Page 1

CHAPTERONE

“Ihave a favor to ask,” my sister said as soon as I answered her call.

No “hello.” No “how are you?” Or even “I miss you.” Just… “I have a favor to ask.”

I frowned and set down my scraper and respirator mask before taking a seat on the scaffolding. I didn’t know why I was surprised. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been. This was how it had been ever since Auntie Jackie had died. Ever since I’d inherited $100,000.

I wiped my forehead with the back of my sleeve. After spending a sleepless night adjusting countless buckets and tarps to prevent more water damage to the château from the rainstorm, I hadn’t even bothered to put on a wig or apply my eyebrows or eyelashes.

Instead, I’d covered my bare scalp with a colorful scarf, as I often did when I was working. I didn’t want to damage my wigs, and it wasn’t good to wash them more than once every few weeks. Besides, I often got so sweaty while working that my scalp ended up getting irritated from the adhesive.

My sister was still talking, and I didn’t know how much of the conversation I’d missed.

I cared about my family. I wanted to have a relationship with them. But it often felt so one-sided. If I was honest, it had for a long time. But my sudden windfall had magnified that. Sharpened it to the point of pain.

I’d always been the odd one out in my family. I was the only one of my four siblings who had left our small town in Montana. None of them had understood why I’d moved to LA to work as a personal assistant for a hotel mogul. They’d been even more baffled a year later when I’d sold nearly everything I’d owned and quit that stable, well-paying job to start a luxury-travel blog.

It had been a leap of faith to startGilded Lily, but it had paid off. For the past two years, I’d gotten to travel the globe in style. My blog had millions of views every month, and I gave my honest opinion on everything from designer suitcases to accommodations.

When I was writing as Gilded Lily, my opinion mattered. People from all around the world listened. I’d never felt that way before—not with my family. Nor with anyone I’d dated in the past.

The only person who’d ever been supportive, who’d loved me unconditionally, was Auntie Jackie. Even now, even after she’d died, she was still trying to take care of me. I’d practically memorized the letter that had accompanied her will.

My dearest Liliana,

You and I have always shared a spirit of adventure. I know how practical you are, but you’re a risk-taker too. I’m leaving you this money so you can take more risks. Use it to do something outlandish—something I’d approve of.

Live a big life. Keep chasing your wildest dreams. I’ll be with you in spirit, every step of the way.

Remember, “The only limit in life is the one you set yourself.”

Love,

Auntie Jackie

?*My eyesstung with unshed tears, but I pushed them away. Crying was a waste of time and energy—both of which were currently in short supply.

I missed Auntie Jackie, but I was confident she’d approve of what I’d done with the money. I was definitely taking some big risks.

A year ago, I’d purchased theChâteau de Bergeretfor $20,000. It had always been a dream of mine to own a boutique luxury hotel, and Auntie Jackie had given me the means to finally do so.

The château was a masterpiece, with distinctive French architecture and an impressive historical pedigree. It needed a lot of work, but it would all be worth it. Or at least, that’s what I kept telling myself as I poured blood, sweat, tears, and all of my savings into this project.

“Are you still there?” Iris asked.

“Mm-hmm. Yep.”

Needing to move, to do something, I climbed down from the scaffolding and passed beneath crumbling plaster, stepping over chipped tiles, trying not to let myself feel completely overwhelmed.

You couldn’t ask for a more idyllic setting thanLe Jardin de France,and I could imagine hosting weddings and so many wonderful events here. Elegantly dressed guests would cross the stone bridge via candlelight over the dry moat to reach the château. It was gorgeous. Majestic. Like something straight out of a fairy tale.

But lately, it felt like more of a nightmare.

There wasn’t a part of the château that didn’t need work, most of it major. Read: hella expensive. Masonry repair, landscaping, a new slate roof. But it was the interior that was truly a mess. Extensive water damage. Minimal furniture and most of it was old in a way that wasn’t chic, wouldneverbe chic. Outdated plumbing and electrical.

Even though I was resourceful, and I’d been doing what I could between trips for my blog, I was out of my depth. And despite the experienced team I’d hired, progress was slow. At the rate things were going, I’d soon run out of money.

Right. Money. That was likely why my sister had called after all. She was still talking, and I was still drowning in my responsibilities, but Iris was my little sister. So, I tried to lend a supportive ear.