I walk down the back stairs to the kitchen. I can make a couple sandwiches, bring one to Gavin. See if he’s awake yet. Then maybe I’ll go find Jessie. I dreamed about her last night. She was in the oak tree and the branches were too high for me to reach her. I woke up frustrated and wanting her. It took twice as long to get the day’s work done because I had to keep pulling my mind back from thinking about her.

I put four roast beef sandwiches together, grab a few dill pickles, two bottles of water, and put it all on a tray. My dad would have a fit if he saw me—the way I make my own meals, or wash my own dishes. He believed, firmly, that time is money, and any time spent doing menial tasks was robbing our family’s bottom line. That thirty minutes you just spent in the kitchen cost us $30,000, he’d say. He’s not wrong. In New York City, I have a chef, maid service, laundry service, a driver, a PA to take care of booking appointments and making reservations.

But here in Romeo, I like to leave all that behind.

I carry the tray down the hall toward Gavin’s bedroom. He’s in the east wing. It has darker wood trim, tall wainscoting and heavy curtains. I don’t like this part of the house as much, maybe because it doesn’t have as good a view of the meadow as the fourth floor. I make it to Gavin’s room. His door is ajar. I pause at the entry.

The scene hits me in the gut and I exhale in surprise. Although I shouldn’t be surprised.

Jessie sits on the edge of the bed. She has an open book next to her, and I swallow when I see that it’s The Horse and His Boy. Soft light from the window falls on her and illuminates her like she’s some sort of angel. I narrow my eyes. She’s anything but.

She’s wearing a white dress that stretches tight over her breasts and flares out around her hips. There are plates on the bed filled with half-eaten scones, berries, and cream. Two coffees with whipped cream and chocolate shavings in to-go cups from the bakery are on the nightstand.

“You don’t read for fun? Not at all?” Jessie asks in surprise.

Neither of them has noticed me.

Gavin shakes his head. He looks a little wobbly, even reclining on a pile of pillows.

“Not at all.” He beams at Jessie. I realize with shock that my brother is a little tipsy from the pain meds. “Although, if I’d had a librarian like you rather than old Mrs. Axham, maybe I would’ve learned to love reading.”