Free The Perfect House by Andreea Daia Page A

current… condition… of this hou-“ sneeze, “house… you are… getting a bargain…”
    “You just made me the happiest homeowner on earth, Nancy.” Tears welled up in Lydia’s eyes. “I have five months until I start my new job. By then, you won’t recognize this place.”
     
    彡彡彡
     
    It took more than a month to close the house sale and another week of heavy lifting, but at last Lydia had emptied the house of all its previous furniture—shattered cupboards still sporting shards of china, limp beds, rusted A/C-units, yards upon yards of flowery curtains—plus a few odds and ends—a couple of chairs upholstered in torn teal leather, a trash bin splotched with a brown substance, which she tried to ignore, a broken crucifix plastered with tar, and what she judged to be a mile-long barbwire.
    The skeleton of the dead cat had unsettled her a little bit, especially because it had been strangulated with the said barbwire. Still, accidents happened all the time to these poor strays. Unfortunately, the truck driver, whom she had hired to take the rubbish to the dump, hadn’t been so unruffled. He had crossed himself and fled the property, in a bellow of engine and prayers.
    “At least he took the junk with him,” Lydia sighed, nesting more comfortable in Tyler’s arms. “He wanted to leave without touching the furniture. I told him that if he breaks the contract, he should expect a call from my lawyer.”
    Her fiancé caressed her face. “My fiery girl! Did you send him trembling under the truck axle?”
    “You bet. In the last moment I felt pity for the bastard.”
    She flaunted the smile, which a year ago had brought her picture on the cover of a couple of minor fashion magazines—the beauty with flawless dark-olive skin. Still, that had happened in her previous life, before she had decided to pursue a career in media sales. It had been a good decision—she hadn’t regretted it yet—even if the path to success had been paved with many trials and not few disappointments. In the end, she had been promoted to another branch, across the country. Tyler had followed her, requesting a transfer to a local office, even if that had meant a lower-paying position. How she loved him for this!
    The only thing she still needed was a house—a real house, not a cheap rental, with peeling wallpaper and creaking noises, which woke her in the middle of the night. In truth, her new house featured both peeling wallpaper and creaking noises, but such shortcomings could be forgiven to her home. Soon, no one would recognize her not-so humble abode.
    “-gypsy fortuneteller?” Tyler asked, yanking her out of her musings. She offered an apologetic shoulder raise, which invited him to repeat his question. “I was asking whether the truck driver blamed it on a curse. Boo-hoo-hoo. Surely some gypsy fortuneteller must have warned him against a terrible curse laid on your house.”
    “No, sweetie. If he met one, she warned him only against asbestos. He went on and on about syndicate regulations. Until I pointed out that our damn contract already has a clause about asbestos.”
    Tyler stared at her with concern, forgetting to breathe. “Please tell me that you didn’t find any asbestos during the home inspec-” His lips froze before releasing the end of the word. Lydia had declined the home inspection.
    “No, there is no asbestos,” she moaned, feigning exasperation. “Or curses. Or gypsy fortunetellers. As it happens, I was curious about the subject so I went to the library and checked out the history of the house. Nothing out of ordinary ever happened there. If anything, I own the most boring house in this area. The only reference I found was about a squatter, who claimed to have been the owner. The gramps might have pulled that ruse, if it weren’t for everybody knowing the actual owner—a Casanova who made the town gossip with his affairs.”
    Tyler chortled and pulled the blanket up to her chin. “As far as