Blood and Wine - Margot Scott Page 0,15
now the living room, and another featuring a group of dusty men working in the fields.
I smile at a more recent picture of Edward shaking hands with my grandpa.
“When was this one taken?” I ask, pointing.
“That was taken the day the estate sale went through.”
And that explains why my grandpa looks so happy; he’d just become a very rich man. However, as excited as my grandpa must’ve been about the money, I know he had reservations about selling my grandmother’s childhood home. He would’ve preferred to have held onto it forever, if possible.
“Grandpa told me you approached him about buying the property,” I say. “How’d you find out about this place?”
“A gentleman came to me and asked if I would assist him in acquiring the property. He provided the funds, with the understanding that I would develop the estate into a profitable business venture.”
“Some random guy just gave you a boatload of money to open a winery?”
“He did. Though, I’ve assumed full ownership over the years.”
“Who was he?”
“That’s the thing about silent partners,” Edward says. “They prefer to remain anonymous.”
“Fine. Keep your wine-soaked secrets.” I bring my face closer to the glass so I can study a particularly nice set of hand-carved smoking pipes.
“I’m hoping to make them your secrets someday,” he says. “When you join the family business.”
I suddenly remember why I stormed all the way up here.
Straightening, I turn from the cabinet to face him.
“Edward, I can tell you’re trying to make me feel at home, but I don’t feel welcome here. And more than that, I don’t feel safe.”
He sighs. “I am sorry about Lilliana. She can be petulant.”
“It’s not just Lilliana. It’s Chastity and Christopher—"
“What did my son do?” His gaze narrows. I shift uncomfortably. “Did something happen that I need to know about?”
I want to crawl out of my skin just thinking about what Christopher did to me. “He came into my room last night and warned me not to get comfortable. Which he then punctuated by pissing all over my bed.”
Edward runs a hand over his face. “Please allow me to apologize on behalf of my children. They are afraid of losing my favor.”
“It’s not a competition.”
“Life is a competition, Mariah.”
“But you’re making it worse by pitting us all against each other.” I fold my arms across my chest. “Look, I just think it would be better if I went home.”
“No, Mariah.” He takes my hand. “That would make me very unhappy. Now, I am so, so sorry. What Christopher did was revolting. I will talk to him, and Lilliana.”
“And Chastity?”
“Yes, and Chastity. That is a promise.”
“I’m not sure it’ll be enough.” I free my hand from his grasp and turn back toward the cabinet. My gaze catches on a group photo I hadn’t noticed before, one with the year 1937 scrawled in black ink at the top righthand corner.
A familiar stare reaches out and grabs me from almost sixty years in the past.
It’s the man from my dream, looking exactly the same as he did last night, but with different clothes.
“See someone you recognize?” Edward asks.
“No,” I say quickly. I don’t want to have to explain my dream man to Edward. It feels too personal, and I’m not even sure what to make of it yet.
My palms start to sweat. I had never seen this man before, so I know I didn’t conjure him from memory. But if he was here in 1937, then that means his ghost is real, which then begs the question, are the other ghosts real, too? Why am I suddenly seeing ghosts in my dreams?
And, most importantly, how was the man able to touch me?
“Are these the only old photos you have, or are there more?” I ask.
“I’m afraid Chastity threw most of them out during the renovation,” he says. “But she may have packed a few albums away.”
“I think I’d like to see those.”
“I’d like for you to see them, too.” He takes my hand again. “You’re not a prisoner, Mariah. If you really want to leave, I’ll drive you to the airport myself. But if I can get Christopher to assure me that he is very sorry for his actions, will you consider staying a while longer?”
I steal another glance at the old group photo. If the man from my dream really is a ghost, then the only chance I’ll have to talk to him again is if I stay one more night.
“Fine,” I say. “But if things don’t get better, I’m out of here.”
Chapter Eight
William
Edward