But I supposed if you wanted to get to the end, you had to start at the beginning. “Did you ever love this house?”

Felix dropped his hands from my hair, turning away from me. Now I’d done it. The end. No more truths, no more honesty. He sat down on the bed, giving me an odd look. “Once. I loved it once upon a time. When it was filled with hopes and dreams, instead of memories and regrets.”

“What happened?” I took a chance and crossed the room, sitting next to him on the bed before he could stop me. “How did the house become cursed?”

“That’s a long story.” He sighed, resting his hand on the back of mine. He swirled soft circles around it, mimicking the same motion he used to drive me crazy only minutes before. I had to convince myself to stay focused.

I pulled back, Felix’s expression dropping ever so slightly. I wasn’t leaving. I crossed my legs, giving the handsome man with so many secrets my full attention. “Good thing we have the rest of our lives for you to tell me.”

“My story isn’t pretty, darling.”

I shrugged. “Whose is?” He was kidding himself if he thought any of us had perfect pasts, pristine records. My soul was cracked in a thousand places, stained and flawed. He’d figure it out soon enough.

“If you’re sure.” Felix took a deep breath, steadying himself. “I’ve never told this story to anyone before.”

I rested my hand on top of his. “Then I’m honored to be the first.”

8. Felix

The first time I saw her I was a young man, full of hopes, dreams, and money. Money I had plenty of. Money could fix any problem in the world. That’s what my father had instilled in me, before he died of the fever and left me his fortune. My mother died soon after of a broken heart. Or so they said. I wasn’t sure if I believed in love, because my parent’s marriage seemed nothing more than a marriage of convenience, and my mother’s death, her fear of being a widow at only forty.

I returned home from college to sit at his bedside as he told me everything he believed would help me become a great man. A good man wasn’t good enough, for my father at least. I had to be exceptional. The best of the best. The best clothes, the greatest education. A beautiful home. All of it paid for with my father’s money, earned off the sweat and labor of the workers in his factory, who had none of those things. Talking about such things was beneath us. And because I was desperate to be great, I followed his words as if they were law.