Influenced by Eva Robinson (love story books to read .TXT) 📕

dizziness. It had to be fifty feet at least, and the railing was low, below her hips. She took a step back. Clearly, in the Georgian era, safety codes had not existed.

“Hannah?”

The sound made her jump.

Rowan stood behind her, a glass of punch in her hand. “You okay?”

Hannah smiled. “Oh, I just came up to get a glass of wine, but then I started taking in the view. It’s so pretty here. I didn’t know there were houses like this on the pond.”

Rowan leaned in closer. “So, you didn’t hear this from me, but Stella has a side gig writing erotica. Like really filthy BDSM stuff that she self-publishes. She makes a killing. That’s how she paid for this place.”

“I want to be her.”

Rowan grinned. “One thing at a time, Hannah.”

“That’s exactly what I always say to my students.”

“Words to live by. For now, why don’t you come down and meet Daniel?” She pronounced the name with a slight French accent.

“Daniel?” Hannah repeated.

Rowan pointed down at the garden. “You see that beautiful man down there, sitting at a table by himself?”

From here, Hannah couldn’t see much—just a silhouette of a man, and the red cherry of a cigarette. Did people still smoke?

“The smoker,” said Hannah.

“He’s French.” Rowan waved a dismissive hand. “Trust me, you’ll get beyond the cigarette when you see his face. And do you see those sculptures in the garden?” She pointed at the stone figures, their bodies growing with moss and lichen. They looked like they’d been there for centuries, hewn from the earth itself.

“Yeah?”

“Daniel made those. He and Stella used to be a couple. He lived here for a year, and she got all this art out of the deal. He’s the whole reason I know these people in the first place. I met him in France years ago and we became close. He makes a ton of money off those sculptures. So he’s going to sell one to raise money for the teen center.”

“Oh, okay.”

“The important part is that he’s hot and single. And he’s not Luke, who we both agree is an idiot.” She grabbed Hannah’s glass and refilled it with wine. “Drink this, then go meet Daniel. You look absolutely stunning, by the way.” Rowan pulled out her phone and swiped up the screen to turn on her camera. “I’ll show you. Come closer for a photo. I haven’t had someone else in my photos in ages.”

A thrill rippled through Hannah, and she stepped closer to Rowan. She slid her arm around Rowan’s waist, the dress silky against her bare arm, and breathed in the faintest hint of lilac.

Rowan really hadn’t posted photos of anyone else—only Arabella. It was as if, out of everyone she knew, only Arabella had been chosen as worthy enough.

Was Hannah going to get the same treatment?

Rowan held up the camera. In the glowing screen, Hannah could see that the light from inside the house cast a warm glow over them. In the distance, the lanterns from the garden looked like tiny orbs of light.

Rowan snapped the shot, and when Hannah looked at herself in the picture, it was like staring at a beautiful stranger—someone with perfect swoops of dark eyeliner and full red lips. And that was good. Because no one wanted normal Hannah Moreno at the party—single mom, unemployed, smelling of old yogurt. They wanted Rowan’s glamorous friend.

And together, they looked like they could be stars from a bygone era. Or sisters—both in the same crimson, both wearing little gold fleur-de-lis bracelets.

“See?” said Rowan. She was looking down at her phone, typing something. “You’re stunning. I’m going to post this. I just need to write something about my beautiful psychologist friend, and you’ve got to go down and speak to Daniel so you can forget about Luke.”

“You don’t think Stella would mind? I mean, they’re obviously still close if he’s here.”

Rowan rolled her eyes. “No, she’s long since moved on. She has some new guy she’s obsessed with. Come with me. This is your destiny. I will take you if I have to.”

Rowan grabbed Hannah by the hand, dragging her toward the long, sweeping stairs.

Hannah let out an actual giggle—a sound she hadn’t made in a decade, probably. The stairs were steep, and she stepped carefully downward, giddy with the champagne and wine.

At the bottom of the stairs, Stella waved at them. She was opening a bottle of wine by a picnic table laden with food. “Hannah! There you are. You know what? I’m going to put the wine and food out here, instead. Save you running up and down the stairs.”

“Oh, I can help you bring it down,” said Hannah.

Stella waved a hand. “Nonsense. I want you to talk to people about the marketing on our project. I’m so happy you can help us.” She crossed to Hannah, filling her glass with even more red wine. “You hardly poured yourself any wine. Here. I can never tell if my wine is mixed with other random wine, can you?”

“Not really, but I probably shouldn’t have too much.”

Stella started filling her own glass. “Me too. My kids will wake me at eight.”

“Oh? I didn’t know you had kids.”

“She has, like, five kids,” said Rowan.

“No, still only three.” Stella nodded at her house. “I have twins, who are seven, and a five-year-old. Their dad lives in Lexington, but they prefer it here, because even at their age they can sense he’s insufferable and condescending. And that he only wants custody because it would upset me. It’s not like he actually wants to get up to get them water at three a.m. Sorry, we’ve just met and I’m already ranting about my ex.”

“He’s a dick,” added Rowan.

“My daughter is with her dad tonight,” said Hannah. “We’re not together either. On weekdays, she’s usually kicking me in the head around three a.m., so I feel your pain.”

There was something fragile about Stella—a quiet sadness, maybe. And when she held Hannah’s gaze for too long, her eyes seemed to sparkle with tears