Olivia closed the little journal with a sigh.

"No mention of the queen, but this Lady Whitley sure is delightful."

"Mhm," I said, shuffling my feet through the layer of dust on the ballroom floor.

Olivia mumbled something under her breath, causing me to look up.

"What?"

Liv raised a brow. "Oh, you're listening now?"

She didn't wait for my reply, though, walking with a haughty sway toward the glass doors at the far side of the ballroom. The doors seriously looked like they'd crack with a single push, but Olivia wasn't deterred. She gave the rusty doorknobs a little turn, and with a creak, they opened onto the back terrace.

I didn't bother to ask her where she was going this time. There was no use. And having her go outside was better than having her find a loose floorboard to fall through.

But even though the backyard seemed like a safe alternative, I still followed her. I wasn't about to stay hanging around in this mess.

Olivia was already floating through the gardens by the time I made it outside. They were an unruly mess of tangled rosebeds, but she didn't seem to care. Well, she didn't care until she bent down to inspect them and then jumped back with a yelp.

"Thorns." Liv scowled down at her fingers, and I laughed lightly.

"Let me see." I closed the distance between us, taking her slender palm in mine.

She pulled back a little at first. "It's fine, Asher."

I kept a firm grip on her hand. "Just let me look, you obstinate woman."

The scowl remained on her face, but she stayed there while I inspected the little pricks of blood blooming from the pads of her fingertips.

It was honestly pointless. Olivia was right—it was fine. What was I going to do for a few tiny cuts? But for some reason, it made me feel good to be able to tend to her. God only knew how many times in our five years of marriage that I hadn't done that when I probably should have.

I used my shirt sleeve to put pressure on the dots of blood for a few moments before releasing her hand.

"Good as new," I murmured before taking a quick step away, trying to avoid her shifty, curious gaze.

With my back turned to Olivia, I stared at the stone facade of Rosecrest. I knew what Liv saw when she looked at it. She romanticized the whole thing. With its weaving vines and little corner turret and whispers of princesses who once roamed its halls, Rosecrest was like a fairy tale wrapped up in a neat package.

But all I saw was broken walls and sinking foundations and endless bills.

Sighing, I turned back to my wife. Ex-wife. Almost ex-wife. I frowned.

Where the hell did she go now?

"Olivia!" I called, spinning in a circle like an idiot trying to find the woman. Walking forward, I peeked through the rows of rose bushes, attempting to spot her dark hair amongst the greenery. Surely this mess of a garden would be reason alone to get rid of Rosecrest. Seriously, it was the perfect setting for a horror flick—woman gets lost in a labyrinth of thorns, husband spends eternity searching for her. Didn't that sound about right?

I nearly called out for Liv again when I saw a flash of her white dress through the bushes. Stepping around the brush, I watched her stroll down a narrow path, ducking beneath hanging branches.

"For fuck's sake," I murmured beneath my breath. "Liv!" I called. "Wait up, will you?"

She stopped, peering back at me with a raised brow. It was an expression meant to taunt me, and it was working. "Would you keep up, Asher?" she asked, tapping her foot as I jogged up to her. I really did not wear the appropriate clothes for what she apparently had in mind today.

"I hadn't expected you to take off into the goddamn woods," I shot back at her, matching her scowl from earlier.

"I looked at a map before we came," she said. As usual when she spoke to me lately, her tone was crisp and matter-of-fact.

"You looked at a map," I repeated blandly. What was she going on about?

Olivia sighed, and it was overdramatic. As usual. "Yes, Asher. I looked at a map. On my phone. I wanted to see where this place was and how long it took to get here. And do you know what I saw on the map when I zoomed in?"

I rolled my eyes. No, and I did not really care what she saw on the map. All I really cared about was convincing Liv to sell this damn place so we could leave. But she continued to stare expectantly at me, so I droned, "What did you see on the map, Olivia?"

"I saw a little blue spot, just over this way."

"A little blue spot," I repeated.

"A lake, Asher. I saw a lake."

At that, she twisted around in her little wedge heels and took off again.

"And how many lakes have you seen before, Liv?" I called after her. "I reckon this one will be like all the others. Nothing special."

"I just want to see," she insisted.

Gritting my teeth, I followed her down the gnarled path. Perhaps I went into this all wrong. I should have come up with a better strategy. A bribe might have convinced her. Honestly, I wasn't sure what the better approach would have been, but bringing her here had clearly been a mistake.

I nearly tripped over an enormous protruding root in the ground and swore.

"You have always been the more dramatic one of the two of us," Olivia piqued, clearing having heard my grumbling.

"Me? You are the one who is dragging this entire ordeal out."

She halted, and I nearly ran into her. I stopped just in time, ramming my toes into the dirt to keep from brushing up against her.

"Maybe I want to keep this place. Aren't I already giving up enough in this divorce, Asher?" The hurt that flashed through her eyes at the question tugged at something in my chest. I felt bad enough about our marriage already, and for that very reason, I'd made the decision to practically give her everything in the settlement—cars, houses, flat, dog. There was hardly anything for her to give up at all.

"Liv, what else is it that you want? I'll give you anything." I paused. "Except Rosecrest. We can't honestly maintain Rosecrest."

She held my stare for a moment with those luminous hazel eyes. Biting her lip, she glanced at her toes, wiggling them a bit. When she looked back up at me, there was a little crease between her pained gaze. "Just let me go look at the lake, okay, Ash?"

"Okay," I muttered, resisting the urge to reach out and smooth the worry from her face.

Luckily, she turned away, meaning I didn't have to reign in my temptations for long. We were silent the rest of the way, and after about five minutes, we stepped into a sparkling, sunny clearing. And in the middle of the clearing, there was, in fact, a lake. Well, I thought it looked more like an oversized pond. But Olivia seemed enthused regardless, so I smiled.

"Oh, it's so lovely," she cooed.

It was rather lovely. Wildflowers sprinkled the bank of the pond, brushing against mossy boulders. A little creek ran from the far end of the clearing into the watering hole, creating a delightful trickling sound. Olivia's face lit up as she bent down to run her fingers through the green-blue water.

It was rather lovely.

Then Olivia sprung up and kicked her heels off, sending them flying in my direction.

I dodged one shoe and then the other. "What the hell, Liv?"

"I'm getting in," she announced.

"You are not."

"Just to dip my toes in!"

I shrugged, supposing that didn't really matter—as long as she didn't fall face first in the process.

"Hold the journal," she said, throwing the antique book at me before stepping carefully onto a stone. Somehow I managed to catch it between my fingers before it tumbled to the ground and fell apart completely.

Speaking of falling, Olivia was now perched on top of a boulder, and it looked slick. "Jesus, be careful, Liv." And here I thought that the outdoors would be safer for her.

"Would you stop worrying? I'm fine."

She tiptoed from one boulder to another before saying, "Why don't you read the next part to me while you're just standing there?"

"What?"

"From Lady Whitley's journal!"

I looked down at the worn, yellowing pages in my hand and decided not to fight it. If Olivia wanted me to read from the goddamn diary, I would read from the goddamn diary. I supposed it was the least I could do for her.

Clearing my throat, I squinted at the faded lettering.

"June 1868. Oh, dear. Well it would seem that I have succeeded in manipulating Simon Pearce into telling me everything there is to know about the secrets of Madame Mischief. And let me tell you, it was far, far too easy."

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