As if on cue, her cell phone buzzed. A text from Crystal. Could her day get any worse?
Without responding to Britt, she brought the text message up, eyes scanning the annoying words.
Crystal: Are you still at White Castle with my fiancé? If so, I want you gone today. Go back home.
Melody growled, fingers punching at the letters. I have NO HOME to go back to. But don’t worry, I was already packing. I’ll go pay for a hotel I can’t afford.
Crystal: Use a cot at the hospital in Mirry’s room.
Melody: I’m overwhelmed at your compassion.
Crystal: Are you being sarcastic? You know I hate it when you get snippy.
Melody: When I get snippy? Excuse me while I go be homeless and you tell me how to feel and act!
When she was finished typing, she threw the phone on the grass.
Britt chuckled, lifting his eyebrows. “A text fight?”
“Oh, be quiet, you have no room to talk.”
He laughed out loud, then immediately sobered. “Melody, I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, but you do say funny things.”
He stepped forward and she took two steps backward. “You’re blocking my path along the river,” she told him, arms folded over her chest.
“You’re out for a stroll along the Mississippi?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Not in the mood you’re in. I won’t leave your side. You and the Mississippi kind of scare me. Hey,” he said more softly, “I can see that you’re really upset. I know you’re not going to throw yourself into the river. I’m teasing. I want to help you. I want to—to—” he broke off and gazed off into the thicket of trees at the edge of the property. “What did Crystal say that got you so angry?”
“See for yourself,” Melody said, indicating the phone on the ground.
Gingerly, he picked up the device. “Is it going to explode?”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”
“I’m teasing, Melody.” Britt read the message thread and rubbed a hand along the stubble of his jaw, his eyes narrowing. “Wow, Crystal is really controlling.”
“She enjoys bossing me around. It’s obvious that she’s envious I’m here with you.”
“There’s no reason she should be jealous. None.” Britt raked his hands through his hair, frustration deepening in his expression. “Crystal and I broke up. Completely. Permanently. She knows it. She’s just playing games. Besides, she’s in New York. She doesn’t want to be here. You and I are grown-ups and we know that there’s nothing going on between us.”
“There isn’t?”
Britt cocked his head, hope welling in his eyes. “You mean there is? I think I need an explanation. Actually, I’d love an explanation. You’ve been gone for hours and hours. I missed you. You missed lunch, too. I’ve been worried.”
Melody swallowed past her dry throat, glancing away from him to the river. It was probably silly to not get her anger and betrayed emotions out in the open. There was no reason to play games, they weren’t teenagers. Her initial shock was wearing off, too. Time to pack up and leave. It was over with Britt—before it had even really begun.
He reached for her hand, but she stepped away while his eyes became hurt and confused. “I’m truly mystified. I’ll do anything I can to fix this.”
“I’m not sure it can be fixed, Britt,” Melody said, her voice edged with the betrayal she felt.
“You learned something while you were gone. Please talk to me, Melody.”
“I went to find my family records. Turns out, my grandmother was born right here at White Castle.”
Britt’s eyes widened and he let out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s fascinating, and wonderful, too, right?”
“Her father bought the property in nineteen twenty and lost it when Mirry was eighteen years old in nineteen forty-nine. Why didn’t she ever tell me that?”
Melody turned to begin walking again, closing her eyes while a cool breeze blew the heat from her face.
“She must have her reasons,” Britt said gently.
“It explains the photograph in the ballroom. It also—sort of—explains why she might have brought me here when I was very young.”
“Wow, this is pretty wild. Hasn’t White Castle changed hands a lot over the past two centuries?”
A sharp intake of breath nearly doubled Melody over. She jerked her chin at him. “You should know those facts better than anyone, Britt. I spent quite a bit of time reading over the property deeds at the court house. All the owners. Every single one of them.”
He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I’m so sorry, Melody.”
“Why, Britt? Why didn’t you just tell me? You are the owner of White Castle! You are!”
Chapter 22
He hung his head, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “It’s true, and I feel terrible that you found out this way.”
“I saw the papers myself so there’s no denying it.”
“I won’t deny it. Actually, I want you to know the truth. There was just never a good time to tell you.”
“But you pretended to be the caretaker! The gardener! Just a regular guy! I feel like everyone around me is lying about something!” Melody’s voice rose higher and she worried that she was sounding hysterical. Gritting her teeth, she slowed down and clenched her fists.
“But I’d rather be known as just the caretaker,” Britt said softly.
“Don’t patronize me.” She cut him off, scrambling down the high levee back to level ground.
Would he follow her? She was determined not to look back over her shoulder. Instead, she followed the banks of the levee in a direction she had never taken before and suddenly spied the White Castle cemetery sitting underneath a ring of cypress dripping with Spanish moss that wavered in the gentle autumn breeze.
Britt stood discreetly outside the cemetery gates while Melody wandered the family plots where mounds of tall headstones stood solemnly in the earth, stained by lichen and moss.
Here was the massive stone marker for John Randolph, the original builder, and his wife Emily. The marriage had produced something like eleven children. John fled Louisiana for Texas during the Civil War, taking his slaves with him to keep them safe and then freeing them.
All alone, Emily and her children held the household together when White Castle was taken over by Union soldiers for the duration of the war, suffering deprivation and terror.
A few children were buried here, and there were also a few unmarked plots, or headstones where the lettering had worn away completely.
In a far corner, was the newest headstone, cleaner and deeply engraved.
Abel Walter de Lyon, Beloved Husband and Father
May Heaven Be as Sweet as Our Lives Were with You
Born 1925. Died 1995.
“Oh!” Melody let out a cry of anguish, sinking to her knees on the patchy grass. Abel de Leon was her own papa, Mirry’s husband. The grandparents who had taken them in and nurtured and loved them so dearly. She had only been seven years old when they lost him and Mirry became their only parent. Melody’s memories were spotty, but he’d taken her crawfishing, played card games with her, read her books, took her out for special birthday dinners. She knew he’d loved her dearly.
“Good grief, Mirry had a hard life!” she choked out, the lump in her throat growing so big she could hardly speak.
A warm hand touched her arm and she started, lifting her eyes. Britt knelt beside her, concern and worry in his eyes. He reached out to wipe the tears rolling silently down her face.
“Melody, sweetheart, I’m so sorry you’re so distraught,” he said. “Who is this? Why are you crying?”
“He’s my grandfather, my papa. My own grandfather is buried at White Castle—it seems impossible! And yet—!” she stopped, unable to speak. It was all true, though. Seeing his headstone here confirmed everything she had learned. But Papa had been buried in one of the small cemeteries in New Orleans. How had
he gotten here?
Britt clasped Melody’s hands, holding them tight in his. There was no denying that his strength and solidness was comforting.
She rocked back on her heels. Her grandfather was buried here so many decades after the family lost the plantation. “Why would he be here? I have so many questions for my grandmother I think I need to make a list.”
“I have a notebook and pencil back at the house,” Britt said, quirking his lips up into a smile.
She laughed in spite of herself. “Don’t do that,” she warned him.
“Do what?”
“Make me laugh while I’m crying my eyes out. And while I’m very mad at you!”
“You have every right to be angry, but I planned to tell you everything. I just needed you to get past letting Crystal run your life—and our relationship.”
“What kind of a woman gets involved with her sister’s fiancé?” Melody wagged a finger at him. “And don’t tell me that it’s okay because she’s no longer your fiancée. She would hate me. She would always say I broke you two up.”
“We’ll keep it a secret then.”
She gave him a look.
“Okay, bad choice of words.”
“You think? I guess you’re good at keeping secrets. Or should I say lying? How can I ever trust you, Britt?”
“You can trust me because I am a very trustworthy person. I will never divulge your secrets or confidences. I never gossip or speak badly of others. I give everyone a chance. I forgive. I forget.”
“Are you an Eagle Scout, too?” she said with a slow smirk.
A deep laugh burst out of him. “How’d you guess?”
“That still doesn’t explain—”
“You need to let me explain. And you need to understand who I am deep down. Why I did or did not do the things you accuse me of. But I want a chance with you, Melody. More than anything else I’ve ever wanted my entire life.”
She folded her arms and sat cross-legged on the ground, straightening her back like a strict schoolmarm. “Okay. I am the kind of person who gives others a chance to redeem themselves.”
“I thought you were,” Britt said, locking eyes with her. “I know it shocked you to learn that I have wealth.”
“As in you’re a freaking billionaire?”
“Those are Crystal’s words. Meant to impress you. And the fact that she told you doesn’t speak well of her. It was not her business to tell you.”
“I’ll concede that because it did make me uncomfortable. It’s a personal part of someone’s life. I also realized that was the reason she came back to claim you. Because you had money and she wants a rich lifestyle. Double whammy by my own sister.”
“I think you can still speak to her at Christmas though,” Britt said with a wink.
Melody suppressed a smile, wanting to stay outraged. “I’ve known my sister for almost thirty years. I don’t let her get in the way of our relationship.”
He chuckled and reached out to squeeze her hands, but Melody slipped out of his grasp and placed her palms behind her on the grass.
“Melody,” he started again, his voice soft and earnest. “I never wanted to be a millionaire—or a billionaire—or whatever you want to call it. None of us did. We were just having fun. Experimenting. Using our brains and creativity to program cool stuff.”
“What are you talking about?”
“DREAMS. Our little company that went global and rocked the financial charts. I’m actually embarrassed by the unexpected wealth.”
“What about those chart-rocking sports cars?”
He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “I hide them in garages—and I only drive one at a time.”
“If you tried to drive two at a time, I’d accuse you of being a secret stunt man. Okay, were you really a history teacher?”
“Scout’s honor,” he said, holding up three fingers in the Scout Oath. “I’m crazy about Southern history and Southern plantations and antiques. My passion is caring for White Castle. It was easier to buy it than get hired on. That way I could research it and refurbish the property as it’s intended to be. My only nemesis is the local White Castle Historical Society.”
Melody gave him a sly look. “I’ve heard that groups like those can be filled with bossy ogres.”
“It doesn’t help that I’m thirty or forty years younger than most of the members who have to approve of any little change or repair that needs done.” He spread his hands, scooting two inches closer to her. “I’d rather be known as the caretaker than the owner. It makes things easier all around. They take me more seriously—as a lover of history, rather than a rich dude who throws his money and opinions around.”
She nodded slowly. “I guess I can understand that.”
“You should see the paperwork and reports I have to fill out to do anything. Even just moving a picture from one wall to another. Ultimately, White Castle is a tourist attraction. And most people never know, or care, who the owner is.”
“Makes it easier to remain incognito, I guess.”
A small smile played on his mouth. “I like to be incognito.”
“Except when you’re not.”
“What does that mean, Miss de Lyon? I fear you have some underhanded designs going on in that beautiful mind of yours.”
“You’ll figure it out,” she said flippantly. “It’s going to take a while for the shock to wear off. That this used to be Mirry’s home. That she grew up here.”
“I think it suits you perfectly.”
“I don’t know about that … but I have fallen in love with it.”
“Everyone does. I’ll give it back to you and your family.”
“What! What in the world are you talking about?”
“You can have White Castle. As long as I can stay on as caretaker. I can always purchase more historical homes and fight with other historical society matrons.”
“You are insane,” Melody chided.
“Maybe I’m the perfect owner for White Castle right now,” he said thoughtfully, his eyes piercing hers with significant meaning. “Until its true owner can move in and make it her own again.”
“Now that’s a loaded statement. Honestly, buying this house and overseeing all of its care and maintenance means you’re stuck in this little town. I would think you’d want houses all over the world, to travel, to run your antique business. To just be free.”
“Everyone needs a home base, and I’ve always wanted a place that can be turned into a home. A true home with kids and horses and swings and four-wheelers. The works.”
“It’s not often you meet a man who admits it out loud, or even truly wants all of those domestic things.”
“You lost your parents in a tragic accident, but I lost my parents in other ways. Spent my teen years in the foster care system.”
Melody was stunned by his casual admission. He’d suffered much more than she ever had. “Oh, Britt, I’m so sorry.”
“Hey, I turned out okay, and I don’t dwell on it. I had good foster parents; I just had so many of them, and that always hurt. Better than being raised with a mother on drugs and a father in prison. Good friends in high school helped a great deal. They helped set me on a whole new path, probably the only reason I went to college. But Melody, my biggest dream is to find an amazing woman who shares my dreams, who loves the same things I do. Someone that appreciates a house like this and all of its good—and sad—history.”
A hot flush crept up Melody’s face. Her entire body was scorched by the significant look on Britt’s face. She forced her eyes away from his, then wrapped her arms around her knees and gazed at the sparkling mansion in all of its grandeur.
“I can’t believe we’re lounging about talking in a graveyard,” she said.
“It’s got good ambience for talking about family history. I’m sorry you had such a shock today, but what an amazing story about your family history and roots.”
“That’s an understatement.”
“Have you tried calling M
irry today? She may be able to talk a little bit by now. I’m sure she really misses you.”
“I called before I left for Plaquemine, but she was sleeping. I’ll try again in a bit. I miss her, too,” Melody added softly.
“Hey, hey,” Britt said, gathering her up in his big, warm arms. He held her while she tried not to burst into a crying jag, rubbing her back and murmuring softly.
“Britt,” she said after a moment, disentangling herself from his arms. “Thanks for your honesty. I think I understand why you’re guarded about your own life story. I’m worried about a hundred things right now. We can’t … start anything,” she ended awkwardly, rising to her feet. “It’s only been two weeks since you proposed to Crystal. I have to know that you’re not some fickle guy.”
“Don’t fickle reputations belong to the women of the world?” he teased.
She brushed off her jeans and stuck a hand on one hip. “Not this one.”
“I’ll do anything you want—or nothing. We’ll just be friends, okay? Want to shake on it?”
“Nope.” She took a step backward. “I can’t touch you anymore. I don’t trust myself with you.”
“I’ll take that as a good sign. How about a hot cup of tea instead?”
“Yes. And I want time.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We need time. You and me.”
“I agree. I want you to trust me, Melody. Completely. Meanwhile, I’ll tell your sister to quit stalking you and telling you what you should do.”
Melody threw a saucy look over her shoulder. “Believe me, I can give her a piece of my mind all on my own!”
Chapter 23
Over the next several weeks, Melody threw herself into reconstruction of both Books on the Mississippi and her apartment. She met with insurance adjustors, flood experts, building inspectors, and construction companies to get price bids.
She stayed at White Castle during the duration, discussing each step with Britt in the evenings while they took turns cooking dinner. Breakfast and lunch were quick affairs since every hour of the day was packed with a myriad of tasks and traveling back and forth to New Orleans.
The Owner's Secret (A Secret Billionaire Romance Book 4) Page 16
