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Inwardly, Brad cursed himself for ever having told Rainey about the Albright inheritance. Then again, if he hadn’t, Olivia and Maya never would have come back together again.
“How much is the inheritance?”
“Fifty million.” Nick wagged his eyebrows. “That’s a chunk of change, even by New York standards.”
Brad’s heart pounded. Despite his best intentions, he’d already begun to detest the arrogance of this man.
“Where is your girlfriend tonight?” Brad asked off-handedly. Maybe he could track Olivia down sooner than he’d planned.
Nick palmed the back of his neck, looking almost nervous. “That’s the thing. She doesn’t know I’m here.” He lowered his voice. “It’s a surprise.”
Brad arched his eyebrow. “Are you heading to her hotel after this?”
Nick cackled. “No way. Much better, my friend. Much better.” He slung back the rest of his whiskey cocktail. “Get this. Part of her inheritance is a mansion with something like fifty rooms. I looked at the plans of the house online and fell to my knees at the potential of the old place.”
Brad’s eyes were heavy with memories of the Albright mansion, which he’d already begun to think of as partially his. He knew that was foolish. It was jumping the gun. But his romantic heart had gotten the better of him.
“Anyway, she’s staying there right now,” Nick went on. “I imagine I can hole up there for a while until we figure out what to do. I’m a chef back in the city, so I can’t stay too long. But I have my sous chef handling things for now.”
Brad’s stomach dropped. He gaped at Nick, connecting the dots. Nick wasn’t Olivia’s boyfriend. Nick was, incredibly, Maya’s. He sucked down the rest of his beer, his head ringing like a gong. Maya. The woman he’d spent nearly every day sleeping next to for a week. This was her boyfriend. This was the man she’d said she was done with.
“Sounds good,” Brad heard himself say. He needed to make sure. “What did you say your girlfriend’s name is? Maybe I’ve met her.”
“I doubt it,” Nick said. “Her name is Maya. I imagine she’s kept to herself since she’s gotten here. She hates Christmas more than anything, and just walking through this town would freak her out.”
Brad wasn’t sure how he got out of there in one piece. One minute, he was saying goodbye to Nick and wishing him well, and the next, he was tearing down the sidewalk as winter wind blasted against his face. His eyes were heavy with tears. Although he’d only had one beer and a hot wine on the street earlier, he felt unstable, as though he couldn’t trust his footsteps.
When he reached home, he locked the door behind him and collapsed on the couch. His heart thudded with dread.
Maya had told him her relationship with Nick was over. But their breakup had been recent. Brad knew enough about relationships to understand that feelings didn’t just “go away” that quickly.
Had Maya contacted Nick that morning after Brad had left, asking him to drive up? Telling him she needed him? Or had Nick reached out to her late last night, as Brad had slept in her bed? Had he told her he still loved her? That he wanted to try again.
There were numerous possibilities. But the only thing Brad knew for sure was this: out of nowhere, his fledgling relationship with Maya had died. And his heart felt as though it was melting away to nothing. He wasn’t sure what to live for now. But he had to find a way to get through.
ChapterEighteen
It had taken Maya ages to find the strength to open her Grandma Diane’s diaries again. Just as she had back in Nick’s apartment in the city, she distracted herself with cleaning: scrubbing the countertops, vacuuming the library, and doing loads of laundry in the downstairs laundry room with its state-of-the-art machines. Twice, she reached out to Olivia, and once, she called Veronica’s nursing home to see if she was well again. She didn’t make contact. By the time Maya sat down with a mug of tea and the next diary, it was nightfall. She owed it to herself to keep reading, regardless of the heartache it brought her and how lonely she currently felt. And she resolved not to call Brad until tomorrow. She hated bringing him so deep into her darkness. She didn’t want him to realize life had been easier without her.
Maya kept reading through the sixties. In the diaries, Grandma Diane spoke of her husband’s tremendous wealth, of the grand piano she’d purchased and had delivered from France, and of her mother’s death back in England. Diane wrote with the air of someone recording facts, without the emotionality behind the words. Frequently, she wrote about Veronica and Bethany as though they were pawns in the greater game of Diane’s life. It was clear that Bethany was more the golden child in Diane’s eyes; that Bethany was smarter and prettier than Veronica. Diane doted on her as much as a woman like Diane could possibly dote.
And then, in the summer of 1970, Bethany got her first boyfriend. And everything changed.
July 19, 1970
My darling Bethany has fallen from grace. I heard her telling Veronica she’s fallen in love with Peter Miller— the baker’s boy— and that she wants to run away with him and start a family. Veronica laughed. “You’re only fifteen!” she said, bless her.
I don’t know what to do. I forbade Bethany from ever seeing Peter again, but of course, I cannot watch her every move. There’s resentment in her eyes. She looks at me as though I’m tremendously cruel, her greatest enemy. I remember thinking of my father that way mere months before I stupidly left England with Victor.
I ache to think of Bethany making a similar mistake.
Over the course of that year, Diane continually ranted about Peter Miller and Bethany’s quaint, small-town romance. Several times, Veronica tried to convince Diane that Bethany’s love was nothing to worry about.“She’ll grow out of it,”Veronica said. But Diane was never sure.
And then, it happened. Bethany got pregnant. And Diane’s worst fears were realized.
December 11, 1970
My stupid daughter has ruined us. She’s just sixteen years old, and she’s pregnant with the baker’s son’s child.
