Inheritance (The Lost Bride Trilogy, #1)(56)

The sea view opened to a room of rich blues and deep roses with a fireplace, where Sonya had started a fire in anticipation, facing a bed with an open canopy draped in the same tones.

The white lilies and pink rosebuds Sonya had arranged in a slender cobalt vase sat on a long dresser with carved curved legs.

“I’m going to feel like a celebrity. A celebrity Gothic heroine. With her own adorable bathroom.”

“There’s another I thought about—it faces the forest, which is wonderful in its own way. So—”

“Uh-uh.” Smile dreamy, hands on her hips, Cleo turned in a circle. “This is mine. I stake my claim.”

To prove it she flopped onto the bed, stared up through the canopy at the ceiling.

“I can help you unpack.”

“Oh, the hell with that. Later. I want to see more.” She sat up. “Is there a creepy basement?”

“There is.”

“I want to see that, too.”

“You’re on your own with that. I really, really missed you, Cleo.”

“I missed you. I swear, it feels like months instead of a couple weeks.” She popped up. “Come on. Show me more. Then let’s pick a room and open a bottle of wine.”

Sonya showed her more, and felt even the dregs of anxiety drain at Cleo’s delighted reaction to everything. When they stood shivering on the widow’s walk, the snow began to fall.

“Imagine standing here, looking out, and not knowing when the person you loved would come home.”

“The Pooles not only built ships but sailed them,” Sonya said. “So I guess more than one stood here looking out and wondering.”

“I see what you mean about the forest. It’s magical. It’s all magical.” She wrapped an arm around Sonya’s waist. “My best friend fell into magic. I love this, Sonya. I love it for you.

“Let’s go have wine.”

They went down, opened a bottle. For now, Sonya noted, the iPad stayed quiet. And the cabinets in the kitchen remained closed.

If she’d imagined it all, maybe she needed to see a doctor.

They took the wine—Cleo’s pick—into the solarium to sit in the warm among the plants and watch the snow fall.

“Now.” Cleo settled back. “We’re just into our second decade of knowing each other. What’s worrying you?”

“Not nearly as much with you here. I think all this alone time in this big house started making me a little crazy. I love it, and didn’t expect to. I didn’t expect to be so determined to stay. I miss you. I miss Mom. Sometimes I miss living in the city. But I want to be here.”

“It’s yours, Son. And it’s not just a house, it’s your history, and generations of family. You’re making it your home. I can see pieces of you all around. Not just the library, though that’s all you now. You don’t love it just because it’s amazing, and it is. You love it because it’s you.”

“I’m a big old house on the coast of Maine?”

“Not the location necessarily, but yeah, the rest. You always wanted this.” Lifting a finger, Cleo ticked it in the air. “I’m not wrong there.”

“I did. It feels sort of strange to know I did want this.”

“When that asshole whose name I won’t speak unless it’s in a curse wanted to look at houses, you wanted something just like this. Smaller scale, for sure, but a house with history, with character, with quirks. All he wanted was a big fancy box with status symbol all over it.”

“You’re right about that.”

“I’m here until Monday morning.” Settling back, Cleo toasted both of them. “I know your mom’s coming up in a few weeks. And I’ll come up again. Trust me on that because I miss you. Plus, I love this place, too.”

“You could stay.”

“I’ve got a meeting Monday afternoon, so—”

“No, I mean stay-stay. Move in.”

Cleo’s topaz eyes widened. “Move in … here?”

“Why not? You can work anywhere, just like me. It’s only three hours to Boston to have meetings if you can’t do it by remote. Your family can come and stay anytime. At all. You can have that bedroom. Or you could take the apartment if you want more space.”

The words tumbled out in a rush.

“You know we can live together. We did it for four years in college. And it’s such a big house. We could go days without seeing each other if we wanted to.”

“Well, holy shit, Sonya.” More than stunned, Cleo pushed a hand through her hair. “And here comes another wow.”

“You could think about it, couldn’t you? Just think about it. The village—it’s not Boston by any stretch, but it’s charming, and there are some restaurants, some shops. Have some more wine,” Sonya said, almost desperately now, “and just think about it.”

“You’re serious about this?”

“I’m serious.”

And wanted it more than she’d let herself admit.

“You fell for Collin’s studio during the video tour, and when we just walked through again. It’s yours. Or you could set up anyplace you want, but you know you could work there. And have the space and the time to paint more. You really only paint in the summer now, outside, because your apartment doesn’t have the light or space. You’d have it here.”