Page 59 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

Changing tact, I say, “Only if you promise to Facetime Leonie when you’re free.” She adores him.

He laughs. “That I’m more than happy to do.”

The last of the sunlight flashes in his eyes and they catch hold of mine for a moment that burns through my defenses, seeps deep, and makes my heart swell.

We tag team the dinner clean up and the Leonie entertainment showcase. At some point, music comes on and the three of us dance in the kitchen. I have a moment where I imagine walking by the window and seeing this little family full of smiles and laughter. Only way out here, if someone were on the chateau property, they’re definitely up to no good and we’d have to call the sheriff.

Thankfully, law enforcement isn’t needed. Instead of the shadows of the past creeping back in, right now my heart is the fullest it’s ever been. If I had a camera, I’d take a snapshot, capturing this moment in time.

After Leonie goes to sleep, I wander downstairs under the auspices of asking Maddock what he plans on doing with the truckload of stuff.

I find him stacking the boxes in the hallway closet.

“So you decided to keep it all?”

“Status pending. If after the renovation, you want to go through it all, you can decorate as you wish, open a museum, or sell it.”

The idea of staying here, living here, teases me like a house of mirrors. “No yard sales, though. They attract scavengers.”

“The scavenger hunters?”

“Same thing.” I set the baby monitor on the table.

“But maybe someone will get lucky.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it.

Maddock leans against the wall in the hallway and folds his arms in front of his chest. I feel like I’m staring down my own reckoning and sputter, “Hogan Tickle didn’t intend for his riddles not to be solved.”

“So if it’s not luck, you mean someone smart will figure them out.”

“Someone cunning. Cutthroat.”

“Someone like you?”

Since living here, my sleep is much improved so my laughter isn’t so much delirious as it is diabolical. It’s my mother’s laugh. I glance around, but she’s not here. More like it echoes in this house.

Maddock’s look at me is long and penetrating like he knows there’s a chapter, the apex of the story, that I’m not sharing.

I keep my poker face.

“You don’t think there’s treasure, so what are people searching for?”

“Treasure.”

“Now it sounds to me like you’re the one speaking in riddles.”

“Searching for treasure implies something valuable that was hidden. Seeking it consumes people and corrupts them. Makes them greedy. There’s never enough.”

“And you know this first hand?”

“Second hand. I’m not that kind of criminal.” My shoulders lift and lower as I let out a breath, wondering how much I should tell Maddock. How much he can handle before he has second thoughts about coming back?

I sit down at the base of the stairs. A spot I’ve occupied many times, but never on this side of my life where there are genuine smiles, laughter, and something else that’s just barely budding, but there nonetheless. Love.

Maddock steps closer, invading my space. Or did I invite him? The lines are blurring. Is that because I’m living at his house? This place is nearly as big as a hotel. We could go days without seeing each other if we wanted to. But we somehow always end up in the kitchen at the same time.

Maybe it’s because we’re both hungry for each other but are too stubborn to admit it.

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