A year with the billionaire

Chapter 3

Amanda’s pov

The man clears his throat, studies the papers before him—more to avoid our eyes, I’m sure.

‘If one of you leaves before the year is up, the estate goes to the other party.’

‘And if we both leave?’ Donald presses.

‘Well, then it becomes a bit more complicated. Tessa has outlined a careful segregation of the estate, detailing specific areas that are to be donated to local businesses and charities. The—’

‘Glenrobin will be segregated?’ Donald chokes out the last word with the same shock I feel. Was I wrong about Tessa ? Had she been mentally unsound? Had I missed it? Paid too little attention?

The guilt rises as Edward continues, ‘But that castle, that entire estate, has been in my family for generations.’

‘And of course Tessa would like it to remain that way.’

McAllister actually smiles now as he stacks the papers neatly—is the man delirious?

‘So, as you can see, it is in your interests to adhere to the terms set out in the will.’

‘And what happens after a year?’ I ask. ‘What then?’

‘After you have lived there for one year you can do whatever you wish with your share. Sell it to the other party, donate it, keep it—so long as you both agree.’

‘This is ridiculous.’

‘That’s the first sensible thing that’s been said all morning...’ Donald mutters, and I flick him a look—not helping!—before going back to McAllister and the problem at hand.

‘So, just to be clear, Donald’s mother inherits a cash sum and the house in London. The rest—the estate, the staff, the heirlooms of Glenrobin—she’s bequeathed to us?’

‘Along with a sum of money to supplement the income the estate generates to aid with its running costs. The sum should be enough to last for many years to come.’

I nod, numbly. ‘A fifty-fifty split between Donald and me?’

‘Precisely.’

Donald clears his throat, his eyes pinning the other man down. ‘And what if she decides to sell it to the highest bidder when the year is over?’

My stomach rolls at the very idea. Rolls even more at his obvious belief that I would do such a thing.

Does he not realise I’m on his side? I know I don’t deserve this inheritance. I don’t even deserve to be sat in the same room as him, hearing Tessa’s last wishes. For all my love for her, I wasn’t her blood. I wasn’t her true family. No matter how much she tried to make me so.

‘I asked you a question, Nathan.’

But McAllister is watching me. Worrying about me. I can see it in his sympathetic grey eyes. Something else I don’t deserve—the man’s sympathy.

Unease creeps down my spine...goosebumps break out across my skin.

‘Nathan!’

The man comes alive, his eyes flicking to Donald , admonishing him. ‘In that case you can refuse, as would be your right. Any sale of the assets must be agreed between the two of you.’

Donald nods. ‘And the money that comes with the estate? How exactly does that work?’

McAllister stares at Donald long and hard. ‘I’m sure you will find a way to make it work, Mr Fitzroy. Tessa asked me to be involved as much or as little as you need. That includes tracking expenditure if it will help you to focus on setting up home amicably. But Tessa did hope that, given time, you would be quite capable of managing it all between yourselves.’

‘“Setting up home”?’ Donald’s upper lip curls, and his voice is devoid of any depth as the phrase revolves around my mind, races through my heart.

I don’t have a home. Never have, never will. Glenrobin Castle was the closest I ever got. Eighteen months I stayed. Grew attached. To the grounds, to the people, to Tessa...to Donald.

And then it started to suffocate me. The panic. The When will it end?

All good things have an expiry date. I learned that at a very young age. And it’s far better for them to end on my terms than to be at someone else’s mercy.

But I hadn’t been able to let Tessa go.

And she knew it.

Was that what this was? Was she trying to give me roots? Gifting me a home in death that I couldn’t possibly say no to...? It was sick, twisted, manipulative...and it had Tessa’s benevolent heart all over it.

‘I know this is a lot to take in.’ McAllister is filling the strained silence. ‘Perhaps if you’d each take the paperwork away, read over it and come back to me with any questions you may have? I will make myself available to you any time you need. Tessa was my dearest friend, my longest client too. This isn’t just my job...it’s personal.’

Donald gives him a grim smile before turning to look at me, a thousand questions burning behind those rich brown eyes that have haunted my dreams for so long.

I wonder what it would take to have them look at me like they did before. With laughter, with warmth, with—

Leave it alone, Amanda! You left for a reason. You ran for a reason. Those reasons haven’t gone away.

‘Here.’ McAllister slides an envelope to each of us. ‘She left you each a letter.’

I manage a sad smile, my fingers trembling as I reach for it. The family crest to the bottom right of the ivory embossed paper triggers an ache deep within that I find impossible to ignore. ‘Thank you.’

‘Is there anything more you’d like to ask?’

I shake my head.

He looks at Donald, whose eyes are trained on the envelope clutched in my hand.

‘Mr Fitzroy?’

‘No. Nothing that will make sense of this at any rate.’

McAllister gives a grim smile. ‘I understand. But rest assured, your grandmother thought long and hard about this. She was never one to make such decisions lightly, as well you know.’

Donald’s eyes flash, but his words are measured, ‘No. She wasn’t.’

‘As for your mother—do let me know if I can help relay all this to her. I’m surprised she declined my invitation to be present today.’

‘I’m not.’

Donald’s tone is clipped as he reaches forward and takes up his letter, tucking it inside his jacket. He’s all action now, as though he’s made a decision only he is privy to.

‘Thank you, Nathan, we’ll see ourselves out.’

‘I’d offer to escort you to the estate...’

McAllister is looking at me, but it’s Donald who speaks. ‘That won’t be necessary.’

Donald’s already on his feet and I follow suit, frustrated that he’s talking for both of us but too numb to argue. I shove the envelope into my satchel and sling the bag over my chest, hurry to tug my backpack from Donald’s reaching grasp.

‘I’ve got it,’ I say, throwing it onto my back, my eyes colliding with his in challenge.

He clenches his jaw, gives me a brisk nod and gestures for me to lead the way.

I take my time, refusing to dance to his tune.

It’s not like I planned any of this.

It’s not like it’s my fault.

‘Thank you, Nathan .’ His tone warms with respect for the older man and a modicum of gratitude. ‘I’ll be in touch.’