The Reluctant Heiress_A Novella Page 10

  My dad sidles up next to me. “She’s well loved by the community, isn’t she?”

  I nod, smiling. “You should pay her more.”

  He chuckles. “She makes more than most CEOs I know.”

  “Really?” I ask with shock. “Why the hell hasn’t she retired?”

  My dad shrugs as he looks across the room. Spotting Nona chatting with Sebastian, his gaze warms. “I’ve tried to kick her out but she won’t leave. Anyway, she’s family. This house is hers as much as it is mine.”

  I hum in agreement. “We’d be lost without her, probably.”

  When my dad doesn’t reply, I glance over to find him looking toward the table of hors d'oeuvres. Following his gaze, I see a woman with pale blonde hair in a neat bob. Another assessment of my dad’s face—and the restrained emotion there—makes my stomach clench and drop.

  “Is that Abigail? Mom’s friend?”

  My voice comes out harder and louder than expected. Abigail hears her name and turns, blue eyes alighting on the two of us. She smiles broadly and excuses herself from her current companion. As she walks toward us, I search her face and eyes for signs of discomfort or guilt. There aren’t any.

  I remember her as a sunny, happy woman with whom my mother shared secrets and mystifying laughter. I haven’t seen her since the funeral.

  “Candace,” she gushes, kissing both of my cheeks, “you look so beautiful. You’re all grown up.”

  I show her my teeth. “Nearly thirty.”

  Her laugh is strained, her gaze flickering uncertainly to my father. “Bennie, how are you? What a lovely party.”

  He nods stoically. “Thank you, Abigail. I’m doing well. Yourself?”

  “You weren’t on the guest list,” I interject.

  “Candace,” chastises my father.

  Abigail pales; her smile holds but goes brittle. “You invited my husband. Chip Foley.”

  My brows lift. “You’re married to the chair of the town board?”

  “Nearly three years,” she says with another tense laugh, “though the election was just last year. We’re very happy.”

  “I’m glad,” says my father softly.

  They look at each other, then keep looking. Too long. Too intimate. Something… happens to me. White noise fills my ears. The delicate stem of the champagne flute snaps in my fingers.

  “You need to leave.” The words are barely audible, utterly breathless.

  Finally, my dad looks at me. “Candace, you’re bleeding!” He grabs the broken flute, sets it on a nearby table, and reaches for my hands. I flinch away.

  Strong fingers grip my shoulders from behind. “I’ve got her,” says Sebastian. His hands keep me upright and moving. Out of the room, down the hallway.

  He doesn’t stop until we’re outside, the backyard’s grass under our feet. When he turns me around to face him, I blink dazedly at his dark expression.

  “It was her,” I whisper. “Dad had an affair—”

  He nods. “I know.”

  “What? How?”

  He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I’m so sorry, Candace.”

  I step backward until his hands fall from my shoulders. I’m cold again. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask haltingly.

  Crickets sing around us. Wind teases through my hair. It’s a beautiful, clear summer’s night.

  “I didn’t want to hurt you,” he whispers.

  Tears blur my vision. “That must have been a hard secret to keep.”

  His eyes widen in surprise, scanning my face as if he expected another reaction. I can’t blame him—I don’t exactly have a reputation for even temperament.

  “I’m not mad, Bast.” I sigh, gazing toward the dark woods. “Scratch that. I’m mad, but not at you. It’s just… it’s kind of too much to process right now. I’m afraid if I try, I’ll fall apart again.”

  “You’re so much stronger than you think you are.”

  Shrugging, I meet his gaze. “Maybe you’re right. Either way, I can’t go back in there or I’ll probably get arrested. Will you tell Nona how sorry I am?”

  “She saw us leave,” he says cryptically. “Things were winding down, anyway. It was a great party, Candace. Thank you.”

  “Anything for Nona.”

  His gaze doesn’t waver. “You know what I mean.”

  I do—he’s thanking me for treating Nona like family, for loving her as much as he does. The emotion in his eyes makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want his gratitude.

  I break eye contact as I hug my arms to my chest. “Pretty great news about Alex and Thea, right?”

  A smile in his voice, he says, “Yes. Did he tell you he cut out a hole in one of her favorite books and hid the ring in it? She was furious.”

  I laugh shortly. “Yeah. Leave it to Alex to make a woman happy and pissed off at the same time.”

  Sebastian grins. “Feeling a little better?”

  “A little, thanks.”

  He takes a step toward me, smile taking on a familiar edge. “Know what else will make you feel better?”

  I frown. “I’m not really in the mo—” My words become a yelp as he grabs me by the waist, throws me over his shoulder, and starts running.

  “Stop! Don’t you dare! Put—Me—Down!”

  Laughing maniacally, he slows. “You want me to put you down?”

  I lift my head enough to see where we are. My fingers dig into his shirt. “No. No, Bast. I swear to God—”

  I’m flying, shrieking, seething, and finally laughing—right as I hit the water. It’s shockingly cold and dark, and immensely soothing. Kicking off my shoes, I allow myself to sink to the bottom, then lazily push to the surface.

  I ignore the still-laughing man standing at the side of the pool as I float, my arms out and my gaze fixed on the starry sky.

  Sebastian’s laughter fades to a sigh. “I remember that being more fun.”

  I smirk, turning my head toward him. “You mean when I would throw an epic fit and Alex or Deacon would have to pull me off you.”

  His teeth flash white in a grin. “Absolutely.”

  I laugh. “We’re not teenagers anymore, Bast.”

  “No, we’re not.” He steps out of his shoes and sits on the edge, dunking bare feet and the bottom half of his pants into the water. “Shit, that’s cold.”

  “Baby.”

  “Brat.”

  I focus once again on the sky, my smile fading. My heart aches, divided by longing and fear. I don’t want to ruin the peace of the moment, this inexplicably precious doorway between the past and present. So I don’t tell him how much I’ve missed him over the years, how tired I am of fighting my feelings, or how scared I am that it’s too late for us.

  Instead, I ask, “What should I do? Where do I go from here?”

  He lingers in thoughts for a few moments. “I’ve always seen one of the challenges of having money as too much freedom. Too many choices.”

  I grunt. “My brothers haven’t had a problem with it. They’ve found their passions.”

  “Aren’t you passionate about what you do?” he asks in surprise.

  The cold is finally seeping into my skin, so I flip upright and swim to the edge. Shivering, I brace my forearms on the tiled edge beside his legs, then look up at him. Unreadable dark eyes scan my face.

  “Parts of it, yes,” I admit. “I love the results, but not the method. All the ass-kissing I have to do. Dealing with snobs who’d rather lose a limb than part with their money.”

  He hums in commiseration. “Maybe it’s time for a career change.”

  I frown. “Just give up? What about all the good I can do?”

  “No matter what you do, Candace, you’ll find a way to do good.” He lifts his legs from the water and stands, offering me a hand. “Come on, you’re shivering. Let’s get you into the house.”

  21

  When Sebastian angles us toward the main house, I wiggle out from under his arm.

  “I can’t go in there,” I say tig
htly.

  His gaze sweeps across my determined expression and the arms I’ve folded tightly across my wet chest. He nods. “Okay. You can take the couch.”

  “So chivalrous,” I gripe, but I’m smiling as I follow him to the guesthouse.

  I wait outside for him to bring me a towel, which I use to squeeze moisture from my ruined dress. My heels are at the bottom of the deep end, a similarly lost cause.

  Towel wrapped around me, I gratefully enter the warm guesthouse and jog upstairs to his room. In the bathroom, I drop the towel and crank on the shower, hopping from foot to foot while it heats. The mirror shows me Sebastian entering the bedroom. He disappears from sight—dresser drawers open and close—then reappears in the bathroom doorway wearing sweatpants and no shirt.

  “Do you have everything you need?” he asks softly.

  I focus pointedly on his face, ignoring the sudden heat in my body that has nothing to do with the steam now curling through the bathroom. “Yep, all good. Thanks.”

  He nods, expression guarded, but doesn’t move to leave. In the ensuing silence, my heart begins to race.

  “Bast?” I whisper.

  He blinks, gaze rising from my chest to my face. “Tell me to go, Candace,” he says roughly.

  My breath hitching, I shudder with helpless desire. Everything about this moment feels different. More intimate. Always before, our lust for each other superseded our shared history. For myself, at least, my heart was never on the table. Not since the first time. Dimly, a thought surfaces—have I ever made love since then, or just fucked?

  I swallow hard. “I don’t think I can do casual anymore, Bast.”

  “Who says it’s ever been casual between us?” he asks darkly.

  I lift my chin. “You know what I mean.”

  The glimmer in his eyes winks out. Then he shreds my heart. “I can’t give you what you’re asking for. Not now…” He shakes his head. “Candace, I care about you. Maybe too much. But we’re volatile. Always have been. A relationship between us would explode in our faces. I think we both deserve more.”

  I sag against the bathroom counter, dropping my gaze so he can’t see the pain in my eyes.

  “Well, thanks for being honest. I guess.” Forcing a laugh, I look up. “Besides, my brothers would kill you.”

  He smiles slightly, but his eyes stay solemn. “No doubt.”

  I clear my throat, smiling as my heart continues to disintegrate. “So, uh…”

  Sebastian shifts back, grabbing the door handle. “I’m leaving early tomorrow. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving?”

  Unable to speak, I nod.

  He gives me a final, searching glance, then leaves. The bathroom door clicks softly shut, a paltry echo of the door slamming closed in my heart.

  Hours before dawn, Sebastian lifts me from the couch and walks upstairs to settle me in his bed. I pretend sleep as he tucks the sheet around my shoulders and gives my forehead a soft kiss.

  I don’t respond when he says, “Be happy, Candy,” even though my heart whispers, You are my happy.

  Eventually I fall back asleep. The next time I wake the sun is shining, and the aromas of coffee and bacon waft upward from the kitchen.

  Blinking blearily at the ceiling, I breathe the lingering scent of his presence. Nothing as substantial as cologne—the scent of the man beneath. A scent as familiar to me as dew-damp grass in the spring, as popcorn at a Friday night football game, as the halls of high school and cookies in the kitchen.

  A weight presses down on me, deep and hard and suffocating.

  I have to get out of here.

  Propelled by the base desire, I jump out of his bed and hustle downstairs. Nona turns from the fridge as I enter the kitchen. A brow lifts at the sight of me in Sebastian’s borrowed t-shirt and an old pair of boxers, but she doesn’t comment.

  “I need to go,” I blurt.

  Her eyes shut briefly, expression falling. “Oh, Candace. I’m so sorry.”

  Clenching my teeth, I shake my head. “I’m okay. It’s okay. He doesn’t want… anyway, I can’t stay here anymore. In either house. There’s too much…”

  “I understand. Sit and eat. We’ll talk about what you’re going to do.”

  Beyond grateful for her acceptance and help, I slump into a chair at the table. She brings me coffee and a few minutes after that, bacon and scrambled eggs. I pick at the food, taking bites I don’t really taste.

  Nona eats without speaking while I focus on my coffee, drinking it and getting a refill. The need to cry is a constant, dull pressure in my head, but my eyes are parched. In my chest is an odd blend of emptiness and… anticipation. For the first time—in probably my entire life—I feel a sense of possibility. Of freedom. There’s nothing holding me back. I can do anything I want.

  “Have you thought about calling Charles?” asks Nona, watching my face carefully.

  My brows lift. “No. Why?”

  Nona shrugs, but by the cunning in her eyes I have a feeling she’s going to drop a bomb. “When I spoke to him a few days ago, he mentioned he was having trouble selling the property in Maine.”

  I wince. “The one he bought for Olivia as an engagement present?”

  Nona tsks. “I told him it was a mistake. That girl was city through and through. No way she’d get her hands dirty, much less her shiny shoes.”

  Guilt stabs me. My baby brother’s engagement ended horribly last year, and I’ve maybe talked to him once a month since then. Brief, casual check-ins. I’ve been so wrapped up in my own life—and so relieved he wasn’t marrying the stuffy, annoying Olivia—that I hadn’t considered he might need support.

  I’m a shitty sister.

  “Nona, this family would implode without you,” I say with feeling.

  She nods. “Yes, it would. Now, unlike She Who Shall Not Be Named, you don’t mind getting dirty. I’ve seen pictures. It’s a beautiful property. Farm, actually.”

  “Wait,” I say, holding up a hand. “What are you suggesting?”

  She smiles. “I think you should buy it from him.”

  My jaw drops. “I don’t know the first thing about running a farm, Nona! Horses and cows and God knows what else. Are you kidding me?”

  She laughs. “There are full-time people who run the farm. It’s small, an orchard and a few fields. The main crop is apples. More importantly, you can grow your very own garden.”

  And boom, there’s the bomb.

  I stare at the table, my mind mush. Maine? Besides ski trips in my youth, I’ve never spent any time there.

  Alone.

  I’d be totally alone.

  My own garden.

  I’ve been gardening and growing with Nona most of my life, but without her…

  “Gardening isn’t about success or failure,” she says, correctly assuming my thoughts. “It’s about devotion to the process of learning. Plants have much to teach to the right listener.”

  I finally look up, meeting her avid gaze. “Shit,” I whisper. “Maine?”

  22

  three months later

  Knocking mud off my boots on the back doorstep, I whine into the phone, “Do I have to?”

  Alex laughs. “Yes, dummy. It’s Thanksgiving. It’s the one sacred Hughes holiday.”

  “Only because of Nona’s pumpkin pie,” I grumble. As my brother’s laughter fills my ear, I head inside and sit on the bench in the mudroom to untie my boots. Despite removing the excess clumps, they’re still covered in mud thanks to yesterday’s storm.

  “Besides, Thea wants to see you.”

  I smile at the mention of my soon-to-be sister-in-law. “We talk all the time. That’s how I know you’re driving her crazy.”

  Alex groans. “It’s not like I’m the first groom in history who wants to help plan the wedding.”

  I make a considering noise. “Yes, yes, you are.”

  He snorts. “All I did was suggest a change to the color scheme. She acted like I accused her of torturing animals.”

  “St
upid man,” I chortle.

  “Clearly.” He sighs. “Are you sure I can’t convince you to reinstate your previous job title?”

  “Nope.”

  Both he and Thea have been bugging me for weeks to be their wedding planner on the conviction that it will save their marriage. As two creatives, they’ve been continually butting heads about everything from location to size. Thea wants small, Alex wants big. Thea wants rustic, Alex wants modern.

  I’ve already decided to do it, but I’m not above letting them sweat a little. Besides, I’ve been busy. Running a farm—however tiny—is a lot of damned work.

  Smiling to myself, I think of my farm manager, Jonah McAdams, who would no doubt be thrilled to have me stop working so much. In my quest to dive into the world of agriculture, I’ve driven the poor man crazy.

  A gruff man in his sixties, Jonah called me “city girl” for my first month here. But I’ve grown on him, as has my blueberry pie. And his wife, Meghan, loves me, so he’s outnumbered, anyway.

  Padding into the kitchen in my socks, I ask, “Did I tell you that I think BlueBell Apples are going to win an award this year?”

  “Oh yeah?” asks Alex, sounding equally miffed and surprised. “What award?”

  “The county does a fall festival and gives out ribbons for best harvest. I have it on good authority that we’re the frontrunner. Our biggest competition is—”

  “Who are you?” he demands. “Put Candace on the phone right now!”

  “Ha ha. Shut up. This is exciting!”

  He yawns. Obnoxiously. “Whatever you say, sis. Book a ticket. You can’t skip Thanksgiving.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “You’re stubborn.”

  I smirk. “As stubborn as you.”

  He grunts. “By the way, Sebastian will be there.”

  My throat closes and my eyes follow. Rarely a day goes by that I don’t think about Sebastian, but hearing his name aloud is a particular kind of pain. Not as sharp as it once was, at least, but still potent.

  Alex clears his throat. “You know I’m not stupid, right, sis?”