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Which is why I almost tell her the truth.
If she knew—if sheunderstood—the real reason why I left, then she would see that it was impossible for us to stay. That there was no Christmas at Ashby House in our future, and that was for the best.
The words are right there, so close I can almost hear myself saying them.
But in the end, I just cuff a hand around the back of her neck, pulling her in to kiss her temple before rising to my feet and saying, “I’ll leave you to it. But hey. Any embarrassing pictures of me in there, it’s your wifely duty to burn them.”
“Gonna blow ’em up life-size and hang them all over our room,” she singsongs, still flipping through albums, and I laugh as I close the door behind me.
And walk almost straight into Nelle.
She’s dressed in green today, another tartan skirt and sweater set, and for the briefest second, I see her expression soften, the hint of a smile turning up her lips.
“Oh,” she says, and that near-smile becomes a scowl. “It’s you.”
She must’ve thought I was Ben. That had happened when I was a kid, too, and I’d get a glimpse of the Nelle who was actually human. But once she realized I wasn’t her own flesh and blood, the persona of the devoted grandmother would promptly disappear.
“It’s me,” I confirm, and go to step around her, but she plants herself in my path.
“We need to talk about your wife,” she says, and I glance over my shoulder at the door I just closed.
“I don’t think that we do,” I reply, keeping my voice light, though I know she hears the warning underneath, that she sees it in my eyes.
But Nelle is a McTavish, and she doesn’t back down. “She’s been in every room of this house other than my bedroom, and honestly, I think she’d go in there if she thought she could get away with it. I’m not sure what it is she’s looking for, but kindly remind her that she is a guest in this house.”
Anger sparks, my pulse picking up, and I shove my hands into my pockets. “I own this house, Nelle,” I remind her. “Which means that it’s Jules’s house, too. She’s allowed in any room, in any closet, in any tiny corner of this place she wants.”
I wait for Nelle to draw herself up so tightly she squeaks, but instead, she actually smiles a little. Not the warm, indulgent smile she’d let slip when she thought I was Ben, but an ugly, sardonic one. “You sound like my sister,” she says, and my anger fades, replaced with a wariness that has me stepping back.
“When she died, I thought I’d never actually be rid of her because I’d always have to deal with you, her little… project. The child she molded into her own image. But then you left, too, and finally, I was free. Finally, this house was my own.”
Nelle steps closer, her feet silent on the thick carpet. Howell’s email may have said she wasn’t doing well, health-wise, but there’s no sign of that in this moment. Right now, Nelle looks like she’s made of solid steel.
“I thought you might come back when Howell died, and I was so relieved when you didn’t. Bad enough that I’d lost my only son. The last thing I needed was Ruby’s ghost swanning around the place again.” She pauses, her face hardening even further. “You should have stayed away, Camden. I think you’ll be sorry that you didn’t.”
As she walks away, I give a long, shaky exhale. “Your threats are improving, Nelle, I’ll give you that,” I call after her. “Bonus points for being cryptic.”
But Nelle continues shuffling down the hallway, ignoring me, and I try to shake off her words as I make my way to the stairs. She was always saying shit like that, glaring darkly across the dining-room table, catching me alone to remind me that I was nothing but trash, an “experiment” of Ruby’s. I’d learned to tune it out over the years, but something about this most recent exchange slides between my ribs like a knife, lodging there.
I reach the landing, and without thinking, I lift my eyes to Ruby’s portrait.
They’re going to hate you. I won’t sugarcoat that.Her voice sweet as syrup, that old-fashioned drawl that you’d think people have only in bad movies softening and rounding every vowel. I was sixteen, and we were sitting in the parlor upstairs, the one with the striped sofa, and she had a folder open on her lap, filled with printouts, so many numbers on the pages.
So many zeros.
I don’t want it.
She thought I meant the money, and I did, but I also meant that hatred. The McTavishes hadn’t tried to hide their belief that I wasn’t one of them. But this would make it far worse. This made me a weapon Ruby had decided to wield against them, and there was nothing they could do about it.
Well,Iwant you to have it,Ruby had replied, picking an invisible piece of lint off my shirt.And that’s all that matters.
And that’s how it had been.
Ruby’s sly smile follows me all the way to the kitchen.
Libby is mixing up some viscous green liquid in one ofthose little blenders made for that kind of thing, and when she glances over her shoulder at me, I bite back a groan.
This house is something like twenty thousand square feet, how in thefuckdoes everyone in it always end up on top of each other? I should be able to go days without seeing anyone else, but no, just like it was all those years ago, it’s as if the house keeps forcing us together, making us bump up against each other until we snap.
