The Heiress(43)

“I’m not the answer, Libby,” I say now. “I never was. Find something better.”

My words take on a slightly desperate edge as I reach out to take her hands in mine. “You deserve better. Fuck this house, fuck this family, fuck the money. Just … be you. Whatever that is.”

I squeeze her fingers, smiling a little, hoping she hears me, and for a minute, I think she might. Her beautiful face softens, her fingers press into mine.

And then a smirk twists those symmetrical features, her lips pinching together in a way that brings Nelle to mind. “Oh, Camden,” she purrs. “That’s beautiful! Maybe save it for someone who needs a fucking Hallmark card, hmm?”

She pivots away sharply, her sandals smacking on the tile.

“Libby,” I call after her, but she just throws one hand up, dismissing me.

“You had your chance, Camden,” she calls out as she heads through the massive arch leading into the hallway. “Remember that.”

Her footsteps echo, then fade, and eventually, I hear the front door open and slam shut.

Sighing, I go over to the sink, picking up the base of the blender and setting it on the counter before turning on the hot water to wash the container.

There are other dishes in the sink, and I wash them methodically. My hands are moving, but my brain is far away.

I don’t know how long I stand there, the water running, steam curling around me.

I should’ve left that night and never returned. I probably could’ve saved myself then. I wasn’t a teenager anymore, old enough to live on my own. If only I hadn’t let Ruby call me back that last time …

My cell phone rings, pulling me out of my daze, and I shut off the water, drying my hands on the back of my jeans before picking up the phone, glancing at the name on the display.

Nathan.

My lawyer.

I’d left a message with him earlier about making an appointment to go over some paperwork, so it’s probably just that, I tell myself, answering the call.

But there’s a heaviness in my gut that tells me it’s something else.

And my gut, it turns out, was right.





OOH LA-LA LIBBY!

It’s easy to forget Elizabeth Eleanor “Libby” McTavish is North Carolina royalty when you step into her boutique in Tavistock, North Carolina. The unassuming heiress is wearing jeans with a vintage T-shirt showcasing the cover of Lara Larchmont’s Aestas album, and her feet are charmingly bare save a bright coral polish on her toenails and a silver ring winking from her pinkie toe.

But spend a few minutes in the magnetic twenty-seven-year-old’s company, and you quickly realize she is breathing rarified air.

“I found this in Indonesia, isn’t it divine?” she’ll say, holding up a gorgeous batik blanket, and that will lead into a thirty-minute conversation about her second honeymoon in Bali.

While the marriage didn’t last long, Libby is not one for dwelling on disappointments. “I really think you have to make your own way in the world, and that means you’ll sometimes make mistakes. I’m just thankful my family gave me that grace.”

Her family is, of course, the legendary McTavishes of Tavistock, her notorious great-aunt Ruby the much-married “Mrs. Kill-more” of tabloid legend, but Libby doesn’t like to focus on scandal.

“Aunt Ruby was a Girl Boss before we knew what that was,” she tells me. “People forget that it wasn’t just her dad’s money, or her husbands’. She was super smart. She made her own way. And I think, in my own little way, I’m trying to do the same. Honestly, if she were still alive, I think she’d be really proud of me.”

No doubt she would, although unfortunately, no members of Ms. McTavish’s family were available for comment by the time this interview went to press.

––Southern Living, February 2022





CHAPTER ELEVEN

Jules

So, I guess I have some explaining to do, huh?

I know, I know. It looks bad. Me on that trail, Ben revealing I was the reason he asked Camden to come home. The heavy implication that I’d promised something in return.

Second-act plot twist, your heroine is actually a potential villain.

But I’m not, I swear. Everything I’ve done, everything I’m doing, is for Cam.

Yes, I want this house. And yes, I’m not the kind of person who willingly turns their back on hundreds of millions of dollars. (Are you?)

I’m not as good a person as Cam is. He can reject all of that because he knows the strings that come with it are too tightly knotted, but what he doesn’t understand is that we can cut those knots.

Together.

It’s just … I couldn’t ask him myself.

It would’ve broken something inside him, knowing I wanted him to walk back into this place. It had to be someone else, someone he already hated, who pulled him back in. Once we were at Ashby House, I could handle the rest.

But that first part? Getting one of the McTavishes to reach out?

I’m not going to lie, that was tricky.

Like I said, when we first got married and decided to leave California, I thought Cam might choose that moment to return home. And when he didn’t, I thought, Maybe that’s for the best, and I tried to put all thoughts of Ashby House out of my head.

I really did.