Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92708 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 464(@200wpm)___ 371(@250wpm)___ 309(@300wpm)
“The what?”
“The five-year clause. In Gran’s will, it states that if your marriage ends before five years is up, the deed transferring ownership to you is null and void.”
In a stupor, I dropped onto the edge of the bed again. “Is that true?”
“It’s totally true.”
“She never said anything about it.”
“Why would she? You and Prince Charming have her convinced your love is real.” She shook her head. “It’s so ridiculous. He didn’t even get you a diamond!”
“So wait—what happens if the marriage doesn’t last five years?” My mind was spinning. I placed a palm on my forehead.
“Ownership reverts to Gran. And without anyone to inherit, she sells. I’ll get my money.” Tabitha lowered her voice, like she was telling a secret. “And by the way, I have it on good authority that the offer from Black Diamond will be good until the end of the year, so if you could just hurry up and get a quickie divorce, I’d really appreciate it.”
“How do you know all this—about the will?” I managed.
“My good-for-nothing dad turned out to be somewhat useful for once.” Her tone dripped with resentment. “He hired someone Bob recommended to do a little digging. Turns out, Gran’s will stipulates that if there is no one qualified to inherit upon her death, my father gets to decide what happens to Snowberry. And since he’s not interested in owning it, he’d sell. But don’t worry,” she told me. “You’d get thirty-three percent of the profits. You’d still be rich.”
My eyes closed. “I don’t care about the money.”
“You know, I can’t figure out if you’re serious when you say shit like that.”
Taking a deep breath, I rose to my feet. “Tabitha. Is what you’re telling me true?”
“Yes.” She lifted her shoulders. “But you don’t have to trust me. You can go ask Gran if you want to.”
I was choking back tears. “Why are you doing this?”
“Me?” She touched her chest. “I’m not doing anything! I’m simply aware of the terms of Gran’s will. Seems to me, you could have done a little better job at knowing what you were getting into. Instead you ran off and got married without doing your homework.”
My God. She was right.
“Not that I blame you,” she went on. “Devlin is hot as fuck. I can see how you got carried away.”
Unable to stomach another word out of her mouth, I raced out of her apartment, slamming the door behind me. After stumbling down the stairs in the glassed-in stairwell of the two-story building, I burst out outside and gulped in the smoky autumn air.
Tears burned my eyes on the way to my car, and once I got behind the wheel, I sat there and sobbed.
It had all been for nothing. I was going to lose everything. And all because I hadn’t bothered to check the actual terms of the will—as usual, I’d let my emotions run away with my decisions.
And Devlin . . . what was he going to say? Would he be mad that he’d wasted his time? Thank God he hadn’t invested his own money yet. But what would happen to the money I’d borrowed from the bank? The work already being done?
How quickly was he going to leave?
Tipping my face into my hands, I cried harder, heaving sobs racking my body.
I deserved this. I’d lied to my grandmother. I’d married a man for the wrong reasons. I’d spoken vows that should have meant something to me. I’d trivialized a lifelong commitment.
And I’d fallen for someone who’d told me right from the start he wasn’t going to stay.
When the tears slowed and I had regained some control of my breathing, I reached into my glovebox and found some old napkins I used to wipe my nose. Then I gathered my strength and drove to Gran’s house.
Gran’s house smelled like chicken noodle soup, and the aroma brought me back to childhood. She’d often made it on chilly fall or snowy winter days, and it could warm up your belly with one spoonful.
But I couldn’t eat.
“Would you like some?” Gran asked, ladling herself a bowl. “I was just about to have supper.”
“No, thanks. I’m not hungry.” I sat across from her at the kitchen table in the seat where I’d eaten thousands of meals. Everything in the room was so familiar, from the hue of the honey oak cabinets to the hum of the old refrigerator to the row of duck canisters on the Formica countertop.
“Something the matter?” Gran asked, taking the seat across from me.
“Yes,” I said. “I’m afraid.”
“You? Bosh.” Gran ate a spoonful of soup. “You’ve never been afraid of anything. I used to wish you were afraid of more things—I was always positive you were going to break an arm or a leg the way you skied that mountain.”
“I’m afraid I made a mistake.”