That makes me laugh.
He grins, steering his way down the driveway with ease. “Tell me about this home security system you set up. We’ve talked about putting cameras up since it’s vacant a lot, but homemade security systems are really more our style. We clearly share genes.”
And there go my eyes getting hot and stinging again. “I’m not usually quite that creative. The mountain air must’ve inspired me.”
“Mountain air’s the best.” He gestures ahead of us as we round a curve in the road and a range rises before us.
The peaks are likely at least five to ten miles away, maybe farther, but they’re majestic, already snow-capped despite fall not officially starting for a couple weeks still, with the sun shining down on them while a brilliant blue sky stands behind them.
“Beautiful,” I breathe.
“Nothing on earth like it.”
“It must be amazing to have this view every day of your life.” It’s funny—I’ve seen mountains all over the globe.
But every set of mountains is unique, and they’re all gorgeous in their own way, and they still take my breath away.
Daphne loves camping.
I love hiking, especially in places with towering natural scenery.
It makes me feel connected to the world in a sobering, grain-of-sand kind of way.
And then I go back to Manhattan, and I love that too. I love working on something bigger than myself, even if I feel disjointed at not loving the roots of Aurora Gardens anymore.
Lucky quirks another grin at me, this one holding a slight wince again. “If you decide to stay, we’ll have to address the elephant.”
I was hired as extra help for a month—apparently there’s a big conference being hosted at the retreat center and it’s nearly full in the weeks leading up to that, and they’re still figuring out staffing requirements, which, clearly, I could be helpful in assessing, if I were admitting to who I really am.
But it means that we know this is a trial. A short-term run to see ifMargie Johnsonwould like it here enough to fight to keep the job and settle down.
Be close to the brothers she’s just met now that her mother’s dead.
And honestly?
My mother might as well be dead.
While I’d suspected Daphne was with Oliver, my ex, on a cross-country road trip last month when my executive assistant brought me a picture linked to an article about a mystery couple who’d been giving money away all over the Midwest, the rest of the world found out for sure when they were arrested together in a town a few hours north of where I am now.
My father apparently saw the same photo I had.
He’d been making noise about me getting back together with Oliver, and I’d been playing along since that’s what you do when you don’t want your enemy to know how close you are to destroying them.
So as far as my parents knew, I was interested in Oliver again.
And when Daph and Oliver were arrested, my mother called—not to ask how I was doing, but to talk about how dreadful it was that Daphne was still smearing the family name.
Being dramatic in a fashion only Daphne could manage.
Causing all of my mother’s friends to be horrified once again that my parents could’ve raised someone like Daphne.
My parents don’t call to ask how I’m doing.
They don’t check in.
If it’s not adding to the bottom line of the family’s reputation or holdings, then they don’t care.
Fuck that.
