand along the wooden surface, gasping.
It is impressive, but I really don’t care about any of this. I’d just as soon stay in my room and bed rot.
Mom asks Dean forty-three questions about the size of the table, what it’s made of, how many dinner parties he’s been to here, and a bunch of other stuff I drown out. Then he leads us through some parlors and other rooms Mom thinks are quite impressive and I couldn’t care less about.
“The roses sure are beautiful,” Mom remarks as we pass by a window.
“Yep. Unfortunately, I can’t take y’all outside,” Dean explains. “The boss said no way.”
“That’s too bad.” Mom makes her bottom lip protrude in a pout. “I love roses so much. How are they blooming when it’s so late in the fall?”
“Don’t know much about plants,” Dean admits. He pushes through a heavy set of oak double-doors and we follow. The scent of paper and book glue fills my lungs.
This is the largest library I’ve ever seen. Rows and rows of books fill the space and line the walls, reaching up into a second story. One wall is full of windows that look out on the forest. I decide not to stare too closely into the trees right now because I don’t trust my eyes or my mind.
“Hezzlie!” Mom releases Dean’s arm and grabs mine. “Look at this! She just loves to read. Can she take a few books back to her room?”
“I don’t see why not,” Dean says with a shrug.
My mom’s not wrong. I do love books, but I’m not sure I want to have anything that technically belongs to Rowan in my room. Still, when Mom crosses the room to check out the area labeled “Romance” I go with her. She’s looking at the books, pulling them off the shelves and reading the back covers. I glance over at Dean who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. Something tells me he doesn’t read a lot.
I let out a sigh and lift my eyes toward the painting above us on the wall expecting to see more wolves. It’s just a man in a suit. He’s handsome–something about the structure of his face looks familiar to me. He has dark hair and dark eyes, and he’s wearing a nice suit. He looks like he’s probably someone important. I consider asking Dean, but then my eyes drop a little bit lower, and a gasp exits my mouth.
“What is it, Hezzlie?” Mom asks, adding a book to the pile she’s started.
“Mom,” I whisper, tugging on her arm. “Look.”
Her eyes raise to the painting, and at first, she doesn’t see it, but then she does, and she mutters, “Oh, my goodness.”
I swallow hard. The man in the painting is wearing silver wolf cufflinks with gems for eyes.