Page 12 of Blurred Lines

"Flo," I shush her. "Not now."

"Fine," she scowls. "But I'm asking you later."

Of course she will.

The will-reading feels like stepping into an alternate reality, one where expectations are flipped on their heads. I'm half checked out already, my mind on a flight to somewhere bathed in perpetual sunshine, away from the cold shadows of family drama.

So, when Uncle Clevens starts detailing the assets left in my name, it feels like I'm hearing things.

"A portion of the vineyard, the estate, the house, and …" he drones on, but I'm stuck on the vineyard part. Our vineyard? The sprawling fields of grapevines that paint the horizon at dawn? It's surreal.

Flora gets a part of the vineyard too. But Dad has left me with more, and I have no idea why.

Then comes the kicker.

"And now," Uncle Clevens finishes with an authoritative flourish, "there is one last item that Harvey specifically requested be mentioned at this juncture." He pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect, or maybe to gauge our reactions.

We're all looking at him like he's going to explode.

He reaches into a folder, pulling out a sealed envelope, its surface unmarked but for my name written in my father's familiar scrawl. "This letter," he continues, holding it up just enough for everyone to see, "was left for Emily. Harvey's instructions were explicit that it be read by her, and her alone, in solitude."

A murmur ripples through the room, but I barely hear it. My focus narrows to the envelope in Uncle Clevens's hands.

"If there are no further questions," he adds, his gaze sweeping over the gathered family members, "I will conclude the reading of the will."

No one speaks. As Uncle Clevens hands me the envelope, our fingers brush briefly. "Your father was very clear about his wishes," he says, meeting my eyes. "Take your time with this."

I nod, the envelope now a weight in my hand, heavy with potential and the unknown. "Thank you," I manage to say, my voice sounding far away.

Maybe when there's some peace, I can read the contents and see what Dad wanted.

But of course, peace is a foreign concept in this family saga.

"What did he leave us? The mansion?" Verona all but screeches, her impeccably sculpted eyebrows shooting so high they all but vanish from her face.

Uncle Clevens clears his throat uncomfortably.

Oh boy, this won't be good.

"Ahem," Uncle Clevens coughs. "I was hoping to discuss this discreetly with only those involved?—"

"Just say it," Verona hisses.

"Since you put it that way … this mansion has been left to Emily, and her alone."

I suck in a breath. This is unfair. Why didn't Dad think of Flora? What was he?—

"ARE YOU JOKING?" Alec screeches. "WHAT DO WE GET?"

"Ah—" Uncle Clevens busies himself by scanning the papers once more. "It so happens that he has left the both of you his prized collection of ceramic garden gnomes."

Oh boy.

Alec's jaw works soundlessly, his tanned face cycling through an impressive spectrum of disbelief. Verona, however, doesn't disappoint.

"Garden gnomes?" she hisses, her voice a venomous whisper. "The man had atrocious taste!"

"A true representation of himself, perhaps?" I offer with faux innocence.

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