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)
“Curious,” Jackie says. “Well, I have a recent inventory of the house’s contents at the time of his death, and regular updates from the last few months, courtesy of Holden Verity. I can send them over, but I’ve gone through the lists myself. I doubt you’ll find anything too useful there.”
Damn.
If it made Jackie Wilkes yawn, there’s zero chance I’ll find anything helpful.
“I thought you might have a guess what he meant?”
Silence.
I’m sure she’s secretly laughing at me. This woman is so not the guessing type.
“I’m afraid I can’t speculate, Miss Blackthorn.” Her voice softens. “You know your grandfather was notoriously private with family affairs. He didn’t provide me with any long explanations—not in your brother’s case and not in yours. My only role ends with executing his last wishes. If I could read his mind, so much would be less complicated.”
Believe me, I know.
But it doesn’t answer my questions, and they gnaw at my belly.
Not her fault, though.
So I just doodle my signature in the corner of my shoe design.
“I get it, just thought I’d check. Thanks, Jackie.”
“Certainly. Is there anything else I can help with?”
Unless she has a time machine so I can ask my grandfather what the hell he meant, no. I shake my head, even though she can’t see me, and lean back in my chair.
I think the drumming downstairs has stopped.
“No, but thanks again. I’ll let you know if anything else comes up.”
“Understood.” Jackie hesitates, then adds, uncharacteristically, “Good luck with the hunt, Miss Blackthorn. I sincerely hope you enjoy your stay. He loved the old house passionately.”
“Yes, he did. Thanks,” I mutter, trying not to tear up.
I disconnect and slump down in my seat, boneless.
After everything Ethan went through to inherit Blackthorn Holdings, he’s the only one who could understand what I’m feeling.
It must be bad when I start wishing my dumb brother was here.
If only to help me survive Gramps’ last game, without the Saints complicating everything.
The old house might be worn down, but it’s surprisingly noise resistant.
When I wake up in the morning, eye mask still on, I discover that even though I forgot my earbuds, I slept pretty well.
Soft gold sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains.
My body has that warm, pleasant feel after a deep sleep. Given how I’ve slept recently, it’s probably overdue.
Just weird that it hit here of all places.
I swing my feet out of bed and listen.
Nothing.
The only sign I’m not alone in the house is the tantalizing scent drifting through my closed door.
My stomach rumbles. I realize I skipped out on dinner yesterday between getting unpacked and everything sorted after so much drama.
First thing’s first—I need to get showered and dressed.
No way am I walking in on family breakfast time before I’m ready to face the day. Plus, my cami and tap-pants pjs don’t scream family-friendly.
Sticking my head out of the room, I make a dash for the bathroom across the hall and lock the door behind me.
It hasn’t changed much since childhood, everything’s charmingly old-fashioned and in good shape. The bathrooms might be a decent selling point for the house later.
They’re not bad, even with the shower sputtering with disuse before it stays on hot. By the time I emerge, I feel like I’ve had a spa routine.
I tie my wet hair back and head down, carefully running my hand along the railing.
The first thing I notice is that it doesn’t try to throw me to an early death today.
Huh.
Actually, it’s weirdly sturdy, not bending at all.
I give it a good push to test it, just like I did yesterday. It doesn’t budge.
I grit my teeth, noticing the gap torn out of the railing is gone too. There’s fresh, unstained wood there, smooth and nailed into place.
So.
Mr. Saintly Dadzilla thinks he can sneak around behind my back to play fix it after I point-blank forbid it.
I ignore the tiny spark of relief that no one’s at risk of falling anymore.
There’s no denying he solved this problem faster than anyone else, but—
Ugh.
I take a few seconds to swallow my pride before I face them.
The kitchen is bright and cheery, barely used since the last big renovation. It’s the main room PopPop made a point to update over a decade ago.
Unlike the bathroom, it’s sleek and modernish. U-shaped marble counters around a huge family table with a hint of Tuscan colors, the style in vogue well over a decade ago.
The twins are busy hauling plates of food to the table, enough to feed a small army, and there are four places laid out.
Four?
Oh, boy.
My stomach lurches.
I don’t let myself think about what that means.
The way our family mealtimes at home always came with some agenda in my parents’ house, especially as Ethan and I got older.
“Hi.” The boy looks up cheerfully. “I’m Dan, remember?” He points at his sister. “That’s Sophie. You saved her yesterday.”