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My grandfather’s home took up half a block but always felt small. Probably because I stared at the same four walls for years. I even ate most of my meals in that room.
“I better not hear anything but praise from the Marshalls.” My grandfather’s haunting eyes locked on me. “They have three boys. One is your age. You are your mother’s daughter. Don’t get any ideas.”
Like what?
He often made backhanded comments about my parents. I didn’t bother to ask questions. My cheek still stung from his hand, and I didn’t want to anger him. It was best to follow his rules.
I learned the hard way that Fitzgerald Archibald Adams IV always got what he wanted. And as he often reminded me, somesilly girlwould not get in his way.
“The boys are not to touch you,” he said when the driver opened the door. “They are under strict orders to keep their filthy hands to themselves. And I expect you to act like a lady.”
I almost laughed in his face but bit my tongue. He never gave a damn about me. So why would he care if a boy touched me?
“Do you understand me, Grace?” Grandfather said when I didn’t confirm.
“Yes.”
The Marshalls came from old money and had connections from here to the White House.
“The Colonel will pick you up at the end of the summer,” my grandfather added. “If you try to run, I will drag you back to my estate and chain you to the basement floor.” He pointed a long, bony finger at me. “And this time, you won’t leave my house.”
A shiver rushed down my arms at his threat. It wouldn’t have been the first time he did that to me. I was eight when I lost my parents. Eleven when I finally left my grandfather’s estate. Until then, I didn’t know there were sick, demented people in the world. I had no idea someone could be so heartless.
I strolled into the mansion beside my grandfather, dressed in a baby blue sundress. He had insisted I wear this and even hired a woman to coat my face in makeup.
I looked like a doll.
Pink cheeks and long, blonde hair that spilled down my back in thick barrel curls. The woman applied several layers of eyeshadow that made my blue eyes appear as if they were jumping off my face.
I didn’t look like me.
We followed the butler into the great room. It was ten times the size of my current living room and had a dozen windows. The ceiling was at least twenty feet high, decorated with wood planks.
My grandfather’s house was equally impressive but looked more like a museum than a home. Cold and uninviting like him.
A tall man with black hair stood beside a beautiful blonde woman. Three boys clung to her side, the oldest of the group blond like her and taller than his dad. The other two boys were identical twins and had their father’s black hair.
The man and his wife closed the distance between us, the oldest boy a few steps behind. I couldn’t take my eyes off him.
“Fitzy,” the black-haired man said with his hand extended. “Welcome back to Fort Marshall. How was your drive to Devil’s Creek?”
Grandfather preferred the nickname Fitzy. No one ever called him Fitzgerald, per his request. It was strange that the uptight bastard would let anyone call him something so informal. But no one challenged him.
“Tiring,” Grandfather grumbled. “Let’s get on with it.”
He hated pleasantries and small talk. Most people didn’t bother to speak unless he asked a question.
The dark-haired man offered his hand. “I’m Mark Marshall. And you must be Grace.”
I forced a smile. “Nice to meet you. Thank you for letting me stay at your home. It’s beautiful.”
The words sounded rehearsed as they left my mouth. My grandfather went through the script on our drive from The Hamptons to Devil’s Creek.
The blonde woman was close to my height and wrapped her arms around me. “Hi, Grace,” she said in a sweet tone. She had kind blue eyes and a warm smile. “I’m Willow Marshall. It’s so nice to meet you, sweetheart.”
She held me in her arms like we had known each other forever. I instantly lowered my guard in her presence. Willow reminded me of my mom.
The oldest boy moved in front of her. He was probably around my age, early twenties at most. “I’m Colton.” He offered his hand for me to shake. “But everyone calls me Cole.”
