by Tina Michele
Bree woke in a cheerful mood early on Monday morning and headed over to the main house. She wanted to tag along with Jim to work, and her plan was to make breakfast as a means to bribe him into letting her. If she sat alone in her house for another minute, she would’ve gone out of her mind. Bree knew the best way to her uncle’s heart was with cheesy grits and greasy bacon. Although she couldn’t stand grits, Jim always seemed to love the way she made them. In fact, she despised a lot of foods that her uncle enjoyed. She blamed it on the texture and her uncontrollable need to chew everything to mush before she was able to swallow it. Bree was not a chef, but she found her way around the kitchen well enough. At least well enough to keep herself from starving to death. Of course that was if she had any food to cook, because if there was one thing she hated worse than eating mushrooms and sweet potatoes, it was shopping for them. She was thankful for the big-box retailers that sold household goods and groceries along with clothes and shoes.
As Bree leaned into the refrigerator for breakfast ingredients, she chuckled at the memories of when her uncle bribed her with toys or charms in exchange for good behavior. It was more of a tradition and less of a disciplinary tactic since Bree never misbehaved.
Bree removed a pot from the stove and stirred the “corn sludge” as she mumbled to herself. “Yuck. You could lay bricks with this crap.”
Out of the quiet, a man’s voice boomed behind her. “Still not fond of grits, huh?”
Bree jerked back and flung a spoonful of grits into the air. “Dammit! You scared the shit out of me.”
“Looks like I scared the grits out of you,” he said as they both stared at the thick glob of goo that oozed down the surface of the oak cabinet. Bree eyed Jim before they erupted with laughter.
“Here.” With a gentle grin, Bree shoved the bowl in his direction and sprinkled cheese onto the top.
“Thanks, Breezy.” He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek and took the bowl at the same time. “So, to what do I owe this beautiful surprise?” Jim raised an eyebrow at her as he sat in a chair at the table.
Bree wiped the thick sticky mess off the cabinet and then put the bacon on a plate. She balanced it carefully on top of one of the coffee cups she carried to the table. “Oh, nothing. Just thought I’d make breakfast.” He tilted his head in disbelief. “Okay, fine. I was trying to bribe you into taking me to work with you today.” She smiled at him and batted her eyelashes just like she had done when she was younger. It always worked like a charm, and this time was no exception.
“Like I could ever say no to my punkin’ when she looks at me like that.” He gave her a gentle pinch on her cheek before giving it a little smack. “Brat.”
“Yay!” Bree jumped up from her seat and spun around. “Okay. You eat, and I’m going to go get dressed. I can’t wait to see the house and Julie. Is Julie still there? How about Ms. Carmichael? Does she still pretend to be a cranky old lady? Oh. And Barbara. Yay! I’ll be back.” Bree didn’t give her uncle a second to respond as she spun like a whirlwind through the kitchen and out the door.
Bree showered, dressed, and was back in the kitchen in record time. She finished her coffee and tapped her nail on the side of the mug while she waited impatiently for her uncle. She was just as excited to go with him as an adult as she had been as a child. Bree paced around the kitchen until Jim came down. She set her mug into the sink, gave one last skip, and shouted “Yay!” before they headed out the door.
*
Bree and Jim lived about twenty minutes from the Biltmore gates. The house and staff parking lot was another two and a half miles in via service roads. The visitors and guests used the three-mile-long Approach Road that followed the original driveway designed by Frederick Law Olmstead in 1895. It was a beautiful drive that very few people took the time to enjoy on their way up to the mansion. While the service roads lacked the formal designs and landscaping of Approach Road, Bree still enjoyed the beautiful forest around them. It was a small portion of the estimated twenty thousand acres of managed forest. And it was still just a small segment of the more than one hundred thousand original acres that George Vanderbilt owned when the Biltmore Forest School was established in 1898. The remainder of the forest was sold to the government in 1914 and became part of the Pisgah National Forest.
As they approached the staff parking area, Bree’s heart raced. She was almost unable to keep herself from jumping from the vehicle and running into the building. She couldn’t wait to see everyone and everything that she’d missed so much over the many years she’d been away. Until that moment she hadn’t realized just how much that was. Bree had been home for just a few days and already she felt younger and happier than she had in years.
Bree vibrated with excitement, and Jim would have had to be dead not to notice. He had slowed down through the parking lot and exaggerated his search for a perfect spot. She looked over at him every few moments as she gripped the door handle and anxiously tapped her foot. When she’d had enough, Bree grumbled and looked over at him. He exploded with laughter when her comprehension of his antics registered. “Are you serious?” Bree yelled and slapped him in the arm. She unlatched her seat belt in haste and demanded that he “park the damn truck already.” He continued to laugh even after he had pulled into a spot, turned off the truck, and watched as she leapt from the vehicle.
Bree grabbed his arm and pulled him close in a side hug. She refrained, albeit just, from slinging herself onto his back for a piggyback ride like she had always done as a child. To quell her excitement, she opted to link his arm with hers instead.
*
Carson woke in a haze and rolled onto her back. The movement caused her head to swim. She felt as if she were on a boat as it sloshed relentlessly in a windy harbor. She slapped her arms out to her sides and hoped that a firm grip on the mattress would reduce the ebb and flow of her bed. Carson cursed herself for giving in to the charms of the smooth-talking “Señor Patron” the night before. She looked around the room. Something wasn’t right. Carson’s first thought was that she had fallen asleep with her bedroom lights on again. It didn’t take her long to realize that the light was natural and it flooded in through the open curtains. She thrashed her arm up and down on the bed and tried to locate her phone. The quick movements encouraged the dull knock that had already begun in her head.
She slowed her search to soft pats out of fear that she would rile her stomach next. Carson located the elusive device and begged the powers that be for it to be Saturday. She knew very well that it wasn’t Saturday, but she still hoped like hell it was before she looked at the screen. Monday. 10:03 a.m. “Son of a bitch!” Carson said as she kicked the covers off and jolted upright. She realized her mistake and sprinted toward the bathroom.
Carson still felt like the undead even after she had showered and dressed. She popped a cup into her coffee maker and stared with a lifeless expression as it steamed and hissed. Carson hoped that the double mug of coffee and four pain relievers would be enough to at least get her through the drive into work. After that, it was up to the hangover gods. “You never learn,” she admonished herself. She sat at the table with her cup and dialed work. Even though Beth didn’t care, she needed to let her boss know she would be late. It wasn’t until Carson hung up that she noticed the seven missed text messages. Instinct told her that no less than half of them were from Becky, and one click into her message folder confirmed it. Carson chose to read the two texts from Jim, as she’d not had enough caffeine to deal with the others.
She messaged Jim back quickly. No. I’m not dead. At least I don’t think so. See you in a bit.-C
His response was almost immediate and he let her know that Becky had already managed to tell everyone about the night they’d spent together.
Like most of her couplings, it was a relationship built on physical attraction alone, and Carson had been just fine with that. Becky was adventurous and uninhibited, and that made things fast and hot—just how Carson liked it. Everything was going good un
til Becky implied that she had begun to develop feelings for Carson. While Carson was fond of Becky as a person, there were more than a handful of reasons why a long-term relationship with Becky was not an option, even beyond Carson’s own misgivings.
After Becky’s “I have feelings” declaration, Carson was honest when she explained things to her. She just didn’t feel the same way, and she didn’t think she ever would. To her surprise, Becky had taken the information rather well and agreed without hesitation to a simple friends with benefits arrangement. The idea had been Becky’s, and Carson’s acceptance of the proposal was selfish. After all, what sort of dolt would turn down the potential for hot, commitment-free sex? In spite of its availability, Carson tried not to redeem the benefits of the agreement very often. The exception being when she and her conscience were under the influence of far too many shots of tequila—like the night before.
Carson didn’t respond to Becky’s messages. She decided it was time to nip the whole thing in the bud. It was clear that Becky had not understood the meaning of discretion as it related to their casual relationship. It was one Carson never should’ve started in the first place, and she knew it was the right thing to do. She also knew that it needed to be done before it interfered any further with her career and her coworkers. She had a fifteen-minute drive accompanied by a screaming headache to think of a diplomatic and non-confrontational way to pull it off, even if she had to lie a little.
Chapter Four
Bree meandered through the lobby. She spent the first three hours hugging what seemed like every person in the building. After she finished visiting, Bree left her uncle to his work and set off to spend the remainder of the day playing tourist. She started out in the grand foyer. She closed her eyes and listened to the hustle of the families and the echoes of voices that filled the vaulted space. Bree tried to recall the last time that she had taken the actual self-guided tour but couldn’t. She came to the immediate conclusion that she had never walked through the estate and viewed the art and architecture as a mere layperson. She had always just followed her uncle or others around and viewed the rooms and their contents from an insider’s perspective. The idea of seeing things with fresh eyes excited her.
From the onset of her tour, Bree noticed the speed of the impatient visitors. Children and families zipped along through the rooms as if on a supersonic time schedule. Bree wasn’t surprised. She’d seen it in every museum she had ever been to, including the Gardner. After all, it was the technological age. She imagined that just getting their kids to look up from their games was hard enough when you didn’t make walking and learning about “old stuff” the singular alternative. Bree made a quick mental note about video games for when and if she ever had children.
Bree strolled through the entrance hall and followed it around to the Winter Garden. It was an interior tropical oasis illuminated by an ornate ceiling of wood and glass. At its center stood the sculpture of Boy Stealing Geese by Karl Bitter. Like most rooms in the chateau, the Winter Garden’s décor was changed based on holidays or specially recognized days, such as the Vanderbilts’ wedding anniversary.
Bree ambled along behind a small group of older women that she had unassumingly adopted as her own personal tour group. They moved through the building at a comfortable pace and expressed an honorable interest in their surroundings. Bree appreciated that. She overheard one of the women ask a question that no one could answer, so Bree offered one. From that point, she became the group’s unofficial guide to Biltmore.
Bree enjoyed her unplanned tour guide duties. The Biltmore had a team of exceptional docents who led various paid tours throughout the property. Conducting an unsanctioned tour would have been frowned upon by house staff had she not been Mr. James Whitley’s daughter. She stood on the second step of the Grand Staircase while her small, private group hovered around her and hung on every word as Bree described the design and construction of the marble steps. Bree paused her lecture in mid-sentence when something across the room caught her attention. Her eyes locked onto a figure that sprinted through the hall toward her and her group. The person darted toward them with determined intent. The moment their eyes met, a searing rush of electricity surged through her. It was in that same moment that Bree realized it was a woman. The woman was solid, tall, and breathtaking and her jet-black hair was short and wild. Her blue button-down shirt was tucked into a smooth-fitting pair of dark blue jeans. Her movement was effortless as she leapt onto the second step without a break in stride. The sudden movement startled Bree, and she jumped back to avoid a collision but dared not break eye contact.
She had never seen eyes so blue in all her life. Bree had never been so hypnotized by anything, and time ceased. The woman offered a captivating smile, and Bree’s breath caught in her chest. Her legs wobbled beneath her as she was bombarded by the crisp, intoxicating scent of cologne. Bree’s body burned as she watched the woman bound up the stairs. When she disappeared around the curve of the steps, Bree closed her eyes. She took another deep breath and allowed the moment to sear into her mind.
Through what felt like cotton in her ears, someone spoke her name. She opened her eyes and noticed the six intrigued women who stared back at her. “I’m sorry about that, ladies. I was a little startled, but I’m fine now.” Bree tried like hell to push the image of the woman from her mind.
“Wow. She was quite attractive wasn’t she?” Bree heard one of the ladies say to the others.
“Yes. If I was thirty years younger, I’d have run up those steps after her.” The announcement was acknowledged by a sharp smack in the arm from a map held by the woman next to her.
Bree was surprised she hadn’t noticed it earlier. It was clear to her now that her adopted tour family was more family than she had realized at the onset. As the women continued to stare at her, Bree’s feelings of exhilaration and attraction were overpowered by the feelings of guilt and shame. She scolded herself for the raw and uncontrolled reaction to another woman. Yet beyond that, Bree felt in that moment as if every void within her had been filled. She cursed Marion for being the very reason for the vast emptiness inside her. She had been so strong until then and she refused to let herself break. She pushed back the darkness of pain that spread through her heart, and with the confidence that she didn’t possess, she led her new friends up the stairs.
A small part of Bree had hoped the woman with raven hair waited for her at the top of the steps. Just when she thought her heart rate had returned to normal, it increased again. With each rise, her anticipation grew. What if she is there? Waiting? What would I possibly say to her? When they reached the second floor, the ladies expressed their obvious displeasure that the woman was nowhere in sight. Bree remained silent, torn between disappointment and relief.
The women wove through the second-floor rooms, which included the bedroom suites of George and Edith Vanderbilt. Edith’s room was one of Bree’s favorites in the house. She had always been impressed by the vast amount of gold that the room contained. It made Bree feel as if she were able to swim in the countless yards of gold silk that poured like gilt waterfalls around the room. Bree was mesmerized by the extravagance of it. There were few things in her life that affected her with the same intensity. The Hall of Mirrors at Versailles, the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel in Rome, a night launch of the Space Shuttle Discovery, and now, the brilliant eyes of the mysterious woman that captivated her mind.
Bree and her ladies ambled through the other rooms while they joked about the lavatories and made racy comments about the servants’ quarters. She enjoyed overloading them with a variety of fun facts and rumors that helped keep her mind off her recent encounter. Her new friends were fun, entertaining, and curious, and Bree was glad that fate had brought them together.
Of the six women, Gwen and Suzanne were her favorites. Gwen was sarcastic and the clear leader of the group. Suzanne was Gwen’s partner of thirty years and was a perfect introverted complement to her extroverted spouse. Their love was undeniable
and their connection was obvious to anyone who looked at them. The ease with which they loved each other was the one thing Bree thought she might not have had with Marion. She had loved her with all her heart. But was it ever so effortless? Bree tried to remember through the fog of time, and her heart clenched at the thought of forgetting. She was being ridiculous. Of course it had been that same love. Their arrival at the recently unveiled Louis VX Suites brought Bree out of a potential downward spiral.
Bree was excited to have the opportunity to see the completed project. She was in awe from the moment she laid eyes on the striking fabric and wallpaper reproductions. Her uncle had told her that they’d found a company in France that reproduced the exquisite fabric by hand, a process which had taken more than two years to complete. Bree slipped on her headphones and pressed play on her audio device. She listened as the narrator discussed the fine details of the restoration. She and the ladies dispersed and drifted in silence as they surveyed the new rooms on their own.
In an instant, the women were bombarded by an enormous group of people that had materialized around them. The group was loud and erratic as they swarmed into the small room. Bree was forced to step forward to avoid being trampled by the throng of rude people that were oblivious of her presence. She felt a sharp object, possibly an elbow, jam into her back, and she lunged forward. Bree extended her arms and placed her hands on the chair in front of her for stability. Although caught off guard by the jolt, she was thrilled by the feel of the fabric under hers fingers, so soft and plush. She ripped her hands from the furniture as if she’d been burned. She couldn’t believe what she had done. In the confusion of impolite and pushy people, she had lost all common sense as well as the basics of her education.
Even though it was a complete accident, she admonished herself. “Without gloves.” As any guilty person would do, Bree looked around to see if there had been witnesses. A small child looked up at her with wide eyes and an open mouth. “Oops.” Bree shrugged and forced a smile at the little girl. Bree decided that she would slink away in shame in an attempt to avoid being confronted by security in front of a room full of people.