7. Emily

My heels click a hurried beat against the hardwood as I make my way out of the makeshift backstage area. The show was a success, the crowd generous, and Finn was lovely. But exhaustion gnaws at the edges of my composure.

Slipping behind the wheel of my car, I crave the solitude of the drive back to the mansion. My mind has been occupied since the moment Caeleb, Finn, and Silas left my dads funeral. Its almost unfair how I cant get them out of my head.

How can I possibly want them all, and at once? Back there with Finn, I almost …

God knows how much self-control it took me to not pull him to me, to kiss those lips, to ask for more.

I rub my face with my free hand, trying to change the stream of sinful thoughts churning in my mind.

A flashback hits … the stuffy afternoon of the will reading, the sharp scent of old paper, and Veronas shriek of rage when the will was read. Dear Flora, how shed marched in and promptly thrown out Verona and a sputtering Alec.

The road unfolds, a dark ribbon slicing through the landscape. I roll down the windows, letting the quiet night air of the country wash over me. In the distance, two silhouettes walk hand in hand beneath the watchful moon. A pang of something like envy twists in my chest. Its a familiar ache, the longing for a love that feels safe—something my father never modeled.

On impulse, I dial Floras number. Flo, I need you. Meet me in the vineyards?

Dads vineyards at night were always a magical place. The vines stretch in endless rows, their leaves shimmering silver under the moonlight. Floras already there when I arrive, leaning against an old trellis, a comforting presence in the vastness.

Well, this is mysterious, she says, her voice a warm counterpoint to the nights chill.

I pluck a grape from the vine, its plump skin bursting in my fingers. The juice is sweet and tart, a jolt of pure flavor. Its just … everything has turned upside down.

We walk together, my footsteps silent on the soft earth. The air is heavy with the scent of ripening grapes and damp earth, a comforting mix of summer and the approaching fall. I cant forget how you kicked Verona and Alec out, I chuckle, a flicker of warmth chasing away the gloom.

A personal favorite, she quips back. But I sense theres more on your mind than just stepmothers and inheritance squabbles.

I sigh, my gaze drawn to the distant hills. I think Im … I might be falling for someone. The confession hangs heavy in the air.

Ooh, exciting! Flora claps her hands, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Spill the details!

Its complicated, I hedge. Actually, lets say theres multiple someones. And, well, its terrifying.

Flora wraps an arm around my shoulders. Talk to me, Em. You know I wont judge.

We find an old, weathered bench nestled between rows of vines. Its about feeling safe, I finally admit, the words stumbling out, Seeing how Dad treated Mom … I swore Id never let myself be that vulnerable.

Em, Flora says, her voice soft but firm, Dad isnt the sum of all men. There are good ones out there. And dont forget, my job is literally digging into peoples messy lives. Let me give you a crash course …

Flora launches into a long recounting of all the cases shes encountered in her years as a detective. Some are outright bizarre, but there are also impossibly sweet ones where couples have found their ways back to each other. I almost wonder if shes making them up so I dont feel too bad about myself.

As a matter of fact, she continues, her face serious, the most I learned was from people in open relationships.

I stare blankly at her. Flo, are you serious?

She shrugs. Monogamous people can preach all they like about being in relationships with single individuals. Then, they go and cheat on them. Dont you think its much better to set boundaries at the onset? Id rather have that than be cheated on later.

She has a point.

Maybe love doesnt have to be one cookie-cutter shape. She grins, My current situation, for example. Its … unconventional. Were both free to explore different options.

My eyes widen. Flora, you wild woman!

It works for us, she shrugs. The point is, Emily, there are lots of ways to do this. Dont let fear stop you from finding something wonderful. And hey, she adds, squeezing my hand, youve always got me, no matter what mess you get yourself into.

Shes right, I do. I squeeze her hand gratefully.

Lets wander, Flora suggests, and we slip deeper into the heart of the vineyards. The air hangs thick with the scent of ripening grapes, a heady sweetness that makes my mouth water. Rows upon rows of vines stretch into the moon-drenched night like a sprawling green army. Overhead, the stars glitter like diamonds scattered across a velvet cloth.

Remember the time we used to sneak into the vineyard as kids? I chuckle, plucking a plump grape and savoring its tart burst. We thought we were so clever, tiptoeing through the vines, leaving a trail of squashed grapes.

And ending up with purple-stained everything! Flora adds, giggling like a schoolgirl. Those were the days, Em—simpler somehow.

The moonlight catches her face, highlighting the laugh lines and the twinkle in her eyes. She has a way of disarming me, reminding me that life isnt all about responsibility and complicated emotions. With Flora, even the weight of this sprawling estate and its tangled inheritance feels lighter.

We find another weathered bench perched on a small rise, and Flora whips a bottle of wine from her bag. Ta-da! she announces, flourishing the bottle with a magicians flair.

I burst out laughing. Flo, you never cease to amaze me. Wine in the vineyard? Are you trying to get me arrested?

Relax, Em, she grins, uncorking the bottle with a satisfying pop. Its the family vintage. Were practically royalty here.

We pass the bottle back and forth, the wine warming me from the inside out. A strange sense of recklessness bubbles up, fueled by good company and the heady night. So, I begin, tracing a pattern on the chipped wood of the bench, this whole … open relationship thing. Do you ever worry that it might, you know, complicate matters?

Flora sips her wine thoughtfully. The only way it gets complicated is if theres something missing. Honesty, clear communication—those are the keys. As long as all parties are on the same page, its about freedom, not chaos.

Her answer surprises me. Ive always been so constrained, tethered to the shoulds and shouldnts, letting my fathers mistakes dictate my own choices. I run my fingers through my hair, the scent of the vineyard clinging to my skin. Even after his death, the echoes of his control still linger.

Speaking of fathers, Flora says, a wry twist to her lips, how about that letter? Still havent cracked the code, super sleuth?

I groan inwardly. Of course, she wouldnt let it go. Its insane, Flo. A treasure hunt? Dad, even in death, manages to make everything dramatic.

So, he left you a hidden heirloom? she prods, eyes gleaming with curiosity.

Yeah, I sigh, Supposedly. But I have to decipher his ridiculous clues to find it. The first one is a stupid poem—something about where whispers lie and secrets hide, beneath the watchful moonlit tide.

Flora bursts out laughing. Seriously? Dad was quite the character. In another life, I wish he would have acted more like a dad to me. Left me with a ridiculous treasure hunt.

The words, said with so much nonchalance, feel like shes stabbed me with a knife. Dad was an asshole to both of us, but I got … I got some good weekends, some moments when he took me in his arms, walked with me in parks, told me stories. I was the first child, the planned one. Flora was—she was supposed to be a boy.

Flo—

No, forget I said that, she says immediately. I apologize for putting this on you.

You didnt put anything on me, I say warmly. Listen, can we just focus on the interesting part and think about what this heirloom could be? I grab the letter from my purse, waving the crinkled paper at her.

Her eyes flicker with interest. I have a knack for puzzles. Besides, what else have we got to do at this hour?

Youre really going to humor me with this? I ask, a flicker of warmth spreading through me.

Absolutely, she declares, already hopping to her feet. This is way more fun than whatevers waiting for me back home. Operation Heirloom Hunt commences! First stop … She ponders for a moment, That fountain …

A wave of affection washes over me. Flora, bless her ever-adventurous soul, has a way of turning even the most absurd situations into a grand escapade. Dear God, I say, trying and failing to suppress a grin, that hideous old thing in the courtyard?

What? Flora asks defensively. Maybe Dad hid a message inside a fish or something.

Do you think … I start, then hesitate. The question feels heavy, a betrayal of sorts. Did Verona know about this … heirloom thing? I blurt out finally.

The air shifts, turning tense. Of course, Flora knows about the mess with Verona and Alec, the thinly veiled threats, the constant questioning of my right to the mansion and farm. The thought of them discovering what Dad has hidden makes my stomach churn.

Honestly, Em, who knows what those two schemed about, Flora says, her voice sharp. But this … She gestures to the letter in my hand, its old-fashioned script mocking me. This is between you and him. Its none of their business.

They dont see it that way, I sigh, rubbing my temples. They think I shouldnt have anything, that I dont deserve it.

Flora scoffs, her hand snatching up a stray grape and crushing it with surprising force. Screw what they think! Its legally yours now! Let their delusions of grandeur wither on the vine!

Her fury is infectious. For a fleeting moment, I feel a surge of defiance, a flicker of the fire she possesses in abundance. But the anger fizzles out, leaving a simmering unease. Its more than just the house—its the feeling that Im in constant battle, that every choice I make has to be justified.

Come on, Flora says, her tone shifting from fury to gentle coaxing. Lets get out of this place for a bit, clear your head. And before I can protest, shes dragging me back through the rows of vines towards the edge of the property.

The cool night air feels like a balm against my skin. Flora maneuvers her beat-up little car through the winding back roads of Emberton like shes on a Formula One racetrack. We end up on a dusty side road, the car parked beneath a sprawling oak tree.

Where are we going? I shout over the roar of the engine.

Stakeout! she yells back, eyes alight with mischief. With a flourish, she produces a bag of popcorn and a pair of distinctly non-professional binoculars.

It turns out Flora, my detective sister, has a suspect in a string of local burglaries. Hunkering down behind a hedge, munching on popcorn and gossiping, feels refreshingly normal. But my mind isnt cooperating.

Images of the men I keep running into flash through my head: Finn, with his gentle humor and genuine concern; Caeleb, with his lingering glances and the night of my show in New York; Finn and that brush of his lips on my cheek; and then Silas, still a stranger, but just so beautiful.

My thoughts spiral, caught in a whirlwind of possibilities. What Flora said about open relationships echoes in my head. Could it even work? The idea both intrigues and terrifies me. My phone buzzes in my pocket, snapping me back to reality.

Looks like our guy is on the move, Flora whispers, pointing toward a shadowy figure across the street.

But my focus is on the screen in my hand. A text from Silas.

Hey there. I hope the timing isnt too odd, but youve been on my mind. How are you?

Simple, straightforward, and welcome. Who knew returning home would bring out this side of me?

Look at you, being your dads daughter, a voice inside my head rumbles. Always hungry for more…

I grimace and ask it to shut up. I havent made promises, I havent broken vows.

Maybe its reckless, maybe its completely stupid, but a surge of determination rises in my chest. I deserve a little adventure, a little joy.

Taking a deep breath, I start typing a reply.