Chapter 7 Jude #2
Honestly, it shouldn’t have taken me so long to get past my misplaced anger at Gracie. She’s raised valid concerns regarding my plans, and that doesn’t give me the right to lash out at her—not when I’m the asshole ruining her life.
With a pit in my stomach, I sit back down as she takes a delicate bite of her toast.
“I understand why it might seem that way, and I’m sorry my decision has been so stressful for you,” I tell her quietly.
Her wary eyes meet mine, but when she doesn’t snap back, I go on.
“It was shitty of me to break the news to you so harshly, and I have no excuse for being so rude. You’ll probably find this hard to believe, but I’m not actually rejoicing over the loss of your job.”
Her eyes get brighter. “So, is this apology toast then? Did something in Agatha’s will make you reconsider selling Larkwood?”
I shake my head. “Unfortunately, no. My mind is made up on that.” The hope in her expression dies, and for one, logic-flinging moment, I want to promise she can stay in this cottage indefinitely.
Which brings me straight back to reality, because technically, under the terms of Nana’s will, she can.
That is, until I use every legal intimidation tactic in my arsenal to scare her into selling it to me.
God. She only thinks she hates me right now.
“Then what on earth did you want to tell me?” she demands. “Have you come to offer me a replacement job as your henchman? Or inform me that I’ve been living with asbestos for the last three years and can win BIG in court with you if I call 1-800-OMG-FML?”
I only barely manage not to laugh. “Pretty sure that number’s missing a digit and no. I’m not that kind of lawyer, Gracie.”
“Oh, right. I forgot. You’re the kind that charges five hundred dollars a minute to dance on the graves of dreams and happiness.”
I can’t help my smirk. “I can assure you that my grave dancing services are entirely complimentary.”
She glares at me and takes another bite of toast. Meanwhile, I try not to acknowledge the alarming satisfaction of seeing Gracie eat food that I’ve made her.
Instead, I use the opening to bring up the reason I’m here.
“But I do have some news about the estate that’s relevant to you.
You remember my friend Henry, who’s handling the probate process? ”
“The handsome guy with the dimples?” She nods, swallowing her toast. “He was sweet.”
Does Henry have dimples? If he does, they’ve never fully registered.
Disconcerted, I continue with an off-balanced “Right. Well, after going through Nana’s will, he discovered that in an act of misguided generosity, she bequeathed this cottage to you.
” I take a breath before continuing. “I say misguided because, unfortunately, ownership comes with a number of significant financial demands, including property taxes on a historic site, as well as a preservation clause that would require you to finance the restoration and upkeep of the property to an exacting standard.” Here, I pause, allowing the gravity of my words to sink in while gauging her reaction.
Gracie blinks rapidly, tears quickly welling in her dark, expressive eyes. Yes, good, I think, fully aware that I may as well be twisting an evil villain mustache.
“I know it’s a hard pill to swallow,” I say, adopting the gentle tone I use with clients after a loss in court. “At first glance, it seems like owning the cottage would solve all your problems, but selling it to me would actually—”
Gracie’s tremulous voice makes me stop short. “Agatha remembered me in her will?”
Mentally, I backpedal. “Uh, yes. The cottage has been left to you, along with the financial responsibilities of ownership.”
A little clumsily, Gracie puts her plate of half-eaten toast and the glass of water on a side table. I’m about to suggest (or beg) that she finish them when she knocks over the wine bottle by her foot.
“Dammit,” she says. Quickly, we both reach down to grab the bottle, which thankfully (and worryingly) is too empty to have spilled. Our hands accidentally brush, and the brief sensation of her skin against mine violently elbows every one of my thoughts out of the way.
“Sorry,” she mumbles as I pick up the bottle, hugging herself like she no longer trusts her limbs.
“I’m not usually—I don’t do this all the time, or anything,” she says, and I’m horrified to hear her sniffle.
“It’s just been the worst week, and everything feels worse without Agatha.
Now she’s left this place to me and I…” She pauses, and I watch the profile of her full bottom lip tremble.
“I’ll never get to thank her,” she squeaks out, voice tight.
“Just like I never got to tell her how much I—”
She stops speaking and puts her face in her hands. I can only tell she’s crying from the silent sobs shaking her back. My hand moves to hover above her tense shoulders, but I hesitate. Right now, I’m fairly sure she’d prefer a back rub from a cactus.
“I’m keeping it,” she whispers as I silently draw away.
Gracie’s voice is quiet enough that I hope I’ve misheard her. “Excuse me?”
She sits up, mascara blurred beneath her defiant eyes. “I know you’re trying to scare me into selling it. But if Agatha left this place to me, then I trust her judgment. She wouldn’t have given it to me if she thought it would be a burden.”
No. Fear slips a cold hand around my throat at the thought of my deal for Larkwood falling through. In a flash of overwhelming frustration, I wish I could explain everything to her. Closing my eyes, I take a much-needed breath.
“I have no doubt my grandmother meant well,” I say with forced calm, before looking at her, “but she was also extremely out of touch with today’s cost of living for people without her means. So, unless you explicitly told her what salary you needed, I can’t imagine she was paying you that well.”
Trying to spare her dignity, I don’t mention that I know exactly how little Nana paid her.
But even if I didn’t have access to the estate’s ledgers, Gracie’s empty cupboards and her flush of embarrassment at my words would have given me all I needed to know.
What’s less clear is why she never advocated for herself. Loathing myself, I press my advantage.
“I’m talking about tens of thousands of dollars in yearly property taxes and historic preservation costs here.
” She visibly gulps, and the squeeze of my airways relaxes the tiniest bit.
“But the good news is, I’m prepared to take the cottage off your hands.
You wouldn’t need to bear any of the financial responsibility of owning a historic site.
Plus, you’d never have to see me again.”
At this, her eyes flick toward me. “Out of everything you just said, that’s the most appealing thing on the list.”
Ouch. But beggars can’t be choosers, so I say, “Have I mentioned I’ll be here all the time until it’s off my hands?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Ew, why?”
“Because I have approximately thirty rooms of shit to sort through and restoration projects to oversee before the transfer,” I say, taking off my glasses and rubbing my eyes.
“Why not just hire someone to do it?”
I look over and catch her gaze aimed at the loosened tie and collar I neglected to redo before coming here. Her eyes jump up to mine, and the honest answer slips past my defenses. “Because I miss her. And as much as I don’t enjoy being here, it feels like… like a way to say goodbye.”
Gracie stares at me for a long moment. “I don’t understand you. How can you love her like this and not want to save what was so important to her?”
My jaw tightens as a rush of pain, family pressure, and love for my nana grates against this golden opportunity for Larkwood. “It’s complicated.”
“Is that grump-speak for ‘mind your own business’?”
“I guess so, yeah,” I say, losing a little of my patience. I shove my glasses back on my face in time to see her frown.
“Well, unfortunately for you, it is my business now. And while no, I can’t afford to pay those kinds of taxes or fees immediately, I don’t see why I should rush to sell to you while I’m figuring out how to avoid living in my mom’s basement.”
“You don’t understand,” I grit out. “The person who’s interested in the estate is looking to acquire a property in August, no matter what, and I intend for it to be Larkwood.”
“And why is it so important that they’re the ones who buy it?” Her eyes skim my outfit, and her mouth hardens. “You’re clearly not strapped for cash. I don’t see why you can’t just make my life the tiniest bit less shitty and wait a few months for another buyer.”
I accept the jab about my privileged financial situation and shake my head as she edges a little too close to the plans I can’t tell anyone about.
There’s a reason Larkwood has to go to this particular party and why the transaction has to be made with the utmost discretion, but I’ve already said too much.
“I can’t tell you why, but it has to be them. ”
“Then I guess I’ll have new neighbors,” she says sweetly. “I’ll make sure to bake them some welcome cookies to go with my mile-long list of reasons why Larkwood should continue being a wedding venue.”
“Gracie, please,” I nearly growl. “Privacy is crucial to them, and this deal won’t happen without the cottage included.”
She crosses her arms over her chest, brushing my side in the process. When did I move this close to her? “Then I guess we’re at a stalemate because I haven’t given up on saving Larkwood yet.”
“There’s no point in trying to ‘save Larkwood.’ I’ll find a way to sell the estate with or without your cooperation.”
“Unless I can change your mind,” she says with a determination that should be punishable by law.
“I’m not following,” I snap.
“Unsurprising, but listen. I want to make you a proposal.”
I give her a deadpan look. “Don’t you think we’re moving a little fast, darling?”