Love Spellbound? Buy your print copy now!

"It's left to who?"

"She can't handle that; the longest she's been at a job is six months!"

"There has to be some kind of mistake."

"It wasn't supposed to go to Gemma!"

"Your Aunt Hazel really was insane."

I wish I could say that my family's objections were just the ramblings of a bunch of assholes, but no; they were completely, 100% correct.

I, Gemma Fox, 22-year-old college dropout, had no business running a company, let alone a sprawling, ancient family staple that had been passed down for four generations. With every strong and capable woman that inherited the hotel, it thrived under her management. But it was my Great-Aunt Hazel who put it on the map, and now she had left it to me to carry on her legacy.

Hazel must have had a long evening at the hotel bar when she made that decision.

"Seriously, though, you must have it wrong. Could you please check again?" my mother asked the lawyer in that snotty voice reserved for people she viewed as beneath her. She flicked her blonde hair over her shoulder and leaned in, pursing her Botox-filled lips.

Mr. Cartwright, the balding middle-aged lawyer who represented my great-aunt, was in no way intimidated by her. "Mrs. Fox, I assure you, there is no mistake. I spent twenty years in school; I am fairly certain I know how to read. But in case you didn't comprehend it the first time: The Hotel Reynard and all its assets are left to Hazel Fox's great-niece, Gemma Diane Fox. I hope that clears it up."

I snorted behind my hand, and my oldest brother, Trevor, glared at me across the oval conference table. I cleared my throat and sat up in my chair, clasping my hands on the smooth surface. Trevor 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 had become more and more critical of me and my life choices. A carbon copy of our mother.

"But what about Raven? She's older than Gemma by eighteen months. She should've been the one to receive the hotel, right?" Trevor asked, and I shot him a dirty look.

Raven spoke up then, and my glare slid to her as she said, "Not to mention that I have my degree in Hospitality and am currently the manager of the Hilton in downtown Boston." Her eyes darted to me on the word degree, as if to rub it in my face that she graduated, and I didn't.

As we were walking into the attorney's office, I heard them discussing how much they thought the hotel was worth and all the plans they had with that money. It was assumed, based on her age and career, that Raven would inherit the Reynard. But now the only thing that Hazel owned that was worth a damn was bequeathed to me.

Mr. Cartwright cleared his throat. "You are correct. However, Hazel was very clear that Gemma was the one she wished to leave the hotel to as she showed the most interest throughout her life."

"But that's not the tradition," my Aunt Deborah protested. "The tradition is that it's left to the oldest girl."

But the oldest girl hadn't given a shit about Hazel or the Reynard. Raven never wanted to join me for any of the summers I spent in Connecticut with our great-aunt; she was always too busy at Vacation Bible School or whatever it was preachers' kids did. I was the one who took the time to get to know Hazel, helped her with ghost tours, spent weekends repainting the porches, took afternoon tea with her when it seemed like there was no one else who 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.

Mr. Cartwright shrugged. "Hazel had every right to break tradition. But 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's 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."

Trevor scoffed and said, "Well, you might as well just give it to Raven now because Gemma is not capable of tying her shoes, let alone running a business."

I glanced at my slip-on Vans, and anger and embarrassment bubbled up in me. "Shut up, Trevor." We might not get along anymore, but for him to humiliate me in front of the entire family and a total stranger stung.

My uncle started to say something, but his wife interrupted. "There is really no recourse? This is it." Her auburn hair didn't move as she shook her head indignantly; it was caked down with hairspray.

"Not unless Gemma decides she doesn't want it or cannot do the job," Mr. Cartwright said again, and I could tell he was growing tired of repeating himself.

My mother crossed her arms over her ample chest and cut her green eyes at my father. "Christopher, do something."

"What do you want me to do, Libby? Aunt Hazel is dead and buried; it is what it is. The Reynard belongs to Gemma for now, and we all just need to move on," my father said, offering a small smile in my direction as he straightened his Armani tie. Dad always tried to keep the peace, even though the truth was, Mom had had him whipped for decades.

Mom rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Whatever. Are we done here?"

Hunter, my brother who was closest to my age, looked like he could crawl under the table and die of embarrassment, while Trevor watched my mother in a sort of reverent awe. When I glanced at Logan, my middle brother, he was just looking out the window with a blank stare on his face, probably thinking about his next glass of whiskey. It was always amazing to me how the four of us could be so different from one another and still be siblings.

Mr. Cartwright pushed what looked like a contract toward me, laying a pen on top of the paper. "Almost. Gemma just needs to sign."

"Can I—can I have some time to think about it?" I ask.

"Of course, she can't make up her mind; it's just like ballet classes, piano lessons, and lacrosse." My mother pointed a manicured fingernail at my father. "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 that camp was going to be about?"

Just when I thought I couldn't feel smaller, my mother knocks me down yet another peg. "We get it, Mom. I'm a total flake." I couldn't even look at her. Whether it was the look of disappointment on her surgically enhanced face or the fear of seeing myself in thirty years, I wasn't sure.

The lawyer's gaze softened as he slid a copy of the will across the table. "You have seven days. The trust has some stipulations. Call me and let me know what you decide, and we will meet again to go over the terms. Just you and me."

"Thank you, Mr. Cartwright. I'll give you a call this week."

I rushed out the door, not able to get out of the room fast enough, away from my mother and her iron-clad memory, my father and his weakness, and my cousin's judgmental gaze.

"Gem!" The pounding of footsteps came from behind me, and a hand curled around my upper arm. "Gem, wait."

I spun around, my hair whipping against my cheeks. "What do you want, Hunter?"

He took a step back and released me. His Adam's apple bobbed and a flash of hurt radiated from his brown eyes. I looked away, not wanting to see the same reaction I had when everyone reprimanded me. 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 to the ones who preferred a beer over wine, the wallflowers at the ritzy parties. While they were talking politics and the stock market, we exchanged inside jokes and talked about trash reality television. They were Gucci and we were Target. And we liked it that way.

"Sorry, Hunt."

As was typical Hunter, he rebounded quickly and draped a slender arm over my shoulders. "No worries. I was coming out to offer my help. I'll go down to the hotel with you and take a look at it. Dad said Aunt Hazel only did the minimal upkeep on that place. I'll make sure you aren't getting yourself stuck with a money pit."

I could use the extra set of eyes, especially when it came to the hotel's physical condition. Despite Mom's chagrin about Hunter's career choice, he had created a thriving construction business. She would have preferred he bought a fancy office to run his company out of and spent his days behind a desk, but he enjoyed working with his hands and getting a little messy. I couldn't think of a better person to accompany me to the hotel for my first visit since Hazel passed.

I bumped him with my hip and smiled. "It is a two-hour drive down to Spelling, and I could use a passenger with impeccable music taste."

"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 call to have me rescue you in 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.

The reaction of my family members during the will reading replayed in my mind. None of them were surprised that Aunt Hazel left me a large portion of her wealth; she and I always had a bond none of them understood. A healthy chunk of her fortune for me to squander, sure. Gifting me with her mink coat and several pieces of her gaudy jewelry, understandable. What they didn't expect was for her to leave me, indecisive Gemma, with absolutely no direction in my life, a thriving business—one that my cousin was far more qualified to run.

But I loved that place just as much as Hazel when I was a child. I looked forward to my summers with her at the Hotel Reynard where I led night tours through the notoriously haunted hallways. If my parents would have let me, I would have packed up my belongings and lived out my childhood days with her. I was my happiest there, but I questioned if I could find that same joy without her presence. And I only had seven days to figure it out.