Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 677(@200wpm)___ 541(@250wpm)___ 451(@300wpm)
“Can we?” he asks, having missed everything that’s just gone down. “Pretty please with sprinkles?”
I turn back to Edith, and she smiles indulgently.
Margot stays silent, still reeling from the latest news.
“Thanks for the soaps, Edith. I should probably get these two terrors some dessert before they go to pieces.”
“Go!” She waves us both away with an urgent flap of her hands. “Enjoy yourselves while you’re here. And please take care of yourself, Margot, you hear me?”
“Sure will,” Margot murmurs quietly.
As we head back to the kids and the horses, I take her hand to steady her.
“You okay?”
“…I don’t know. All this stuff about the house, the Babins… Holy shit. I really had no idea. And I still don’t get what Gramps wants me to find.”
“I know. Have you thought about asking your mom? If you’ve hit a wall, it can’t hurt to reach for new directions.”
“Easier said than done. But maybe.” She looks pained.
The kids chatter about the ice cream flavors on the menu, bringing us back to the present, but I can tell she’s stuck on Edith Griffith’s words and the biting mystery in that house.
“You were right about the police report, at least,” she says softly. “I know we don’t have any proof the Babins intruded, but if they tried to burn the house down…” Her voice trails off.
Yeah, fuck.
My blood boils.
“Don’t worry. If they ever show their faces again, we’ll be ready,” I promise. The weight of it pounds in my ears like a war drum. “No one’s getting hurt under my roof, duchess.”
A holy vow, and I mean every venom word.
Not my kids.
Not myself.
Definitely not this strange, beautiful woman.
11
TAKE ME HOME (MARGOT)
Ihate to admit Kane was right.
He was right about a lot of things, but especially about the corner I’m in. And the only way out is to call Mom.
I’ve wasted a ton of time trying to figure out what Gramps left for me and where.
No progress.
If there’s a chance Mom knows anything, I just need to summon the courage to ask.
I’ve been putting it off for a while, but with the tea Edith Griffith spilled about the Babins, it’s obvious there’s a lot I don’t know about this house and the family history.
No, I’m not expecting miracles.
Not in this family.
Mom and Gramps were estranged for my whole life, but maybe she remembers something.
I mean, she knew her own mother and loved her until the day Grams died. And before the adult blunders, before the grudges ripped them apart, she knew and loved PopPop, too. No matter how much she likes to pretend she never did.
Honestly, I think she might’ve changed her name years ago, if it didn’t win her so much easy respect. It’s even weirder that she kept it after she married Dad, and it’s the whole reason we’re still Blackthorns.
But still, it’s worth a try. It’s worth the drama.
If she drops one teensy little nugget that leads me in a new direction, it’ll justify picking at old scar tissue.
It’s evening now, the sky half-dusky with a vibrant orange sunset fading behind the trees.
Maine is a living painting sometimes, so beautiful even Dadzilla had to admit he’s enjoying his time here.
I smile.
Every time I close my eyes, I feel his weight behind me.
His strong arms around me and his massive hands on the reins next to mine.
His hand on my back when we were talking to Edith Griffith.
He knew I needed that silent comfort, the reassurance to keep up a strong front against my worries and the confusion nipping at my soul. That’s why I whipped up a small batch of blueberry muffins once we came home, my way of saying thanks.
And I feel like I need his reassurance again now, alone in my room as I stare at my phone.
Yeah, talking to Mom about her father will never be easy, especially now that he’s gone. That almost makes it worse.
I think it’s one of several reasons Gramps passed on having a proper funeral. He wouldn’t put Mom through that—or us.
But there wasn’t much of a goodbye through the old man’s pride.
Everything we learned this past year about Ethan, about Mom’s relationship, about the affair and panic my grandfather’s ego triggered, it just made things more awkward.
But she’s my mother.
And she answers on the second ring while my breath turns to cement in my lungs.
“Mom?”
“Margot! Darling! How are you?”
I close my eyes. “I’m decent. Still hanging out here at the lake house, y’know.”
“That old place? God.” There’s instant venom in her tone. “How’s it holding up, anyway? Last I heard, it was practically derelict. Holden Verity, he recommended extensive renovations, if not a teardown and—”
“Mom, I know, and it’s not that bad. It’s safe and the appliances still work.” After a strained second, I decide not to mention Kane and his fixer-upper superpowers that helped make this place bearable. “I was actually just calling to see if you might remember anything special about the house. Anything important, I mean?”