Rhiannon shows us around the mansion. There are like a hundred rooms. I didn't count them, but that seems like a good round number.
As I walk through the mega-house, I imagine a story where the butler is the culprit. There must be secret passages and old style dumbwaiters. A great place for a mystery story.
I make a similar comment to Rhiannon, and she replies, "Now now, Freddy. You are suppose to be doing romantic poetry, remember?"
I scoff, and she continues, "Maybe later you can write some poetry about me. I would love to hear it."
I grab my prescription out of my pocket and look at it for a moment. Then, I smile. "On one condition. You read me a completed story of yours."
She sighs. Finally, she nods, agreeing to our deal.