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“Someone probably did,” Mia replied. “Dad said she had been sent to a convent, and you said he either died or ran away. What if those were the excuses our families gave us to protect the secret and their shame that love could come from all their hate.”
Mia turned to the display. “Ethan, I think I need to open that chest.”
ChapterSeventeen
Mia
Icarried the chest into the museum, where Cécile stood waiting for me. I had contacted her earlier that day, and while she did not have a resident locksmith on hand—well, there was Mr. Harding, but he was not learned in early nineteenth-century locks—she had promised me she would find out.
“It’s in your hands,” I said. “Your capable hands.”
Cécile had a magnifying glass in hand and was roving over the chest with an enraptured look on her face. She touched the lid with a gloved hand, gently sliding her fingers over the lid's brass affectations.
“This is…remarkable,” the curator whispered. “To have survived for so long in the ground. Frankly, it is a miracle the men found it. If they had not, it might have gone on to rot for eternity, and we would have never known what secrets it hid inside.”
“Honestly, I think it might tell us a story about a possible love match between one of the Vega family and one of mine,” I told her.
Somehow, she didn’t look surprised. “I always thought there could have been a romantic connection between your families,” Cécile said plainly. “And now you and Ethan are following in their footsteps.”
I jerked up. “Me and E-Ethan? What? That’s not—”
“The hickey on your neck says otherwise, dear,” she smiled kindly, and I slapped a hand to the side of my neck—moments before I realized I had stepped right into her trap. With my face burning like the harvest bonfire, I dropped my hand.
“…There is no hickey, is there?”
With a sly smile, Cécile shook her head. “But don’t worry, dear, not a word about you two will slip from my lips.”
I turned away. “Honestly…I don’t even know what I’m doing… what we’re doing.”
“The course of true love never did run smooth, dear,” Cécile replied. “I have faith it will work out.”
“How come?” I asked, truly flummoxed. What had she seen—if she had seen anything at all—that I didn’t know about?
“You don’t know how close the two of your stories run?” she asked. “Sweetheart, you two ran so closely; your tales are practically parallel. The two of you never had the same hatred your fathers had; not once have you ever done anything to harm each other, and do you know that your sophomore science project was based on the prototype Ethan had left behind? Besides, Ryan and Cole were best friends.”
“What?” I gaped. “My brother and his were…friends?”
“Funny enough, almost everyone knew about it but you two,” she replied. “And your respective parents.”
Somehow, I didn’t doubt her—Ryan was sneaky like that.
“Well,” I looked around, “I’m nearly finished with the diary, so I will bring it back in a day or two.”
“No rush, Mia,” she told me. “Take your time.”
“Thanks,” I replied, then ducked out and headed to Mix’D.
It was almost six, time for the bar to open, and I slipped inside to order a few meals because I wanted to share dinner with Ethan. I took the bag of take-out and stepped out—almost running into Mom.
“Mia,” she called out, her brows furrowing. “I haven’t seen you in a while. I thought you’d gone back to Denver.”
I panicked a little. “Sorry, Mom. I-I’ve been at the winery a lot, going through Dad’s files. I’ve been home, but not much. I’ve been in and out while you were out as well.”
“Oh,” she blinked, her eyes dropping to the take-out bag. “Are you going into hibernation, sweetheart? That’s a lot of food.”
I didn’t feel right to hide from her. I didn’t want to lie to her. Maybe she would take it better than Dad did, knowing that I was around Ethan. “I’m going to have lunch with Ethan, Mom. Ethan Vega. We still have to manage this pest situation over the orchard and the vineyard.”
Except, we didn’t—but she didn’t have to know that.
