“Clarissa what?”
“Clarissa Goring,” I answer in a raised voice, narrowly dodging an elephant-footed settee.
“Goring… Goring… Are you related to Ferdinand Goring? The mystic and harpsichord savant?”
“I doubt it,” I shrug, ducking under a knot of mint-green lace that hangs mysteriously from the middle of an arched hallway.
“Married?”
“No,” I answer, temporarily blinded by the strobing pink light of a disco ball.
“Children?”
“None.”
“Want any?”
She disappears through a practically invisible, lightning-shaped crevice in one plaster wall that I don’t even see until I’m standing right in front of it. Turning sideways, I squeeze through and find myself in a regular-sized hallway, with regular-shaped doors on both sides and a plush woven rug underfoot that is dotted with golden peacocks.
Sunny stops and turns to face me, her eyebrows arched and expectant.
“Do you want children?” she asks again.
I hate this question, and yet I am compelled to answer it. “I don’t think so,” I reply honestly with a small, helpless shrug.
“Why not?”
I cast about my brain for a decent answer that would take more than fifteen polite seconds.
“I guess… I’m the oldest?”
Sunny takes a deep breath, her fine nostrils flaring thoughtfully as she purses her lilac-tinted lips.
“I see… I see,” she answers. “You have siblings… You were charged with their care… Perhaps a death in the family? Oh, my darling, I’m so sorry.”
She reaches a hand out to cuff my arm sympathetically and to my utter bewilderment, I’m grateful. I’m not annoyed at this prying like I usually would be. Somehow her incredible nosiness seems completely in character.
“Thank you,” I choke, my voice thick with emotion.
She breaks away suddenly and flings open the nearest door.
“Maxwell doesn’t want children either!” she declares, sweeping her hand in the air to indicate the interior of the room. “I hope you like it. All the furniture used to be in Windsor Castle!”
My breath catches in my throat. I shake my head tightly and she seems to slump, very nearly rolling her eyes.
“Darling, you don’t have to be bashful with me!”
“No,” I object, tripping over the word. “I mean, thank you, but no. We don’t… We aren’t...”
“All right, fine. Maxwell, you will sleep here!” she sniffs, cutting me off and whirling to command him. “Clarissa, follow me across the hall.”
I don’t know what to say. At this point, I don’t feel in control of this conversation at all. Everything she says, I immediately obey. When she sweeps past me, I stumble behind her like a zombie into the room across the hall. She clucks her tongue judgmentally.
“Well, this is not Windsor Castle, but it’s still a nice room, don’t you think?”
My eyes trace the perimeter of this new space. It looks like a starlet’s boudoir from a 1950s movie. Nearly every surface is silver or black, and a chandelier in the center of the ceiling drips long icicles of glittering crystals.
“It’s gorgeous. Thank you, um, Auntie,” I mumble as graciously as I can. “If I haven’t already said so, thank you so much for hosting us. Your home is just… I can’t even think of the words.”