Plot Twist
Never ignore your gut feeling when it tells you something isn’t right, because nine times out of ten, it speaks the truth.
I wish I’d listened to myself more often.
In my defense, Dad has been slowly closing up since Mom passed away fourteen years ago. It’s difficult to see the line between his being a private person and his hiding an important fact from me. Though I’ve recently learned he hasn’t been truthful in the past years. Why on earth does he think I won’t find out?
My fingers tighten around my steering wheel, containing my disappointment that Dad never came to me when he stumbled over the financial situation. I should have been the first person he talked to, not my aunt. And I’m on my way to him right now to demand an explanation. He told me he didn’t come to the inn today because he was feeling under the weather, but I don’t want to wait.
As soon as I arrive at my childhood home, I park my car next to an unfamiliar metallic-blue Bugatti. I didn’t expect Dad to have a visitor, since he wanted to have an easy day at home. I jump out of the driver’s seat and stride toward the old two-story building; it needs renovation soon.
Joanne, Dad’s housekeeper, emerges from the front door and jogs in my direction. As usual, her grey hair is pulled in a neat bun, and an olive-green housekeeper uniform wraps her slender figure. “Miss Violet, we didn’t know you’d be visiting today,” she says. “Mr. Morgan would have cleared his schedule if he had known you’d come.”
I slide my sunglasses upward and let them sit in my hair. “Schedule? I thought he wanted to rest because he was not feeling well.” I glance at the Bugatti in the driveway. “Whose car is that?”
“It’s—” She pauses, a strange glint flickering in her eyes. “Mr. Morgan’s old friend.”
“Old friend? Who?” I know most of my dad’s friends, and they don’t come from the upper social class, unlike Mom’s connections. My stomach churns at the thought that the visitor might have something to do with my latest discovery.
“It’s Mr. Blake,” she says, almost whispering.
“Oh? What is he doing here? It’s been a while,” I say, climbing onto the front porch.
Kennedy Blake is the husband of my late mom’s best friend, Jasmine. Mom and Jasmine were more like sisters than besties, especially since they spent their childhood as neighbors in a small town in East Sussex, England. At the age of thirteen, Mom moved to the United States, and their communication was mostly through letters. Fate brought them back together when Jasmine took a ballet school in Boston, while Mom went to the University of Pennsylvania. After Jasmine married Kenny, she dropped her career and followed him to New York, where my mom also lived and worked during that time.
I loved Jasmine, even though her husband has never been my favorite person. I always believed she could have chosen a better man to build a family. But love is blind, so I’ve heard.
“I think it’s better to come back later. Mr. Morgan and Mr. Blake have just entered the study room.” Joanne’s voice pulls me out of my memory lane. Before I can blink, she’s already standing at the front door, blocking my way.
“Nah, I’m not in a rush. He didn’t mention his plan to meet Kenny, but I can wait.”
She clears her throat. “It’s not Mr. Kennedy Blake,” she says. “It’s the son.”
I blink. “Huh? Aiden is here? Why? Wait, is Kenny still…is he alright?”
“Yes. Mr. Blake is alive and well.” An anxious glint flashes in her dark eyes. “Please, Miss Violet. I think this isn’t the right time to see your father.”
I don’t like this. First, I found out Mom’s house in England was listed on the market, and now Dad is having a mysterious meeting with Aiden Blake. What the hell is going on? Dad has never been this secretive with me. To top it all, Joanne has been acting weird since I arrived.
“This is between my father and me, Joanne. Can you not stand in my way?” I say in a hardened tone.
Her nervousness slowly shifts to a defeated gesture. She knows how hard I can fight my way through when I want it. “Mr. Morgan wouldn’t be happy about this,” she mumbles, finally moving to the side to give me room to walk inside.
I squint at her. “Why do you think that? What did he tell you exactly?”
“Oh, Miss Violet, please. I know nothing. I know nothing,” she chants, waving her hands frantically. Despite her loyalty to my dad, Joanne’s reaction always gives way each time I press harder to fish for some information. But right now, I want to go straight to the source and leave his poor housekeeper out of it.
“Alright. Just do whatever you were doing when I arrived. I’ll fetch myself some drinks while waiting for them.”
Joanne doesn’t wait another second. She nods at me, slightly bowing, and dashes upstairs.
Once I enter the foyer, I head to the cocktail room at the end of the corridor, across my dad’s study room. It used to be my mom’s hobby room, but Dad tore down the wall and built a huge cupboard for his beverage collection after she died. He always said it was for better use, but I knew he just couldn’t bear the memory of Mom in every corner of the room.
His room door is closed, and despite my curiosity, I don’t bother trying to eavesdrop because I know it’s useless. The front part of his study room is a small library with a round table and chairs at its center. Then there’s another door, deeper into the room, to access his work desk. It’s impossible to overhear anything unless someone screams or laughs hard.
Walking to the minibar in the corner, I check which bottle to pick. I shouldn’t be drinking, but given how absurd the day has been, I deserve something nice. I’m not a lightweight, and as a twenty-seven-year-old woman, I surely know my limits.
Putting a can of RTD margarita, I hop on the stool and scan the room without bothering to turn on the light. It’s getting dark, but the late afternoon sun still delivers its golden glow through the window, enough for me to scan my surroundings. There used to be a chaise longue behind that window, where my mother sat and worked on her drawing while watching me play in the backyard.
Mom didn’t go out much in her last years before the cancer took her from us, so I spent a lot of time with her in this room, doing girly things. I always loved this space because it always smelled nice, like her. Every fortnight, she gave me three chances to guess which flower she used for the room’s new fragrance. I nailed most of them.
The interior theme used to be a light copper, to match my hair color, but everything is just dark brown and dull and lifeless now. But again, it’s probably the accurate picture of our days after my mom’s passing.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting at the bar, reminiscing about my childhood, when I hear a shuffling sound inside my dad’s study room, which later forms rhythmical thuds of footsteps toward the door. Out of reflex, I straighten my sitting posture.
Once the door opens, Aiden walks out first and waits for my dad in the corridor. I haven’t crossed paths since our mutual friend’s party two years ago. Despite our late mothers’ history, I’m glad we don’t inherit our parents’ friendship. He is the real definition of a jerk, and I dislike his guts.
Aiden is an attractive man, I give him that. His tall and built posture may be hidden beneath his blue suit and dress pants, but I’ve seen him in his swim trunks. His broad shoulders and toned abdomen never cease to make women drool — well, except me — and his package size has been their hot topic from time to time. He has Jasmine’s green eyes and dark hair, but his defined jawline, prominent cheekbones, and straight nose come from Kenny. He’s such a lucky bastard for inheriting only the good physical attributes of each parent. Still, his standout appearance won’t change my opinion about him.
My dad joins him in the next few seconds, but instead of striding to the foyer, he stands still after he closes the door behind him. To my surprise, they didn’t notice me sitting in the dim cocktail room.
“I know this is your parents’ wish, but man to man, I want you to give me your word. Don’t hurt my daughter or do anything to her against her will. I know I’m in no position to ask, but for Violet’s well-being, I won’t hesitate to beg.”
“You don’t need to beg. I won’t hurt Violet,” Aiden replies in his deep voice, sending an unexplained twist in my guts. He holds out his hand to my father. “I give you my word, Richard.”
Staying rooted in my spot, I force my brain to comprehend what I just heard. I barely touched my cocktail, so I’m not under the influence. Yet my dad’s lines make no sense at all.
“Wait!” The word rolls off my tongue before I can stop myself, causing the two men to startle and their heads to snap in my direction. “Why would you beg Aiden for my well-being?”
“Violet!” my father cries, color draining from his face. “What are you doing here? Why didn’t you tell me you’d come?”
I jump off the barstool and make my way to them. While the panicked expression is thick on my old man’s face, Aiden has gathered his composure, proven by a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Fancy seeing you here, Viyo,” he greets me in an overly friendly tone, but I know he’s making sure I flinch at the mention of the nickname he picked for me.
“It’s not fancy since you see me in my parents’ house. It’s expected.” Ignoring his teasing glint, I turn to my father. “What’s going on, Dad? You two just mentioned me, and I want to know what it is about.”
My dad brushes his fingers through his wavy blond hair, his eyes looking distraught, and his jaw clenching. “Violet, sweetheart, I will explain everything. This is a tremendously difficult decision to make, but I’ve been hitting walls and am so close to quitting everything, including our inn business. I wanted to talk about this with you first because your opinion is also important, but the more I think about this, this is the only way to save us and to save what your mom had. And trust me that this is very hard–”
“Dad,” I cut him, “you’re rambling. Okay, let me ask you the basic question. Why is Aiden here?”
“Viyo,” Aiden interferes, his sharp eyes boring into mine, “let me give you the basic answer. I’m here to ask you to marry me, and you’re going to say yes.”
