Meanwhile, Tessa and I searched public business records.
C. Rowan Property Holdings led us to a recently purchased property about forty-five minutes outside Asheville.
Eleven acres.
Original farmhouse.
Detached barn.
A creek along the eastern boundary.
The sale had closed less than two months earlier.
The ownership structure was buried behind an LLC.
I stared at the property listing until my vision blurred.
Eleven acres.
A farmhouse.
A barn.
It looked disturbingly close to the dream I had spent ten years saving for.
Except I wasn’t part of it.
That Saturday morning, Marcus put on jeans and a charcoal jacket.
“Supplier meeting?” I asked casually.
“Something like that.”
Something like that.
He kissed my cheek.
Then he looked at Sophie.
“Be good for Elena.”
“I always am.”
Marcus laughed.
“Debatable.”
I waited seven minutes after his truck left.
Then I got into Tessa’s car.
“You sure?” she asked.
“No.”
She started driving anyway.
We followed Marcus to a small coffee shop.
A woman was waiting outside.
Mid-thirties.
Tall.
Dark curls.
Cream-colored coat.
Marcus pulled in beside her.
She climbed into his truck.
My stomach twisted.
“There she is,” I whispered.
Tessa glanced at me.
“We still don’t know what this is.”
“I know exactly what this looks like.”
We followed them north.
Eventually, Marcus turned onto a rural road.
Then onto a gravel drive lined with maple trees.
At the end stood the farmhouse from the listing.
Marcus and Camille went inside together.
For nearly three hours, we sat in Tessa’s car down the road.
I tried to invent explanations.
Maybe she was an investor.
Maybe the property belonged to a client.
Maybe Marcus had been hired to renovate it.
Then the front door opened.
Marcus and Camille walked outside.
They stopped beside his truck.
Camille said something.
Marcus laughed.
And then she wrapped both arms around him.
He hugged her back.
My chest went hollow.
Tessa cursed quietly.
I didn’t cry.
That frightened me more than anything.
“Take me home,” I said.
Two days later, Sophie finished dinner and climbed onto the stool beside me while I loaded the dishwasher.
“Elena?”
“Yeah?”
“Do horses need blankets when they’re cold?”
I turned.
“Some do. Why?”
See more on the next page
She kicked her feet.
“Because Daddy said maybe someday we could have one.”
My hand tightened around a plate.
“At our house?”
She shook her head.
