Sinful Ever After - Vivian Wood Page 0,45

myself in my apartment. I drink tea and read Love In The Time of Cholera and sigh to myself. I go through an entire extra large bar of dark chocolate, which does little to change my mood.

The whole world is full of would be romances that didn’t work out. I need to focus on that, not on the stunning rejection that I feel every time I think about Aidan.

With his dark hair, his dark eyes, and his enormous stature, he is the stuff of fantasies. That much I am sure of. But I won’t pine for him.

I refuse.

I actually come to stacks of papers representing the late 1980s. Probably full of references to Aidan’s mother. But because I can, because no rule has been set about going through each piece of paper in order, I set them aside. Push them into a corner and resolve to do them later.

I’m at my table-turned-desk, squinting down at a page full of near-illegible scribbles, when I hear voices downstairs seeping into my solitude. I must have left the doors to the ballroom open when I last dashed downstairs. I hear deep baritones and lighter soprano voices; there are at least a few of each.

Even with myself, Margaret, Carter, and Aiden, there isn’t that much noise. So I push myself up out of my seat, drifting toward the landing curiously. At the same time, Carter comes bounding up the stairs.

“Olivia,” he says when he sees me. He gestures for me to follow him. “Come. The are some people I want you to meet.”

My cheeks color. I glance down at my plain blue dress, streaked with dust. Carter gives his head an impatient shake. “It doesn’t matter what you’re wearing.”

He just reads me, like it’s no big deal. I pale and follow him down the grand staircase, my eyes taking everything in.

I spot Margaret in the far corner, chatting with two older women dressed in designer pantsuits. My hands go to my skirt, feeling inadequate already. There are three older men in expensive suits, standing with their heads together, quietly conferring. None of the visitors so much as look up at my arrival, until Carter calls attention to me.

“Hey! This is Olivia, the girl Aunt Margaret hired to do the family archives,” he says, his voice naturally loud, filling up the foyer.

When everyone looks at me, I turn bright red. The expressions looking back at me are a mix of suspicious, aloof, and almost hostile. I wish instantly that I could’ve just stayed invisible.

Carter doesn’t seem to notice though. “Olivia, this is my extended family. Aunt Gretchen and Emily, and Uncles Will, Tolliver, and Smith.”

Everyone is silent for a minute. Then one of the women speaks up. “That’s nice, dear. Margaret said that you also hired a handyman. Would you be a darling and show us around the house? We would like to see what state everything is in. You know…” She glances at Margaret. “For the future.”

Carter looks bored by the very suggestion. He sighs. “Maybe we should start outside? That’s where the most visible signs are that someone has been trying to rehab the old house.”

Everyone trails out the door, leaving me and Margaret alone. We stand by the open front door, watching as Carter points out the condition of the porch to his audience. I glance at Margaret, who sighs and shakes her head. She hobbles off into the front parlor.

I turn toward the stairs once more, but Margaret calls to me. “Olivia?”

Doubling back, I head into the parlor. Margaret points to the seat opposite hers. “Do you have a few minutes to hear the complaints of an old woman?”

I bow my head and find my seat. “Of course, Margaret.”

She smiles at me, her blue eyes watery. “I shouldn’t complain, really. But I feel like everyone in the family is just waiting for me to die. My sister’s children are vultures. They can barely stop from licking their chops when they think about selling the estate.”

“I’m sure that’s not the case, Margaret,” I say soothingly.

“Oh no?” She frowns and looks around. “I need a drink. Would you be a dear and fetch me a little glass of brandy? There is a bar set up there in the corner…”

I rise, heading to the corner of the room to do as she asked. There are two decanters of liquid, one holding clear contents, one holding dark amber. “Umm… which of these is brandy? There’s a clear one—”

“No no,” Margaret says, clearing her throat. “The