It doesn’t matter, though. Liam is depending on me to get our money back so we can continue to grow it with interest for ourselves rather than tying it up in the legal system. Neither of us wants to be out a million dollars or more.
“I’ve looked at other venues in the area, Ford,” she says. “I want a place here in Chicago. It’s home. And this mansion?Thisis home. Literally for you, but also for me. Nothing compares to this. Not even close.”
“I get it, but I’m sorry. I need to sell it.”
“Can we just talk to Madden? To get an estimate and see if it would even work? I’d want him on the project. No one would give this wonderful space the sort of care it deservesmore than someone who grew up here, and I already have the vision. I just need to know what it would cost to execute it.”
“Fifteen million plus your construction fees,” I say flatly.
She presses her lips together and nods, disappointment written all over her expression. “I get it. I don’t have that kind of money, and I know you need to unload it quickly. I have some money in my trust fund, but it wouldn’t be enough. I just…there has to be some solution. I feel more attached to it than I was expecting. Don’t you?”
I glance toward the kitchen again.
The kiss. The memories. The history.
Maybe I’m alittlemore attached than I was expecting to be.
It’s an incredible place, but home is wherever you make it, and that’s Tampa now—far away from the father committing crimes, the mother who saw her seven children as more of a burden than a blessing, and the six siblings who send the occasional group message to each other and everyone replies except for Archer.
“Even if I did feel attached, it wouldn’t matter,” I say. “My dad put it in my name because he knew I’d know what to do with it when the time came. The time has come.”
Her chin tilts down as she frowns a little. “Can you just make me a promise?”
My eyes meet hers, and she’s got me. Of course I can make her a promise.
“Don’t sell it without helping me explore all the options first. Okay? I just think you’ll regret it if you pawn it off the second you have the chance to. I want to preserve this place in a way that could give hope and joy instead of this fallen kingdom we see now.”
I press my lips together and nod. “We’ll explore the options.”
I say the words because she asked me to. But then I continue working my way through the house to figure out what needs to be done so I can get this house on the market.
CHAPTER 9: Tatum Barker
Garden Party Fundraiser
It’s a whirlwind trip to Chicago, and we’re back on the last flight out of Midway, heading back to Tampa before midnight.
I get that Ford is choosing his sense of obligation here, but there has to besomesolution.
My trust fund isn’t anywhere near the size of the ones with the last nameBradleyon the account. But it would be enough for a down payment. The problem is that I don’t have enough liquid assets to finance the monthly payments, and it would obliterate my plans to have several venues in different places since all my money would be tied up in one place.
I should let the idea go. But I just can’t stop picturing the fairy lights and the floral archways and the white marble…or that damn kiss in that damn kitchen twelve years ago. The nights of laughter. The time Ford made popcorn in the kitchen, and I went down to get a bowl for Archer and me to share, and a popcorn-tossing contest erupted where we each threw a kernel in the air to see how high we could get it and still catch it. He won. I laughed.
I meant what I said to him. I don’t want him to rush into this sale. I know he loves his family. He pretends he isn’t loyal to them since he’s so far removed geographically from everyone else, but I know his heart, and I truly think he’d feel regret if he sold it off to the first bidder when we can work together to find ways to keep it in the family.
The family I’m no longer a part of…or never really was, I suppose. Itfeltlike I was, though, and not just because I was with Archer so long. Ford feels like family, too.
On top of all of that, I can’t stop seeing myself in white as I stand on that gorgeous staircase lost in thoughtful ruminations as I create the perfect wedding day photos with my husband.
His face is blurry in my daydream. Still, I can’t stop seeing it.
It’s so vivid and so real in my thoughts that I’m too distracted to work on the plane ride home. Ford’s quiet, too, but he’s watching football stuff on his tablet, so I close my eyes and first try to come up with a solution, but when that feels totally futile, I allow myself to dream of just exactly how grand it could be.
Dream big or go home, right?
Well, I’m doing both, apparently. Except I don’t really have ahomeat the moment. I’m mooching off two different friends because I needed to run away from Vegas for a while, and now I’m getting these big ideas that are probably too big to accomplish.
Ford doesn’t have practice on Tuesdays, but he’s in meetings all day in his home office. He talks to his lawyer, his agent, his financial advisor, and who knows who else.
