Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80562 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
“I’m actually here to talk with Caroline Prince.” The man is a little taller than me, but so is just about everybody on the planet. His dark hair is slicked back with too much product, and he has a somewhat weak chin. There’s a badger-like quality to his eyes, which I have to admit I don’t like.
And then it hits me.
I know him. At least I did.
I lift a finger; eyebrows furrowed in remembrance. “Peter Ralmadue, right? We had an English class together, I think.” I’m smiling now, even though there’s an uneasiness about him I can’t quite shake.
His smile is one-sided and a little bit slimy. “I didn’t think you’d remember me.”
“You wanted to talk? What’s up?”
“You may want to sit down for this.”
I arch an eyebrow but lead him to my mini office in the kitchen. I give Cade the money when we enter. He thanks me, gives Peter a suspicious look, and then leaves the two of us alone.
Peter follows me and sets down a thick folder on the table between us, waiting for me to sit and settle before he continues.
I sit at my little kitchen desk, where I sometimes check in guests, and motion for Peter to sit across from me.
“What’s this about?” I ask once he’s seated.
Peter opens his folder, pulls out a very old-looking document, and turns it toward me so I can see. It looks like some kind of deed of sale from the Middle Ages. “Recognize this?” he asks.
“Should I?” I’m halfway scanning the document and not understanding why Peter would have a deed with the bed and breakfast’s address on it. I recognize my great-great grandmother’s signature on it, though. There’s another signature with the last name “Ralmadue.”
Peter is grinning, and it’s not a friendly grin. “I can let you read if you’d like, or I can cut to the chase.”
My smile is tight. I’m already pretty certain I don’t like this man or where this is going. “Why don’t you summarize for me? Then I’ll read,” I say in an overly sweet voice.
“You turn thirty-five in six months. Section B, article 12 here,” Peter says, pointing. “Clearly states that I’m obligated to inform you six months before the execution of this document. Today is six months, and this is your notice.”
“Inform me of what?” I ask through my teeth.
“In short, you have six months to get married, or you violate our dearly deceased ancestor’s contract regarding this building. If you’re not married in six months, the property reverts back to my family’s possession, and I’ll be within my rights to sell it, demolish it, or whatever else I may please.”
I take a few seconds to compose myself, blink, and then plaster a bewildered smile on my face. “I’m sorry. What? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”
“I’d be happy to fill you in on the history. If you’d like.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Let’s do that.” Mostly, I’m just stalling because my head is spinning.
“My great-great-grandfather, James, and your great-great-grandmother, Beatrice, were involved romantically. James only agreed to sell this building to Beatrice because she led him to believe it would be the next step in their relationship. But Beatrice tricked him and refused to talk to him once the sale was completed. James suspected something like this might happen, so he worked a few contingencies into the original contract. The relevant one here is the marriage clause. If any member of the Prince family wasn’t married by the age of thirty-five, they would pass the ownership of this building back to my family. Beatrice was your age at the time, and James believed his romantic gesture would compel her to see reason and accept his proposal to avoid losing the building. In one last dirty trick, she found a man to marry her at the last hour, kept the building for herself, and stole it from my family.”
I shake my head. I want to tell him this is all complete nonsense, but bits and pieces of the story sound familiar to something I remember my mom telling me when I was younger. I also know my mom talked about how she never had real plans to marry but suddenly changed her heart when she was thirty-four. “This is insane. There’s no way this is still legally binding.” My words are strong, but there’s less conviction in them then I’d like. My stomach is heavy and twisted. I keep thinking about Walker back in my room in his little crib for some reason. I have an almost overwhelming urge to go pick him up and cuddle him close to me–to assure him that Mommy isn’t going to let this man take away our building and our livelihood. Or worse, demolish it and plant some kind of commercial monstrosity in the center of the little town I love.