I waited, letting her share in her own time.
“Miremont was never sold. It was always mine—left to me by my mother’s family. He withheld it,telling himself he was protecting me from my own incompetence.” Her laugh was hollow. “He let me grieve this place for five years while it sat here, empty and waiting.”
“Jesus, Isabel.”
“There’s more. My mother’s family left me an inheritance. Ten million dollars, held in trust until I turn thirty. I had no idea it existed. He never told me.”
Ten million dollars. Hidden from her for years while Baron controlled every aspect of her life, while he threatened to cut her off, while he made her believe she had nothing without him.
“He’s releasing it early,” she continued. “He has the discretion, apparently. And my trust fund—I’ll have control of that as well.” She shook her head. “I went from having nothing to having more than I know what to do with in the span of one conversation.”
“Why now? What made him do such an about-face?”
“I guess he finally realized he’d lose me for good if he didn’t.” Her expression shifted. “I think me standing up to him broke something open. Or maybe it was seeing all of you out here, ready to fight for me.” She wiped at her cheek. “He said he was sorry. I don’t know if I believe him yet. But he’s trying. And Itold him if he ever tries to control me again, the door closes permanently.”
“You’re free,” I said.
“I’m free.” She stepped into my arms, her face pressed against my chest. “And the funny thing is, I don’t need any of it anymore. Six months ago, I would have done anything for his approval, for access to that money. Now, I just want you. This life we’re building.” She looked up at me, and the happiness in her expression made my heart swell. “The rest is just extra.”
I kissed her forehead, then her lips.
“Show me our home,” I said.
While smaller than Baron’s estate, the rooms were more open and spacious. Warmer too. Beneath the dust and neglect, everything was solid—hardwood floors worn smooth by generations of footsteps, window seats built into deep casements with cushions faded but still intact. The kitchen had tile work that looked hand-painted, the colors still vibrant beneath a layer of grime, and a fireplace large enough to cook in.
The air smelled like old wood and dried flowers, with something underneath that might have been lavender. Cobwebs hung in corners, and dust motes floated in theair. But it was all solid. The structure was sound. This was a home that had been waiting, not dying.
“Miremont belonged to my mother’s family.” Isabel ran her fingers along the wooden surface of a sideboard. “And now, it’s mine.”
She turned to face me.
“Ours,” she said. “If you want it to be.”
I looked around the room. “Is this where you want to spend our life together?” I asked.
She held her breath. I could see the hope in her eyes, fragile and fierce at the same time.
“Because I think it’s perfect.”
The breath rushed out of her, and she laughed and threw her arms around my neck. I lifted her off her feet, spinning her once before setting her down.
“Really?” she asked.
“Really. We can restore it together. Make it ours.”
She kissed me, quick and hard, then grabbed my hand again. “There’s more. Come on.”
We continued through the house. There was a library that was mostly full, but had a few open shelves, and a sunroom with windows on three sides overlooking what must have been gardens once. There were sixbedrooms, all on the second floor, each with a fireplace and views of the vineyard hills.
Finally, she led me into an upstairs sitting room near the back. The furniture was draped in white sheets, but above the fireplace hung a portrait that stopped me in my tracks.
The woman in the painting looked out at me with dark eyes and a half smile that made my heart stutter. Her hair was the same color as Isabel’s, swept up in a style from another era. She wore a deep-green dress and pearls at her throat. She was beautiful.
“That’s you,” I breathed.
Isabel squeezed my hand. “That’s my grandmother. Anaïs.”
I stared at the portrait, at the face that could have been my Isabel’s. The resemblance was uncanny. The shape of her eyes. The curve of her mouth. The quiet strength in the set of her shoulders.
