Of all the days for my chronic tardiness to kick in, it had to be today.
I crammed my keys into my purse and slung it over my shoulder. Slamming my car door, I caught my reflection in the dusty window. Wisps of golden hair broke free from my ponytail and crowned my freckled face like a lion's mane. I licked my fingers to tame the strands and cringed as it did little to better my appearance. With a sigh, I gave up and ran toward the sky rise.
Today was just another nail in my aunt Hazel's coffin. After years of battling breast cancer, my great-aunt had been in remission. Or that was the impression she'd given my family. It turned out Hazel had sugarcoated the truth in a thick, sticky glaze. She'd gone as far as concocting an active lifestyle of daily swims, Bunco every Tuesday, and a slew of renovation projects around the Reynard. When the disease claimed her, she had been alone, and I'd been living it up with no clue. Not only was I not at her side when she died, but I couldn't convince my family to forgo a traditional funeral. Hazel would have wanted a party to celebrate her life. Bright clothing, strong drinks, and cheesy '80s pop songs—a quirky gathering that she would have loved to have attended. Now, all that was left was this final meeting, which she would have hated too.
After the twenty-floor elevator ride, I burst into the attorney's office and asked the receptionist to point me to the conference room. My shoes beat against the tile floor, and I nearly tripped when I skidded to a stop in front of the double oak doors. Smoothing down my dress, I took two deep breaths to still my racing heart and walked in.
Everyone seated around the oval conference table fell silent. My skin prickled with embarrassment under their scrutinizing gazes. They were freshly pressed suits and designer shoes, and I was a broken-in pair of Vans and a red sundress from my senior year of high school. I avoided making eye contact, turning my attention to the window overlooking the Boston cityscape. It was bad enough that my parents and brothers were here to witness what I was sure they considered another irresponsible Gemma moment, but Raven's family was here too.
My uncle Kevin was the spitting image of my father, down to the silk ties and Italian leather shoes they wore to work every day at Fox Imports, the luxury-car empire they had built from the ground up. They weren't twins, but only eleven months sat between them, and they'd been inseparable since birth. The only discernible difference between them was their taste in women—while my aunt Deborah was pretentious and materialistic, my mother was a sweet, sincere woman, who was charmed by my father's charisma and stability.
"Nice of you to join us, Gemma," my father said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. His hazel eyes radiated disappointment—an expression I had grown to expect over the years.
My mom elbowed him, offering me a tight smile that didn't show off her new set of veneers, a gift from my father for their last anniversary. "Christopher, stop it. Come on in, honey, sit down."
I took the empty seat next to my brother Hunter. "You okay, Gem?" he whispered, brushing his palm over the scruff on his jaw.
I appreciated Hunter's empathy. No one in this room understood just how much Hazel meant to me. She was just a kooky relative to them, a woman obsessed with ghosts who lived in a musty, old hotel. But Hunter was always sensitive to other people's emotions, especially mine.
I nodded, tears stinging my eyes. "Yes. I just—"
"I know today is hard for you. It'll be over soon enough," he said, squeezing my arm.
"That's right. I can finally shut down that outdated roach motel and do something useful with the profits," my cousin, Raven, said, flipping her long black hair over her shoulder.
Anger bubbled up in me, heating my cheeks and the back of my neck. Raven had always hated the Reynard, never wanted to spend the summer there, and never took the initiative to learn its history. Her ridicule and eye rolls were the only things I saw from her where the hotel was concerned.
"Raven, you can't—"
She shot me a glare across the table, and the air in the room seemed to chill. "I'm the oldest female Fox. I'll be able to do whatever I please."
Gritting my teeth, I clamped my hands down on the arms of the expensive leather chair, my pulse pounding in my ears. And I had no reply. None, because Raven was right. As soon as that will was read, everything I loved about being with my aunt Hazel would be in my cousin's hands. Hands that wanted to do nothing but destroy what our ancestors had worked so hard to build.
The door at the front of the room opened, and my great-aunt's balding, middle-aged lawyer, Mr. Cartwright, stepped over the threshold. "Are we all here now?"
"Sorry I was late," I said with a sheepish smile.
His face was warm and open, and he wore an expression that made me feel like maybe I wasn't the most irresponsible person ever to exist. "It's all right, Miss Fox." He sat at the head of the table and opened the folder in his hand, pulling out a packet of papers. The will.
"Let's get started. The will isn't very long, and it's relatively straightforward." He cleared his throat and began to read.
It was all the standard wording about sound mind and last will and testament. My thoughts drifted as he droned on, thinking, This is it. Hazel's will was her last act on this earth. Never again would she walk the halls of the Reynard or lead a ghost tour. We would never sit together in her hotel suite and talk about what it was like to own the hotel or our plans for the future. I would never pull her close in a hug and melt against her as she embraced me back. She was gone.
"'I hereby bequeath the Reynard Hotel and all its assets to my great-niece Gemma Diane Fox.'"
"Wait, what did you say?" I blurted out, snapping my gaze to Mr. Cartwright. "Did you say my name? That can't—"
"That can't be right!" Raven sprang from her seat and slapped her palms on the table. "For one hundred and fifty years, the hotel has been passed to the oldest girl with the Fox name. I am the oldest. Hazel can't break tradition."
It was my brother Trevor who backed her up. "She's right, there was only one incident when it didn't pass from an aunt to her oldest niece. What's going on here?" His dark, perfectly coiffed hair without a strand out of place only added to his I'm better than you attitude.
I shouldn't have been surprised at Trevor's reaction. He and I may have gotten along when we were younger—he used to take up for me on the playground when the older kids picked on me—but in our later teen years, he became more and more critical of me and my life decisions. He didn't like my friends, my boyfriends, my choice of extracurriculars. When I'd dropped out of college two years ago, he'd laughed and told me that I would never make it in this world. He had no mercy when it came to me, no forgiveness. He had become a carbon copy of our father.
"Hazel had every right to break tradition. She had no legal obligation to follow it, and she made no mistake in her wishes. We discussed it at length, and Gemma is the one she left the Reynard to. There's no question about it," Mr. Cartwright said.
"It doesn't make any sense; Gemma doesn't know anything about running a hotel," my father said, and my aunt and uncle grumbled their agreement. Of course they did. They wanted their daughter to inherit it so she could shut it down.
"I can learn," I started, but everyone spoke over each other, pushing me out of a conversation that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with me.
Raven raised her voice over the others, her attitude one of utter disdain and condescension. "Not to mention that I have my degree in hospitality and am currently the manager of a five-star luxury hotel in downtown Boston." Her eyes darted to me on the word degree, as if to rub it in my face that she had graduated and I hadn't.
"Hazel was very clear that even though Gemma is not the oldest girl, she was the one she wished to leave the hotel to as she showed the most interest in it throughout her life,"
Mr. Cartwright replied.
The attorney's words warmed my heart. Hazel had gifted me the thing that meant the most to her. The Reynard was mine because the oldest girl hadn't given a shit about Hazel or the hotel. The only reason Raven ever came to visit was because her parents saw it as an obligation. I was the one who took the time to get to know Hazel, helped her with ghost tours, spent weekends repainting the porches, and took afternoon tea with her when it seemed like no one else valued her presence. Hazel didn't care that Raven had her bachelor's degree in hospitality or managed a cookie-cutter chain hotel. She wanted someone to run the Reynard who loved it.
And that was not Raven. My cousin hated all things paranormal. Where I was intrigued by and open to the inexplicable, she was disgusted by it. I was the one who embraced it with Hazel. No one else in this entire world saw me like my great-aunt did. And I saw her too.
Mr. Cartwright held up a hand to silence everyone. "It is worth noting that the hotel will remain the property of the trust, as it has for over a hundred years. The person who it is handed down to will keep any profit made during the time it is under her care. If Gemma either does not want the hotel or is proven unfit to run it, Raven will take over, but there is a caveat."
"This should be rich. What outlandish stipulation did Hazel put in place for my daughter?" Kevin asked.
"Your aunt was not a foolish woman. She recognized that Raven has more experience in the industry. Therefore, Raven must put forth every effort to help Gemma learn to run the business. Christopher and Kevin, since you are the oldest surviving members of the Fox line, Hazel has given you authority to determine if Gemma is unfit to manage the hotel. You may check the physical state of the building and its finances at your discretion within the first year of her ownership. Once the first year has passed, the hotel and its assets will be fully assigned to Gemma in accordance with the terms of the trust. If you should choose to remove her, your reasoning must be based solely on her performance."
Trevor scoffed and said, "You might as well just give it to Raven now because Gemma isn't capable of tying her shoes, let alone running a business."
I glanced at my slip-on Vans, and anger and embarrassment heated my skin. "Shut up, Trevor."
"If we're done acting like children," Raven said, directing her attention only to me, "I'd like to understand what exactly is expected from me to fulfill our great-aunt's last wishes."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes. "Why? You couldn't even stay in the rooms by yourself. Every summer you threw a fit about going to spend time with Aunt Hazel."
"You know I was traumatized in that hotel as a child. Whatever is there liked to pick on me. It was evil."
"I know, I know. Things pulled your hair while you slept, and shadows chased you down the hall during a ghost tour." I gave in to the eye roll. "Funny, but it sounds like even the spirits never wanted you there. I had no problem."
"Whether you like it or not, Gemma, this is what Hazel wanted. When you fail—and you will—I want to be prepared to take over."
Raven couldn't care less about Hazel's final wishes. She wanted to get her perfectly manicured claws into what was left of our family legacy and rip it apart from the inside out. By the time she was done with the Reynard, the property would house an upscale boutique hotel. The guests would feast on caviar and schedule afternoon pampering sessions. All signs of Hazel and the Fox women before her would vanish.
"I'll schedule a meeting with you to discuss what actions you need to take to secure your place as owner if Gemma should forfeit or not meet the terms," Mr. Cartwright said, sliding a stack of papers across the table in my direction. "Right now, all I need is for Gemma to sign."
Deborah spoke up, her nasal voice piercing my ears. "There really is nothing else we can do? No recourse? Raven just has to wait for what is supposed to be her birthright?"
Hunter released a lip-rattling breath and ran a hand through his dark-blond hair. "Please. Everyone at this table knows that Gemma is the only one of us who gave a damn about the Reynard. And anyway, the will is final. Aunt Hazel is gone. Gemma is in charge of the hotel. Just let her sign so we can move on with our lives."
It amazed me how Hunter and Trevor were both my brothers but so different from each other in every way. Where Trevor couldn't get enough of insulting me, Hunter would always come to my rescue. I could have hugged him, but I settled for reaching over and squeezing his hand where it rested on the arm of his chair.
Mr. Cartwright handed me a pen, and my heart stuttered. This was the biggest kind of commitment I could make, and even I could admit that my track record wasn't exactly spotless.
"Can I—can I have some time to think about it?" I asked.
"Of course she can't make up her mind; it's just like ballet classes, piano lessons, and lacrosse." My father sat back in his chair and looked at my mother. "Libby, do you remember that summer she begged us to send her to space camp and then called us a week and a half into it to come and get her because she was bored learning about stars. What did she think space camp was going to be about?"
Just when I thought I couldn't feel smaller, my father knocked me down yet another peg. "We get it, Dad. I'm a total flake."
Before he could respond, Mr. Cartwright spoke again. "You have seven days. The trust has some stipulations. Call me and let me know what you decide, and the two of us will meet again to go over the terms."
"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I'll give you a call this week." My skin was crawling with the need to get out of this room, away from my father's disapproval, my cousin's wrathful stare, and the final, stark realization that the one adult in the world who really understood me was gone.
When the lawyer dismissed us, I didn't waste a second, springing from the chair so fast I nearly knocked it over. I pushed open the heavy double doors and rushed to the elevator.
"Gem!" The pounding of footsteps came from behind me. "Gem, wait."
"What is it, Hunter? I just want to go home and forget that entire meeting ever happened. Especially the part where Dad made me look like an idiot."
Not only did Hunter and I look the most alike, but we were also the ones who didn't live up to our parents' high standards. The dark-blond siblings who didn't aspire for riches. We were the ones who preferred a beer over wine, and the wallflowers at the ritzy parties my parents threw for Christmas and New Year's. While they were talking politics and the stock market, we exchanged inside jokes and talked about trash reality TV. They were Gucci, and we were Target. And we liked it that way.
He pressed the Down button for the elevator, and we stepped on, trying to force the doors shut before the rest of our family could barge in. "He was just pissed things weren't going 'to plan,'" Hunter said, making exaggerated air quotes around the last two words.
"I wish he would pick on someone else for a change. Trevor is long overdue for some parental humiliation," I said, earning a laugh from Hunter.
"Trevor is the golden child. You know that. Anyway, I was coming to offer my help. I'll go down to the hotel with you and take a look at it. With things having been worse than we thought with Hazel, there is no telling what you're getting yourself into."
I could use the extra set of eyes, especially when it came to the hotel's physical condition. While our father would have preferred that Hunter spend his days behind a desk and run his company from there, my brother enjoyed working with his hands and getting a little messy, and he had created a thriving construction business. I couldn't think of a better person to accompany me to the hotel for my first visit since Hazel had passed.
I bumped him with my hip. "I suppose I could use a passenger with impeccable taste in music during the two-hour drive."
"Just say it; I'm your favorite brother." He pulled me into a headlock and rubbed the top of my head with his knuckles. "Besides, I wouldn't let you drive your Honda; that thing is almost as old as you. You would just have to call me to rescue you from the middle of nowhere, and I have a date I can't miss this weekend."
I pinched one of his love handles until he yelped and let me go. Brushing my hair down with my fingers, I followed him to his brand-new truck with wheels so big that I almost needed a ladder to climb inside. Hunter turned on a playlist that the two of us had added songs to over the past few years, and I rolled down the window, kicked off my shoes, and watched the Massachusetts coastline fly by.