The word house doesn’t cut it trying to describe the four-story brick monstrosity the size of a full city block we drive up to. It’s got massive windows, two-story columns and a water fountain taller than I am. It’s literally a mansion on an estate. We passed tennis courts and a horse stable on the way in. A fucking horse stable! I’ve never even ridden a horse, much less needed an entire stable to keep a bunch of them in.

“Holy shit, are you a fucking Rockefeller or something?”

Elizabeth doesn’t answer me. I don’t think she even heard me. She’s playing with the edge of her cardigan, fidgeting. She’s jittery, like she’s the one who’s in way over her head rather than me.

“What’s wrong?” No answer. “Elizabeth?”

She finally looks up at me when I call her name.

“What? Nothing. Why would something be wrong?” Her eyes are locked on the front door like she’s expecting to see a horde of evil clowns come streaming out at any minute to murder us both. I grab her flittering fingers and give her a reassuring squeeze.

“You’ve got a shit poker face, Goose.”

Elizabeth lets out a sigh and squeezes my hand right back.

“I hate these things. Everyone still sees me as some weird and pathetic eight-year-old. Delicate. That’s what my mother always used to tell people.” Her voice has an edge of terror to it.

Shit, she’s seriously intimidated by the idea of going inside that house. Her house. To see her family. And I thought I was fucked up. I hop out of the truck, come around to the passenger-side door and pull her out of the cab.

“What are you doing?” she asks incredulously.

I take her hands in mine. “You need to shake it out.”

“The hell I do. Not here,” she snaps at me. I can’t help but snicker at her indignation.

Delicate, my ass.

“You don’t have to shimmy. Just shake out your shoulders. Release some of that pent-up tension. You’ll feel better. I promise.” I roll my shoulders to demonstrate. She rolls her eyes in response.

There’s my girl.

After a few moments wasted in a staring contest, she rolls her shoulders and we mutter “Loosey-goosey” together a few times. She’s on edge, but at least a little bit of the panic has subsided.

“Close your eyes,” I urge her. She gives me a sideways glare, unsure of my intentions. “Please,” I add before she complies.

I drop my forehead to hers and tell her, “You’re not delicate. You’re tenacious. You’re fierce. You’re wild. You’re powerful. You’re my weird little goddess.” I tenderly kiss her lips before stepping back. Her deep chocolate eyes are watery with wonderment.