Astoria Greengrass House Novels & Stories

The iron gates of the Greenwich estate were wide open when he arrived. It wasn't a welcome; it was an invitation. The heavy black bars were swung back into the rhododendron bushes, their electronic latches uncoupled, leaving the long, winding driveway completely clear. Elias slammed on the brakes as he hit the circular turnaround in front of the main house. The building was a colonial-style monster, three stories of gray fieldstone that looked completely dead in the gray light of 5:15 AM. But around the side, where the old carriage house had been converted into Victor Hawthorne’s private study, a thin ribbon of orange light leaked through the wooden shutters.

She got out of the car and looked around. Well, what a great house! I've seen pictures like this in magazines. A large terrace covered with lush greenery, just huge windows, a nice balcony stretches along the perimeter of the second floor. Emerald green lawn in front of the house. Looking at him, I really want to take off my shoes and walk on the grass. While I was looking around, Grisha unloaded my things and, having said goodbye, left. And I was left alone. Yes, hospitable hosts here ...

My eyes widened when we arrived at The Astoria, a luxury apartment complex in Coral Gables, just a stone's throw away from Palm Beach. Is he serious?! The sleek glass facade gleamed under the afternoon sun, and palm trees lined the pristine entrance, making the place look more like a five-star resort than a residence. I couldn’t help but take in the grandeur as Gray stopped in the lobby. When I turned to Bradley, he was already staring at me, that guilt-ridden smile plastered on his face. He knew exactly what I was thinking.

I rushed into the bedroom to collect the dirty laundry and went to the basement to hurriedly load everything when the lights went on before I could flip the switch. I immediately noticed Astor. I almost didn't recognize him because he looked haggard, and the bags under his eyes said a lot. I dropped everything I was holding and ran to hug him. "OMG You scared me! you asshole, I could've shot you. What are you doing here? How did you find me? Where's my Aunt Madonna?" I punched him on the arm lightly while I bombarded him with questions. I knew something was wrong when Astor let out a breath, instead of answering. "What is it? Where is she?" I further questioned him, pressing him to answer me

“We’re going back to claim what’s left. You deserve that. Your mother’s estate. The foundation she built before Vincent poisoned everything. There’s land. Art. Heritage.” “And ghosts,” Grace muttered. He paused, his eyes softening. “Then let’s face them together.” Ashford Estate, London The gates creaked as they opened, revealing the sprawling Ashford manor. Vines curled around its stone columns. The grand marble fountain had frozen over during the winter, and the rose garden lay withered and bare. The estate looked like a haunted palace, beautiful, tragic, and somehow still majestic. Grace stepped out first. Her boots crunched on gravel, the wind tugging her hair around her face. The last t

He studied me for a long moment, clearly debating whether this was worth fighting me on. "This is a terrible idea, Astrid." "Probably." "You're doing it anyway." "Obviously." The estate appeared thirty seven minutes later, don't blame me, I have been tracking the time unconsciously. Alpha Roman house wasn't exactly what I was expecting. I had expected big iron gates, sprawling grounds, security stationed like soldier ants along a drive that curved out of sight behind rows of perfectly trimmer trees just like every other alpha house I know. But it looked homely. Flowers are planted everywhere and a little garden is by the left side. The house itself is made of wood.

But I definitely did not eye-rape him. "I am so sorry." I mumbled. Is the universe against me or something? "I wasn't looking and-" Okay, maybe I did a little bit of eye-raping. I mean, who could blame me? He's gorgeous. He has sandy blonde hair with some brown highlights. His face is just... pure perfection. Then I realised something that made me frown. Something that made memories of him come back. His eyes were a shade of forest green. Forest freaking green. Ashton. Oh god. I'm not even kidding, I am going to cry.

In the center of the clearing was a farmhouse. It was untouched. An old, white clapboard house with a wrap-around porch. A windmill spun lazily nearby. But protecting the house was a wall of thorny vines—the same ones we had seen on the Arch in St. Louis. The convoy stopped. "Is this it?" I asked. "The anomaly?" "This is the source," Leo said. "The heartbeat of the Green." We got out of the vehicles. The Gray Children were silent now, staring at the house with

We were meeting Alessandro at his family home, in upstate New York. The drive there took seemingly forever. There was an old mansion done in the Greek Revival style of the 1800s. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Niccolo asked me. A pained expression crossed my face. “I don’t have a choice in the matter, Nic. This is how we’re going to save them.” “Okay. But just so you know, the house we’re at right now isn’t a Ramono house.” I looked from the house back to him. “It’s not?”

The Astor mansion sat at the end of a private road that the city had long ago learned not to bother. They knew who it all belonged to. The garden at the back was Elena's project that beautified the home. Silas Astor was in his usual chair with his usual newspaper, working through it with the focused attention of a man who read every page whether it interested him or not. It was discipline, he always said, to stay away from devices for some hours. Elena was of the opposite in that opinion as she was seated beside him with her iPad tilted toward the remaining light, scrolling through an Italian design house's new collection with the focused pleasure of a woman conducting serious work. She paus