Page 13 of Tattered Edges

I was a highly educated, independent, hardworking woman. I strove to be kind, thoughtful, and considerate. I liked to think I was fun, adventurous, and a bit daring. I was, in fact, a lot of things, but a loser wasn’t one of them.

My existence may have come as a surprise to the remaining Blackstones, but they weren’t the only ones. Whether they liked me or not—though, I hoped they would—I had every intention of taking great care of the gift bequeathed to me. They didn’t need to worry about that.

I felt another rain drop. Then another. And another.

I opened my eyes and knew I needed to make my way inside before a few drops turned into a downpour. My coat had a hood, but I didn’t have an umbrella. It was on my growing must-have shopping list. A list I couldn’t bother to think about just then.

Without further delay, I hurried back toward my destination and slipped inside.

Mr. Johnson’s firm was located on the fifth floor. I took the elevator, my hands starting to tremble as I ascended. I looked down at them and clinched my fingers into fists. I didn’t usually get like this. I was a woman full of gumption. I kissed complete strangers at the pub, for crying out loud.

The elevator chimed, announcing my arrival, and I willed myself to get it together. I rolled my shoulders back, double checked my appearance in the blurred reflection of me cast on the stainless-steel doors, then continued on my way. As I entered the office, I was greeted by a cheery receptionist who was happy to show me to the conference room where Mr. Johnson and the Blackstones were waiting. I double checked the clock on my phone, saw I wasexactlyon time, and tried to convince myself it didn’t mean anything that I was the last to arrive.

“Ahh. Here she is. Miss Nielsen, glad you found the place,” greeted the lawyer.

He was seated at the head of the table meant for six and stood upon my entrance. I offered him a smile and a nod, not capable of much else, too distracted by the other three faces in the room.

The woman who was, technically, my stepmother sat at the opposite end of the table. She was a slim woman, made up of narrow features. Her nose was delicate and pointed, her lips were thin and pursed, and draped around her long, slender neck was a string of pearls.

She wore her hair back in some sort of elegant up-do, and there was no doubt in my mind the blouse she wore was designer. She appeared as formidable as she was classy. She’d aged a bit in the years since the photo I’d seen, but she wore it well—the streaks of gray in her hair more of a statement than surrender.

Seated beside her was my half-sister. The resemblance between the two women was obvious. They had the same hazel-brown eyes. The same shade of dark brunette hair. Even, it seemed, the same taste in jewelry—my sister’s ears adorned with pearl earrings.

Rather than an up-do, the younger woman wore her hair down and parted in the middle. I knew she was twenty-eight years old, but she carried herself in such a way that if I didn’t know otherwise, I would have guessed she was older than me.

My half-brother wasn’t sitting but stood behind his sister with his arms folded across his chest. He was above average height, if not lanky, and very well dressed. Yet, somehow, he managed to look a bit disheveled. It was the hair. His overgrown, brunette mane was a mix of wavy and curly, and the stubble he wore on his face could have been on purpose or the result of running out of time to shave. It was hard to tell.

Each and every one of them were staring at me as I was at them. Outnumbered though I was, I managed a smile, intent on expressing I wasn’t a threat.

“Hi. Good morning,” I said, stepping further into the room.

“So, you’re her. Maeve Nielsen. My father’s love child,” my brother replied, somewhat coldly.

It took everything in me not to flinch. That name wasn’t mine. Not really. Moreover, I wasn’t sure how I felt about being referred to as alove child.

Before I could open my mouth to speak, Mr. Johnson jumped in.

“Right. Introductions must be made. Miss Nielsen, may I present to you Archie and Eloise, Mr. Blackstone’s other children, and Juliet, his widow.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” I replied genuinely. “But, please, call me Sawyer. Maeve was my mother.”

“Honestly, I can’t believe this is happening,” said Archie, throwing his hands up as he began to pace along the opposite side of the room. “She throws out his name, and we’re supposed to believe she’s entitled to any share of our inheritance? How can we even be sure she’s our sister?”

Her gaze still aimed at me with unwavering focus, Eloise replied dryly, “Not that I think it matters whether or not she’s biologically his, given Maeve was clearly named in his will, but look at her eyes. It appears the bookstore isn’t the only thing he gave her.”

“Oh, do sit down. Both of you,” insisted Juliet, glancing between Archie and me.

I couldn’t say why, but I felt compelled to obey. I took the chair to Mr. Johnson’s right and shrugged my way out of my coat. Archie, begrudgingly, pulled out the seat across from me, plopping down next to his sister.

I wasn’t completely naïve. I didn’t have any expectation that we’d meet, and an instant familial bond would spark between us—but so far, things weren’t going as well as I’d hoped.

“The truth of the matter is what’s done is done. We’ve been over this. David has already outlined all the reasons why we can’t contest the will. Now all that’s left to do is to sit down like adults and discuss the most practical way forward. David?” Juliet prompted.

The lawyer dipped his chin in a nod of appreciation, then resumed his seat at the head of the table. “As you are aware, Miss Nielsen is here as she intends to take on the responsibility of Tattered Edges as well as move-in to the flat above it.”

“Why?” asked Eloise matter-of-factly.

Mr. Johnson frowned. “Why? Whywhat?”

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