The Heiress

by Rachel Hawkins

And of course, we can never discount that most dangerous of animals, our fellow man.

There should be some kind of warning when your life is about to change forever.

Married four times, Ruby seemed singularly unlucky in love, losing her first husband, Duke Callahan, to a shooting on their Paris honeymoon, her second to an electrical accident at Ashby House, the third to a lingering illness, and the last, Roddy Kenmore, to a boating mishap.

It’s my home, my family. My decision, as Jules has reminded me a thousand times since that night in the kitchen, the night when I read Ben’s email and realized that you can put miles and mountains between you and home, but eventually, home will call you back.

There was always someone watching, always someone listening, and all I had wanted was to feel invisible. Unseen. Unknown.

And if you can’t tell the truth at the end of it all, then what, I ask, is the fucking point?

Attack, counterattack, and then, eventually, a reminder of mutually assured destruction, and we headed back to our corners until the battle began anew over something else.

The fear that I was not Ruby McTavish was an open wound, one Nelle knew to pour salt in and one that I, with my newspapers and my dreams I called memories, was forever trying to heal.

He’s doing this for me. Walking back into the lion’s den because I asked him to. Because he loves me.

Tell him, an insistent voice whispers. Tell him now, while there’s still time. Because if he finds out after you arrive … But we’re almost there. We’re so close now, and soon, everything I’ve done will be worth it. And I will tell him. All of it, the whole story, no lies between us, just like it’s always been. But not now. Not yet.

Shocking how soon the “too late now” part of your life arrives. When you’re young, there’s nothing but possibility, just an endless line of tomorrows, and then you wake up one day and realize that no, you cannot move to Paris on a whim because so many of those old buildings don’t have elevators and stairs are hell on your knees now. And besides, you never learned to speak French, and now your brain, once so fresh and spongy and ready to soak up knowledge, feels about as pliable as a peach pit.

In fact, the only time I think I ever saw him look surprised was when I shot him.

It was a strange feeling, being caught between two lives. I think that’s something you might understand.

And there was this darkness that seemed to cling to me, a past that people only ever spoke about in whispers. A suspicion, even inside my own heart, that I had been placed in the wrong life, living out a role written for someone else.

Put me on the road to Ashby, and I’m that Cam again. Ruby’s project, heir to the McTavish estate, the “Luckiest Boy in North Carolina.”

Right, yeah, day then month! Like in Europe, since that’s where someone shot him in the chest with a rifle twice. Makes perfect sense, Ruby!

First of all, you need to know that the word ‘should’ does not exist to these people. There are lots of things they ‘should’ do, but if they don’t want to do something, they don’t do it.

It’s good to have you back in town, he’d said, his voice low and serious. But if I were you, I’d sleep with one eye open in that goddamn house.

It seems to me that it should not be that hard to be both good in bed and a good man, and yet the vast majority of men never cease to amaze me in their refusal to master this particular skill set.

If she knew—if she understood—the real reason why I left, then she would see that it was impossible for us to stay.

This is why I wanted you to understand that I really do love Camden. This isn’t just about the money. This is about us taking back what belongs to him and living the life we deserve. Yes, we. Because I deserve this shit, too.

Because it really had been the two of us against everyone, against it all. And even after everything that had happened, there was still a part of me that was instinctually loyal to Ruby, that had sworn to keep her secrets and had chosen to do so, over and over again. Even from my own wife.

I couldn’t give the Darnells back what they’d lost, but I could take from the McTavishes. What’s more: I could take and give to someone else, someone more deserving.

Every opportunity in the world, and you turned out like this. These … these sad, grasping, pathetic fuckers who’d kill each other just to get a bigger piece of the pie.

The truth isn’t some finite thing, it’s what we all choose to believe.