4
Stella
As I pass through the lounge, I glimpse my reflection in an antique mirror. Pausing in front of it, I run my fingers through my unruly mop of brown curls. I noticed Presley eyeing my hair. From shaved head to my current labradoodle look, I should be used to people gawking by now. The truth is, I’d do it all again. My grandmother, Opal, has told me many times how much my support means to her. And that means all the world to me.
I straighten my shoulders, and with head held a little higher, I continue on my way.
I’m alarmed to find my uncle, Brian, waiting for me in my office. I’m always on the alert these days, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Brian.” I kiss his cheek when he stands to greet me. “I wasn’t expecting you. I hope nothing’s wrong.”
“Not at all. I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d check in with you.”
"You’re lying,” I say with a laugh, even though I’m being serious. “Your visits always have a purpose."
He snickers. “True. But you need to relax a little.”
“How can I relax when I'm on an emotional roller-coaster ride? My life has been out of control since this past April, when you suddenly appeared in my life and announced that my supposed sperm donor of a biological father was none other than rock legend Billy Jameson.”
“That’s fair. You have been through a lot. Your hair is growing out.”
I smooth my curls. “This particular punishment was self-inflicted. How was Opal’s doctor’s appointment yesterday? She hasn't called, and I've been so worried.”
“She wanted to tell you in person, so be surprised when she comes by later today. The leukemia is in remission.”
“That’s fabulous news.” I throw my arms around him, and he lifts me off the floor. When he releases me, I plop down in the chair behind my desk.
He takes a seat opposite me and asks, “How’re things here?”
“Slow. The weekends are busy, but on Sundays, the inn becomes deserted. Are you sure we can afford to keep our doors open?”
“I’m positive. By the way, I’m glad you pushed me to hire an accountant. Diana is excellent. I’ve just come from a meeting with her, and we are rock solid. At least for the time being.”
I furrow my brow. “What’re you keeping from me, Brian?”
“The spa facility is running a little over budget, which I fully anticipated. But there is plenty of money in the estate to fall back on if we get in a jam. I’ve told you before, Stella, you have to spend money to make money. We’re in a transition period. Things will turn around soon. Once we get the spa building and Cottage Row open, guests will swarm the place like bees on honey.” His confident tone contradicts the worry lines around his eyes.
“I hope you’re right.”
“I am. You’ll see.” Brian crosses his long legs. “Now, tell me about Jazz. How’s she doing?”
“Fine. I guess. I see little of her these days. I know we agreed to give Naomi a chance, but I can’t get rid of this sick feeling in my gut that something is wrong in Jazz’s world.”
“That’s because you’re more than a sister to Jazz. You’ve been her stand-in mother these past few months. It’s normal for you to experience separation anxiety.”
I hold his gaze. “And what if something happens to Jazz?”
“We’ll be here to rescue her. Naomi is Jazz’s mother, Stella. She’s earned the right to prove herself.”
“If you say so. But as you well know, I am extremely wary of the alcoholic mother of my six-year-old half sister.”
“How’s Naomi performing at work?”
“She hasn’t burnt the place down yet. I suspect my father kept her on staff for the same reason I do—to have her close to keep tabs on her. I’m sorry to be so negative about Naomi. She just gets under my skin.”
Brian gives a curt nod. “I understand. She’s given you plenty of reasons to feel that way.” He rises from his chair. “I should get to the office. Call me if you need anything.”
I walk him to the door. “I will. Thanks for stopping by.”
He chucks my chin. “Try not to worry so much, Stella. Business will turn around soon, and we’ll be building an annex to accommodate the overflow.”
I smile at him. “That would be a good problem to have.”
I lean against the doorjamb watching Brian walk down the hall. When he disappears around the corner, my gaze shifts to the photographs of generations of Jameson family members lining the walls of my office. Sitting at the same mammoth desk where my ancestors sat for nearly a hundred years gives me a sense of belonging like I’ve never known before. But also, a sense of dread for fear I’ll disappoint them.
I’m so lost in thought, I don’t hear Jack sneak up from behind.
“Come with me.” Taking me by the arm, he walks me down the hall in the direction from which he came, through the library, and out the french doors on the front of the building to his truck.
“Where are we going, Jack? I have work to do.”
“You can spare a few minutes for your fiancé.” He blindfolds me with a red bandana and helps me into the passenger seat.
I can’t see anything, but I hear his boots on the pavement and his truck door slam. The engine starts and we speed off. We make a quick left turn, followed by a sharp right before coming to a stop. Jack turns off the engine, and his door closes again. He’s at my side, holding on to my arm while I climb out.
“You’d better not let me fall, Jack.”
“Hush your complaining.” Hands on shoulders, he marches me a short distance. When he removes the bandana, the manor house—a mini replica of the inn with a stone facade and dormer windows—stands tall and proud in front of us.
I shake my head in confusion. “I don’t understand. What’re we
