Lilian’s POV
“Okay,” Kelly said, her voice muffled because her face was currently buried in a velvet throw pillow. “I have questions. Several questions. The first one being: Is this real life? Or did I inhale too many fumes on the BQE and I’m currently in a coma dreaming of Versailles?”
I closed the door to the guest suite, which was roughly the size of our entire apartment building in Brooklyn, and leaned against the heavy wood.
“It’s real,” I said. “And this isn’t even the nice guest room. This is the ‘close to the library’ guest room.”
Kelly rolled over, sitting up on the massive four-poster bed. She looked tiny in the middle of the expanse of cream linens and gold-threaded duvets. She was still wearing her “I Believe in Pizza” hoodie, which created a hilarious contrast with the ant
