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Evan winks at me from the rearview mirror. "Ma’am, I'm just providing some local flavor. Snowdrop Valley's unofficial historian, at your service."
I shake my head, resigning myself to the fact that this trip is going to be anything but dull.
With Evan's tales and William's amusement, we're turning what should have been a covert operation into a comedy tour of Snowdrop Valley.
The estate at the end of the quiet road is like something out of a fairy tale, hidden from the world by a veil of trees and an air of tranquility.
I can’t help but feel a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, we won’t bump into anyone I know. The thought is comforting, but my nerves are still doing a jittery dance.
As we pull up, the estate reveals itself in all its glory—a beautiful manor house with ivy-clad walls and windows that sparkle in the afternoon sun. It’s the kind of place that makes you think of grand balls and secret gardens, a stark contrast to the modest homes dotting the rest of Snowdrop Valley.
Evan, ever the helpful little brother, jumps out and starts unloading our bags with a flourish.
I watch him, partly grateful and partly anxious for him to leave before he can do any more damage with his stories.
I fumble with the keys at the front door, cursing under my breath as the lock proves to be more temperamental than I remember.
Evan sidles up, a smirk playing on his lips. "Need a hand there, sis?"
I shoot him a pointed look. "Thank you,driver," I emphasize the last word. "You may go."
William, picking up on our sibling dynamic, hands Evan a wad of twenty-dollar bills. "Thanks for the entertaining drive," he says, his British charm not missing a beat.
Evan's grin widens as he waves the cash at me, a silent 'I win' in our unspoken contest. With a mock salute, he hops back into the car and drives off, leaving a cloud of dust and a sense of relief in his wake.
Meanwhile, I'm still wrestling with the lock.
William steps closer, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "May I?"
Just as he reaches out, the lock finally gives way.
The door swings open unexpectedly, sending both of us tumbling inside. I end up sprawled on top of him in a heap, my face burning with embarrassment.
"Sorry!" I blurt out, scrambling to get up, but William just laughs—a rich, warm sound that eases some of my mortification.
"No harm done," he assures me, the perfect gentleman even as he lies on the floor of an estate he believes belongs to my grandmother.
He helps me to my feet, his hand warm and steady. For a moment, our eyes meet, and there's a flicker of something—amusement, connection, maybe a hint of something deeper.
I quickly look away, my cheeks still hot.
"Well," I say, trying to regain some composure, "welcome to the estate. Mind the door—it's trickier than it looks."
William stands, brushing himself off with a chuckle. "I'll keep that in mind. Lead the way, Miss... Art Queen's granddaughter, you never did sign off your email."
That makes sense. Sasha did say she was drunk, she probably sent them from her work email.
I can't help but smile at his teasing tone and before I can scramble another thought, I blurt out, “It’s Emily.”
“Emily,” William repeats as though he’s trying out my name for the first time.
Something flutters in my stomach.
I shouldn’t have given him my real name, but to him, I’m just the granddaughter of the Art Queen. Maybe it won’t be a big deal.
Although, I can’t help but wonder if that’s going to come back and bite me one day.
Knowing my luck… I’m doomed.
