“Did Roland tell you that I whipped his ass in a golf match once?” Dylan asked, looking at me through the rearview mirror.
“What?” I laughed, looking from his eyes to Roland. “No, he never told me that.”
Roland laughed and rolled his eyes. “Here we go.”
“Yep! It was right in his backyard. He has a mini practice facility and driving range back there, right? Beautiful range with putting green and sand bunkers. Anyway, we were drinking and we made a bet. If I won, he’d give me a thousand dollars. If he won, I’d clean all his golf clubs, which is a lot ’cause he has about eight sets. That’s a lot of iron to be cleaning.”
I giggled. “And you won? Against the best golfer of our time?”
“Damn straight I won,” Dylan said proudly. “Roland shouldn’t have had so much to drink. Those thousand dollars came in handy too.”
“All he did was spend it on stripper booties.”
I looked at Roland and snorted a laugh.
“Come on, man! She just met me. Don’t go telling her all my business like that!”
When we pulled up to Roland’s home, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
The mansion was beautiful. But really, beautiful was an understatement. It was absolutely stunning, and I couldn’t believe a part of me was thinking not to come to this place. I hadn’t even set foot in it yet and I was in love with it. And the architecture of it was so . . . Roland.
The exterior of the mansion was made of soft-brown brick and taupe fieldstone, donned with dark gray shutters that matched the towering roof. Even beneath its thin layer of frosty dew, the broad green lawn was pedicured to perfection and there were four garden beds at the front of the house, each consisting of tiny green hedges and a mix of red and yellow flowers that limped sadly, most likely because of the cooler weather. Regardless, the landscaping was impeccable.
As Dylan continued driving, passing through an archway built into the home, four garages came into view, which reminded me of the time Roland told me he owned three vehicles—a Cadillac, a Maserati, and a Subaru for the snowier days. The extra garage was used as his entertainment space, where he hosted his guests or hung out with his closest friends.
“Wow.” I gaped.
“Nice, huh?” Roland said, and I felt the heat of his body as he slid across the back seat to get closer to me. “I had it built nine years ago.”
“It’s so gorgeous, Roland.”
“It’s a French Country home. When I was thirteen, I remember riding around with my mother as she pitched signs in yards that she’d gotten a sale on. She was a Realtor. Anyway, there was one house that she took me to and I couldn’t believe my eyes when I saw it. It looked just like this one. I remember telling myself that one day I would own a home like that one, and now I do.”
“It definitely suits you.” I looked over my shoulder at him. “Where is your mom now?”
“She’s living her best life in Rome right now,” he said, sighing. “She’ll probably be calling me soon so I can send her money for her next adventure.”
I smiled as he did. “That’s sweet of you to take care of her.”
He pressed his lips and grabbed my hand.
I looked ahead and noticed Dylan’s eyes flicker up to look at us before dropping down and peering through the windshield again. He parked in front of one of the garages, sighed, and said, “We made it.”
“You’ll love it here,” Roland murmured. “I promise.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The inside of the mansion was perfection, and it screamed Roland Graham in every room. Everything, from the black and gray furniture and cherry hardwood floors, to the mounted TVs in almost every single room. This place was all his and it showed. It was manly, not an ounce of a woman’s touch, which I found odd since he’d once shared this place with his last wife.
I brushed the last thought aside and told myself I’d add my own feminine touch to it. Maybe Roland got rid of whatever Melanie added, so as not to remind himself of her too much. Then again, as I roamed the long hallways, taking in picture after picture of Roland either swinging a golf club in perfect pose or standing with one, I couldn’t help wondering why he didn’t have a single photo of him and his wife on the walls.
“Think you’ll love it here?” Roland asked me as we entered the bedroom. The master bedroom was on its own wing, separated from the rest of the home. It was spacious as hell, with a fancy bathroom to match. The bathroom was all marble and silver, with a wide clawfoot bathtub and a standing shower with a rainfall showerhead that I couldn’t wait to use.