The Right Wrong Promise (The Blackthorn Inheritance #2)

Chapter 1

MAKE YOURSELF AT HOME (MARGOT)

It’s a long drive up to the lake house from Portland.

Over three hours on the road where city comforts bow to marching mountains and tall forests as thick as my memories.

I make the entire trip with the windows down, though.

It’s fall, and the wind streaming through my hair gives me a sense of freedom I’ve been missing forever.

Why does this feel like a new beginning when it’s really just a working trip to assess the mess I’ve been handed?

Thanks, PopPop. You always did love to send me on scavenger hunts.

By the time I pull up the gravel driveway outside my grandfather’s secluded lake house, I think I’m ready.

I tell myself I’ve braced for the emotional sucker punch.

I’m sure I’m old enough to handle this like a grown-up and not a hurt little girl who still desperately misses the old man who held her entire universe together.

Ha, no.

This is the first time I’ve seen the place since Gramps died. Honestly, since my first year of college.

Half a lifetime ago, we’d head up here every summer as kids for deliciously lazy weeks lost among the country greenery and an infinite canopy of stars.

It’s been a hot minute since I’ve made the trek up the long, dark, winding path through the tall pines and vibrant maples.

The old house’s exterior certainly doesn’t match the memory in my head.

“Ouch,” I mutter, wincing at the worn blue paint.

The short steps leading up to the porch are a little overgrown along the sides. We’re talking weeds poking through the slats like they’re scheming to trip you.

The handrail looks like it’s a heartbeat away from falling over the second you grab it.

With a heavy sigh, I linger in the car, just taking it in for a second.

Dead, black windows stare back at me. The nostalgia trapped inside this place suddenly feels gloomy.

The old blue house has certainly seen better days.

So have I.

But at least it’s a warm, sunny day for September.

One of those breezy autumn kisses that likes to pretend it’s still summer. Cloudless blue sky, rolling breeze, gold splashed everywhere.

It makes this house feel picture-perfect even if it’s looking more rustic ruin on the outside.

Makes coming here feel a little less morbid, I guess.

In the will, PopPop left me the lake house and vast land around it. The only real estate with my name on it.

The rest of his sprawling empire went to my brother, Ethan, and that’s fine.

There’s still some big secret waiting in the wings for my little cousin, Cleo, too.

For me, it was a generous addition to my trust fund I didn’t really need, plus this property.

But now that I’m here, I’m more confused than ever.

Why did he leave me a place that probably needs a hundred fixes to shine again?

My hands grip the steering wheel, turning my knuckles bone-white. I release them, blowing out a long, slow breath.

Then I put on my game face and climb out of the car.

My arrival disturbs a few big crows on the porch. They erupt from their roost cackling, and a couple of them nearly take my head off in their rush to leave.

“Jeez!”

I almost drop my sunglasses as I throw up my hands. Before I can curse them, they’re gone, spiraling into the sky like a plume of black smoke.

Great. At least I’m alone if this place has gone to the birds.

I snort, shaking my head.

If Ethan saw me freaking out over a few bouncy crows, he’d never let me live it down.

Whatever. It’s expected.

Jitters.

That’s part of the journey when you come back to a childhood stomping ground that’s basically haunted. Memories can be just as scary as ghosts.

For all I know, a few real ghosts moved in while it’s been abandoned, barely checked by locals and Gramps’ old bodyguard, Holden.

With my luck, I’ll need to look for psychics along with contractors to make this place decent again.

I snatch the unopened letter off the passenger seat and pat the back pocket of my jeans to make sure I’ve got the keys before stepping through the tall weeds crowding the old stone walkway to the back of the house.

The rickety stairs are sturdier than they look. They only creak a little as I climb them.

It’s weird doing this alone without my dumb brother charging ahead of me, or my bestie, Hattie, by my side.

When we’d come here as kids, we’d always run in through the back.

“Front’s for guests. The back, that’s for family,” PopPop would always tell me with a wink.

Old habits die hard.

Same with people, and God, I miss him.

It’s been almost a year since he left this world, but every time I think about it, my heart aches bitterly.

My grandfather was more like a third parent to Ethan and me.

So much crap has come out about his life and his complicated relationship with my mom that I don’t even know how I should feel about coming here.

But that’s the thing about feelings. Sometimes they decide for you.

The letter in my hand almost vibrates, waiting to be read.

I put the key in the lock and turn. It’s a little stiff from disuse.

Then I walk inside, inhaling the living past.

Oh, I forgot this smell.

There’s still a hint of brine in the air from the nearby ocean, mingling with the staleness of abandonment. The lightbulb in the hallway blows out the second I flick the switch, so I head to the living room.

Surprisingly, the blinds are open, revealing the glittering lake sprawled out in front of me. Fall colors dye the water twenty shades of red and orange.

It’s freaking beautiful in a moody kind of way.

There’s a little beach down there, all rocks and pale sand, along with an old dock jutting out into the lake. The water laps against it gently.

I smile before I catch myself.

It’s weird being here with so much silence.

I keep imagining Ethan will jump out from behind a door to scare me or PopPop will come stomping downstairs and tell me to unpack the damn car before he has to do it all himself.

Now, just whispers.

The wind whistling lightly against the house, floorboards creaking, secrets frozen in silence.

At least the house has been maintained on the inside. It’s actually clean in here, with nothing obviously broken besides the light.

The appliances all work, supposedly.

Might have to thank Holden for that. He still makes the rounds periodically at all the old family properties, making sure they’re safe and secure. It keeps him employed and gives us one less headache until we decide what to put on the market.

Still, it almost feels like there’s someone else here.

That’s silly.

Today it’s just me and the breeze and whatever chaos PopPop left behind in this letter.

I mean, it can’t be worse than Ethan’s surprise, right?

It’s not like I have to marry some dude just to get my inheritance. Never thought in a million years it would lead to Ethan and Hattie tying the knot, but here we are.

Not much comfort.

PopPop was a strange man, and adventure was practically his religion. He loved to live, and if he had to prod you along to do it, that was no sin.

My stomach churns at the thought of opening it.

His last words.

The last little fragment of him I’ll get in this life. And after that, I’ll have nothing but grief.

More grief.

Nothing but sadness and ghostly jump scares from my own brain. Melancholy and mysteries I’m not sure I need.

There’s a real possibility he’s left me something else here, something crazy.

I might be safe from any freak engagement clauses, but so what? He gave my brother the kick in the butt he needed to find true love. In PopPop’s eyes, Ethan needed it.

But what about me?

Is he just waiting to upend my life with some weird lesson while he chuckles from beyond the grave?

Only one way to find out…

My stomach twists again and I bite my bottom lip.

No, luggage first. Then I’ll read it.

I head back outside to my luggage waiting in the trunk.

When I packed my bags, I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying, so I brought enough stuff to last a month. Just in case I need to do more here than take a good, long look at my property and figure out what to do with it.

Too bad I’m not a light packer.

I’m a material girl, okay?

It takes me three trips. By the time I’ve lugged the third bulging roller bag up the old staircase to my room, I’m sweating.

I’m a runner, so I don’t lift much, and it shows.

This is way more intense than the workouts my personal trainer puts me through back home.

I leave the remaining luggage by the back door and don’t bother locking it as I head into the living room again. It’s not like I’m worried about anyone breaking in.

We’re in the middle of nowhere.

Reasonably close to Bar Harbor but tucked back and secluded from the main tourist rush which is tapering off around this time. Just twenty or so miles northwest of the rocky shore that starts in Acadia National Park, but it might as well be on another planet.

It’s the kind of place you visit to escape.

Right now, I’m not feeling it, though.

With the steady breeze and the isolation, I keep hearing noises upstairs.

Footsteps, almost, and even though I know it’s just my imagination running wild, it has me on edge.

Or does the letter just have me so worried I’m hallucinating? Is that a thing?

Deep breath, Gigi.

I’ve never been one to shy away from the important stuff.

But this letter is pure dread.

Probably because I never imagined how many dark secrets were swirling around this family until Ethan’s whole drama arc played out.

No more putting it off, though.

The lawyer released it for a reason once I told her I’d be making a trip up here. But even when Jackie Wilkes turned it over with her usual stern, polite lawyerly smile, I didn’t dare open it.

Not there in her posh office on those nice chairs that came straight from an Instagram photo.

Not when I could stall and put it off until I’m alone and vulnerable.

Idiot, a little voice in the back of my head whispers.

It’s not wrong.

Now that I’m here, I’m out of excuses.

Time to put on my big girl pants and read.

Whatever he’ll throw at me, I’m ready.

And even if I’m not, I’m alone.