We pulled around a curved, brick, herringbone driveway.
The house, I think, was even bigger than Kingsley's monster of a house - Beast Manor, as I'd come to think of his home, complete with its safe-room.
This house was epic and rambling on a whole other level, and I was fairly certain there was even more of it in the back, too.
Tara explained that the design was a Mediterranean-style Spanish Revival.
Having minored in architecture in college - with a major in criminal justice - I knew the design well. But seeing it up close, and in such grandeur, was awe- inspiring.
I could be very comfortable here, I thought. A home fit for a king. Even a vampire queen.
Allison was still oh-ing and ah-ing as we stepped out of the Range Rover. I might have oh-ed, but I certainly hadn't ah-ed. The house itself was situated on lushly manicured grounds, complete with sumptuous gardens filled, in part, with fresh herbs. I saw everything from sage to rosemary, to mint and thyme. The home's courtyard had a distinctively European flair, with intricate brick and plasterwork.
Trees were the overall theme of the home and sprouted from ornate planters situated everywhere. A five-car garage was off to one side. The garage and much of the home's façade was covered in thick ivy.
"I'm in heaven, Sammie," said Allison. "Remind me to thank you again for inviting me to join you."
"I didn't invite you. You insisted."
"And I'm so glad I did."
I shook my head as we each fetched our suitcases from the rear of the vehicle.
As we headed up the wide flagstone stairs, I noticed Tara, our host, looking at me. Or, rather, at my suitcase.
"You don't roll your bag?" she asked.
Oops. My bag, I saw, was bigger than both Tara's and Allison's. And both of them were struggling a bit up the steps, rolling and lifting. I had mine in my hand, hefting it without thought or effort. "I like the exercise," I lied. "My trainer would be proud."
Tara smiled as if I had made some sense. Allison snickered behind me. And once we were inside the cavernous home, I acted normal and used my suitcase's own rollers.
The home opened onto two curving staircases with ornate, wrought-iron railings. Polished wood floors stretched seemingly everywhere. A beautiful, round marble table with fresh-cut flowers in a crystal vase greeted us immediately, along with the sound of laughter and voices and kids playing.
"Grandpa George - that's what everyone called him, even his wife - never made any of us feel unwelcome. The entire house was on-limits, as he would always say."
"On-limits?" asked Allison. She was scurrying to keep up behind us. Turned out my new friend had rather short legs.
I heard that, she thought, her words reaching me easily.
I giggled.
I heard that, too. And yes, I have issues with my legs.
I stopped giggling, or tried to.
"Well," said Tara, speaking over her shoulder as we headed into a gorgeous living room. "Grandpa George always told us the entire house was available to all of us kids. There was never a room we were not allowed in, except - "
She paused.
"Except what?" I asked.
"Well, the family mausoleum, of course."
"Er, of course," I said. "Grandpa George sounds like he was an amazing man."
Tara nodded and tensed her shoulders.
"Yeah, the best."
We next passed through the kitchen, where three or four people were leaning against counters, drinking and talking.
Tara said hi and introduced us as her friends. They all smiled and raised their drinks, but watched us closely. Very closely. It was the same for the other rooms and other people. Introductions, polite smiles, suspicious stares.
As we swept through the house and out through a pair of wide French doors, Allison caught up to me on her stubby legs and whispered in my ear, "What was that all about?"