135

It's late at night when we arrived in Washington. There is light reflecting on the windows of the house and the wooded path that leads us to the door. I can distinguish some silhouettes that make shadows inside, all certainly waiting for us. The sounds of our steps in the cemented area around the garden are soft, despite the dragging of our bags carried by one of my father's personal security guards.

It's cold, but my hands are sweaty and one of them is firmly secure in Hunter's, as if none of us were very confident in what we can expect from this meeting.

I've always found this house too exaggerated for two people, and now, watching it grow as we move towards it, I can't help but twist my nose for it. It is a two-storey house, with apparent beams with an imperial charm, and that can easily hide some stars from the sky with its steep and inclined roof.

A structure too large for a conventional home, but not as immense as a mansion. A middle ground between luxury and comfort.

My husband