My Week with the Prince (Fun For the Holiday's Book 3) Read online

  Before I even realized it, I was pulling into a business complex and parking my car in the plainly marked Visitors section. I locked the door with my remote before heading toward the tinted glass doors. I knew from the email that they were on the second floor, but I checked the directory anyway, just to be sure. Suite 231.

  I took the stairs one at a time, noticing how quiet the building was. Passing by all of the doors until I reached the right one, I wasn’t sure whether I was supposed to knock or walk right in. I grabbed the knob and turned it, pushing the door open to see a quaint lobby and what looked like a check-in area behind a Plexiglas setup.

  The woman behind it kindly smiled at me. “Can I help you?” she asked.

  I cleared my throat. “I’m here to see Mr. Edwin. I’m Celeste Finnegan,” I said, and her face contorted into a mixture of recognition and sadness.

  She knew who I was; she had been expecting me. But she also knew why I was there.

  “I’m sorry about your mom,” she said softly, and I thanked her. “I’ll be one moment. Let me tell Mr. Edwin you’ve arrived.”

  She disappeared, and I was left alone in this room that was painted too white and decorated too plainly. I guessed that lawyer offices weren’t really meant to feel homey. They were all business. And that business was stark, demanding, and cold.

  “He’s ready for you.” She reappeared at a doorway, holding it open for me to walk through. “Right this way,” she said as we walked toward the end of the long hall. She peeked her head inside. “Mr. Edwin, Miss Finnegan is here for you.”

  Charles Edwin was an older man with graying hair and glasses that sat perfectly on his face. He looked pleasant enough even if the business he dealt with was less than. “Hi, Celeste. It’s nice to meet you in person.”

  “Thank you. It’s nice to meet you too.”

  “You didn’t know anything about this, did you?” he asked in an almost-jovial manner, like the entire thing was somehow a little comical. Which, I guessed, in a way, it was.

  “No. I had no idea,” I started to say before adding, “I mean, I assumed that my mom would have a will, but I just thought it would be something written down on a piece of paper that I found at home.”

  He laughed. “Most likely in crayon, right?”

  I smiled in response.

  “Your mom wanted everything legal and done by the book. It was the one thing she insisted on.”

  He talked about her with such affection that I knew they’d been friends.

  “You knew her,” I said matter-of-factly. It wasn’t a question.

  Charles nodded once, a small smile playing on his lips. “I worked with her a long time ago.”

  “At the grocery store?” I wondered in surprise because Charles did not look like the type of guy who would have ever worked in a grocery store.

  But it had to have been there because the store was the only place my mom had ever worked. She started in high school one summer and continued working her way up to a manager position and loved every second of it. My mom had always said that most people were in a good mood when they came into the store. And those who weren’t usually left her checkout aisle with a smile on their faces instead of a frown.

  “I worked in the butcher department over the holidays one year. But we stayed friends on Facebook.”

  That response made me laugh out loud. My mom had loved her Facebook; she’d had it downloaded on her phone and constantly updated it.

  “You knew my dad then?” That one was a question.

  He had worked with her briefly at the store as well, as far as I knew.

  “I did not. He had already left you guys by the time I started working there. It was just Josie and her two girls.”

  The smile hadn’t left my face, even when I asked about my absent father.

  “You know, I tried to get your mom to go out with me. I asked her about twenty times,” he mentioned with a laugh.

  I tried to picture our life with Charles as our stepdad. He seemed kind enough, but I didn’t see it—him with her. Mom had been too carefree, too happy, too whimsical, and Charles looked like he was wound up a little too tight.

  “She never said yes, I take it?”

  “Not a chance,” he said with a nod, but I’d already known that.

  Mom hadn’t even dated while Tyra and I were growing up because she said it made her uncomfortable to bring a strange male into a house where two beautiful young girls lived. She’d suggested that it was inviting trouble in, so she put her personal life on hold until the two of us moved out.

  “Well, if it makes you feel any better, she never dated anyone while we lived at home.”

  “I eventually learned that,” he said before adding, “Facebook.”

  My emotions welled up inside me as I heard this man talk with such familiarity about my mom. It was nice. Comforting.

  “I guess we should get down to business then. I’m sure you have other things to do,” he suggested, and I found myself shrugging.

  “Not really. But I’m sure my little sister is probably losing her mind right now, wanting to know what’s going on, so—” I explained, and he put up a hand.

  “Say no more.” Charles grabbed the file folder that was already on his desk and opened it, pulling out papers, one piece at a time. “Okay. This is your mom’s last will and testament. Do you want to read it yourself, or do you want me to go over it with you?”

  I swallowed hard, wondering what Mom could have needed a legal will for. We never had much of anything. Not that we struggled or really even wanted for things. We just weren’t well off.

  “Can you go over it with me? I’m afraid if I take it and bring it home, I’ll have questions, or I won’t know what half of it means.”

  He smiled, his eyes crinkling around the edges. “Of course.”

  Charles launched into some legal speak before letting me know that Josie Finnegan had left everything to both Tyra and me equally. We were now proud homeowners and had been for over a year and didn’t even know it. The house had been paid off, the property taxes as well as the homeowners insurance paid up for the year.

  All of her savings, 401(k), and IRAs were to be divided equally between us girls. As well as the life insurance amount, which he claimed wasn’t very much because she’d gotten it after being diagnosed. Wasn’t it a shit thing that when you needed insurance to take care of your family because you knew you were going to die, no one wanted to give you any? Like they couldn’t fathom actually having to pay out on a claim.

  “I didn’t even know she had that stuff. The IRAs and 401(k),” I said, surprised.

  “Josie worked at that store for almost thirty years. She managed to put away quite a bit of money,” he said, pushing a piece of paper in my direction so I could see the dollar amount.

  My brain spun inside my head. How had I never even considered that before?

  “Is this a joke?” I couldn’t even comprehend having that much money, and here it was, being handed over to me for no other reason than the fact that I was still alive and she wasn’t.

  “She worked a lot of overtime, got holiday pay, double time on Sundays—that kind of thing. She planned for her future and the future of yours and Tyra’s as well.”

  “Tyra’s gonna flip,” I said without thinking.

  Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars each was a lot of money. Not to mention the fact that we got to keep the house, too, and to top it all off, it was paid for.

  “Normally, you’d have to go to the store and sign paperwork to get all of this, but they made an exception for your mother. As her trustee, once she became incapacitated from a financial standpoint, I was able to sign everything on your behalf. The money will be wired to your accounts as soon as you fill out this paperwork.”

  He moved another form in my direction, and I started filling out my account information.

  “I don’t know Tyra’s bank information.”

  “I figured as much. That’s why the whole amount will go
to you, and you’ll distribute it to her,” he said like it was no big deal that five hundred thousand dollars was going to show up in my account one day.

  “The money will just go to my bank account?” I asked, still bewildered by all of this news.

  “Yes. My partner here at the firm is actually a financial specialist. I know this is a lot of money to come into all at once, so if you girls need any help or financial advice”—he swallowed—“if you want to start investing or anything at all, just let me know, and I’ll set you up with him, okay?”

  “Okay,” I said as I wrote the last two numbers of my bank account on the form, signed it, and slid it back in his direction.

  “That’s basically it. Her car is paid off, and you can either keep it or sell it. She said she didn’t care and figured neither one of you would want it. The title is in the folder.” He closed the file back up after carefully putting all of the papers back inside and handed it to me.

  “I have one other thing you need to sign,” he said. “Just acknowledging that we met and that I went over the will with you and gave you all the contents listed in section two.”

  “All right,” I said, my hand shaking as I grabbed a pen. Turning to section two, I read the list of contents, making sure that I was aware of each thing listed, and signed my name in three places.

  I pushed to a stand, shaking Charles’s hand and thanking him for all he’d done—for both my mother and for my sister and me.

  As I turned to leave, his voice stopped me. “Oh shoot. There’s one last thing,” he said, holding out a large manila envelope in my direction. “I almost forgot. Your mom would have come back to life just to kill me if I didn’t give you this.”

  I took it gingerly, wondering what it could be when I recognized my mom’s handwriting on the front in her favorite green Sharpie.

  For My Girls.

  “Do you know what this is?” I asked and watched as his eyes started to water before he rubbed at them quickly.

  “I do. Sorry, I’m not usually so emotional. Your mom was a wonderful person. I just hate the way it all ended for her,” he said, and I felt my own eyes fill with tears.

  “Thank you for saying that.”

  I hated it too. It was total bullshit and not even remotely fair.

  “You’ll let me know if you need anything or if I can help, right?” he asked as I stepped through his door and into the hallway.

  “I will. Thanks again,” I said, but we both knew that I wouldn’t.

  I GUESS WE’RE RICH NOW

  CELESTE

  I sat in my parked car for all of two seconds before I grabbed the envelope, the file folder, my purse, and keys and practically sprinted toward the front porch. Tyra really was going to lose her mind over the money and the house. I hoped she wouldn’t do anything stupid, like buy a bunch of new shit she didn’t need, but you never could be sure when it came to my little sister.

  Sometimes, she was incredibly calm and collected, but other times, she was the most impulsive person I knew. I wouldn’t be surprised if she called me in two weeks to tell me she’d bought a bar with the money … or a club … or a hair salon or something.

  Maybe I should call Charles Edwin back and ask to meet with his advisor.

  I stepped into the house, and the screen door slammed closed behind me, alerting Tyra to my presence.

  “Celeste?” she yelled, a little crazy, and I wondered how many vodkas with a single splash of cran she’d drunk while I was gone.

  “It’s me. Where are you?”

  “In the kitchen still. I literally haven’t moved since you left,” she answered and started giggling as I rounded the corner and found her in the exact same place where I’d left her.

  “Too much to ask that what’s in your hand is the same drink as before?”

  “Waaaay too much to ask. You’ve been gone for, like, an hour. Who takes an hour to drink a drink?”

  “Fair enough. You’re not drunk though, right?” I asked because the last thing I wanted was to get into Mom’s affairs with Tyra in an altered state of mind. I would hate to have to go through all of this again in the morning.

  “I’m not drunk,” she argued firmly. “Yet. Now, tell me what Mr. I Have Mom’s Will Bigshot Lawyer Dude said.”

  “Make me one of those first.” I decided to join her. “But with way more cranberry. I like mine an actual red color, thanks.”

  “Lightweight,” she whispered under her breath, and I smiled as I watched her fill my glass almost to the top with the juice before adding the vodka.

  “Smart-ass,” I mock complained but took a healthy sip when she slid it to me. “Oh, this is good.”

  She bent over in a curtsy before grabbing her glass and giving a nod toward the table. We both sat down, staring at each other, and I could tell that she was a little nervous, or anxious, or something.

  She took another healthy gulp of her drink. “You can tell me now. I’m prepared.”

  It struck me then that Tyra might be thinking that we had been left with nothing, desolate and forced to give up the house.

  “Mom really took care of us, Ty,” I started before all of the emotions began pouring out of me in the form of tears.

  “What do you mean? How so?” She leaned against the table, her eyes locking in on mine and holding.

  “She left us the house. It’s all paid off. Her car too. And she had a bunch of money saved that we’re supposed to split.”

  I waited for her to ask me how much money, figuring it was the next logical question, but she didn’t.

  She leaned back in her chair, reached for her drink, and downed it. “We get to keep the house?” was all she asked when she finally spoke, her voice shaking, the tears spilling down her cheeks.

  I hadn’t realized until that moment how much this house truly meant to her. I’d thought I understood, but seeing her like this really brought it all home.

  “She did so much for us.” Tyra wiped at her cheeks.

  “She did everything for us,” I agreed.

  Our mom really had. She put her life on hold until we both moved out and started our own lives. She ended up getting sick soon after but never told either of us. I’d like to think it was because she figured she’d kick cancer’s ass and none of us would ever be the wiser. But life didn’t follow the plans we made for it, and she had been forced to tell us because the cancer was consuming her, piece by piece.

  “There’s one more thing,” I said, and Tyra pulled herself together momentarily to shoot me a questioning look.

  “What else could there possibly be?”

  “She left us this.” I reached for the manila envelope and slid it across the table toward her.

  “What is this?” she asked before spotting the familiar handwriting the same way I had at the lawyer’s office. “Can I open it?” Tyra was already working at the sticky glue on the back, trying to get it undone before I even answered.

  She gasped and covered her mouth with one hand.

  “What is it?” I asked, wanting to know everything.

  “It’s a letter.” She started dumping out the contents of the envelope onto the top of the table. “And tickets?”

  My head was spinning, and I wasn’t sure if it was all the emotions, the vodka, or a combination of the two.

  “Read it. Read the letter,” I urged, and she picked it up and started unfolding it.

  Then, she read the words out loud.

  My sweet daughters,

  We always talked about going to new places, didn’t we? Having grand adventures where no one knew anything about us, except for what we told them. It always sounded so exciting, and to be honest, I was planning on making it happen. A special trip with my girls.

  I’m sorry we didn’t get the chance. But just because my life is over, it doesn’t mean that yours is. We all know that your lives are just beginning. There are so many firsts you still get to have. So, Celeste, Tyra, GO LIVE. You’ve not been doing it for far too long, taking care of me. And w
hile I appreciate that more than you’ll ever know, it’s time for you both to do something for yourself.

  I know it must be so hard and painful for you to watch me wither away, but I’ve loved having you around. Is that selfish? Probably.

  Which is why I’m unselfishly—ha—sending you both to Ireland. You know I’ll be there in spirit, following you around. Heck, I’m probably already there now, waiting for you to show up. Tickets are here along with your itinerary. It’s all planned out. Everything is paid for. There’s nothing more you need to do for me. Except this one last thing. Live. Live with all your heart. Start in our homeland.

  I miss you more than you’ll ever know.

  But don’t forget—I’ll be watching. Don’t break all the Irish hearts while you’re there.

  xxx,

  Mom

  “What?” I dragged out the word. Just when I’d thought I couldn’t stomach another iota of shock, my body squeezed more in. “Read it again. Read the letter again.”

  “No. You read it again.” She tossed it toward me and grabbed what I assumed were the plane tickets and whatever else had been in the envelope. “Silently. Read it silently, Celeste. We’re going to freaking Ireland!”

  I read the letter five more times until I had it practically memorized. When I looked back down at the table, Tyra had shoved the itinerary in front of my face, and instead of feeling sad, I was starting to feel excited.

  “Celeste?” Tyra said my name softly.

  “Yeah?”

  “We leave in three days,” she said, and my jaw fell open as my heart started racing.

  “Three days?” I asked, suddenly feeling stressed before an eerie calm came over me, and then I knew my mom was here with me, telling me it would all be okay.

  “I’m going to pack.” Her chair squeaked against the wood floor as she shoved it back and disappeared down the hall.

  I realized that I never even told her how much money we each had now, but it could wait. The Finnegan sisters were going to Ireland.