So there I was, lost in a mansion I totally didn’t belong in.
I wondered if all millionaires—or was Henry Nash a billionaire?—let broke, unknown guys like me wander through their homes unescorted? It would be too easy for me to pickpocket something and resell it. I mean, a single painting, or clock, or statue could pay for months’ worth of rent or groceries.
Not that I would ever do that, but I had to wonder what everything I passed must’ve cost. It was crazy how much unnecessary crap rich people collected. Yet the place still looked frightfully bare, the complete opposite of my cramped apartment where all of Mom’s bakery s**t sat piled into every nook and cranny we could possibly fit it into.
Maybe that’s why Isobel felt so lonely. There was simply too much empty space here. Each foots
