Unexpected Eva (Triple Trouble #3)
V.H. Nicolson
For all the superheroes cleverly disguised as stepfathers, this is for you. This is for mine.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
For Content Warnings & Tropes Please Scan the QR Code.
Playlist
Sunshine - TIEKS
Dress On - Justin Timberlake Kaleidoscope Dream - Miguel Talking to the Moon - Bruno Mars Love Nwantiti - CKay
Purple Rain - Prince
Tell Me Something Good - Ewan McVicar Shut Off the Lights - Bastille Rendezvous - Craig David Remember (Acoustic) - Becky Hill Be Alright - Dean Lewis #Beautiful - Mariah Carey ft Miguel
CHAPTER ONE
Eva
Curving my body around the never-ending circular tables littered throughout the extraordinary ballroom, I’m on a mission to make it to my seat without being noticed.
I’m surrounded by hundreds of cheerful people.
Cheerful people I cannot be bothered speaking to this evening.
Hitching my floor-length ball gown up at one side, being careful not to snag the delicate ink-blue silk on my towering gold heels, I’m suddenly stopped in my tracks. Shoot. Too late, didn’t make it… And what’s her name again?
Eh, oh, crap, hmm, think Eva, think.
“Hello dear, it’s so wonderful to see you. How are you?” The cheery silver-haired woman smiles brightly.
“Evening. I’m great, thank you; how are you and the family?” I try my best to hide my confusion and flustered appearance, deep down hoping she does, in fact, have a family. A tiny smidge of memory slides in. I know her name; it’s on the tip of my tongue. Is it Carol? Something beginning with C, I know it.
“Oh, they are wonderful, darling. Thomas is a top criminal lawyer now, and his wife, Matilda, is simply divine. She’s also a lawyer. They’ve bought one of the Victorian mansion houses down Cherry Gardens Lane. You know the ones?” She raises her voice over the chitter-chatter around us, glancing to her left and right to see if anyone heard her momentary boast. She clearly wants everyone to know how successful her son is.
Cecilia? Is that her name?
Nope, that’s not it either.
I’m at a loss.
“Yes, I know those homes. They are beautiful at that end of town.”
The nineteenth century mansions down Cherry Gardens Lane are stunning. There are ten in total. Each one is unique, otherworldly, and big—dream goals big. Many of them can’t be seen from the curbside because they're heavily guarded by surrounding trees, high stone walls, and solid wooden gates.
Our little town of Castleview Cove may be small, where everyone knows everyone, but those homeowners are a mystery to me and most of the residents of Castleview.
Owned by affluent businesspeople and celebrity types, they float into town for the weekend and then drift back like ghosts to their high-powered city jobs during the week.
The old-timers of the town do not approve of them at all, nicknaming the new town people incomers. Silly stuck-in-a-time-warp fuddy-duddies.
A couple of the homes have been inherited from townspeople of old, passed down from generation to generation. When that happens, the remodeling begins.
It’s wonderful to see the old decrepit mansions undergoing renovations, giving them a new lease on life, injecting new blood into our unique little community.
Rumor has it two pro golfers have purchased homes down Cherry Gardens Lane, but I’m yet to catch a glimpse of one in town. And my brother-in-law, Hunter King, also a pro golfer, doesn’t count. He and my sister, Eden, built a brand-new all-glass home that sits up high on the hill overlooking Castleview Cove. Sometimes I just happen to be passing by. Any excuse to kick back on their deck, a hot steaming cup of tea in hand, and lazily drink in the view. It’s beautiful and a far cry from the playpark I can see from the upper window of my little three-bedroom townhouse.
From Eden’s house, though, you can see the entire town. The castle that sits prominently on top of the hill keeping watch, and the golf courses that span for miles, blanketing the landscape.
Our tiny Scottish town feels magical, like it’s breathing in the sea salt air, exhaling spellbound particles, casting us under her charm.
It’s a truly captivating place, one I have lived in my entire life, save from when I attended dance school to become a dancer. It’s littered with ancient ruins and buildings; some date as far back as the eleventh century. Every twist, nook, and cranny is another discovery waiting to be uncovered. It really is something special.
Those homes down Cherry Gardens Lane, though, they are special. Intriguing.
I’ve always wanted a little sneak peek or tour of one. It’s a shame I don’t know anyone that lives down that road, apart from my father’s friend, Knox Black, but I would never ask him. He’s strictly off-limits. Although I wish he wasn’t.
A sudden whoosh of recollection hits me.
Ah, got it!
The woman standing in front of me is Christie. Christie Burns. I knew it began with a C.
They live in the next town over. She ran the local Sewing Bee group with my mom when I was around eight years old. Thomas, her son, always tagged along with her; pulling my pigtails was his favorite pastime. He always did have the ability to wind me up something stupid. He’s no longer a silly little boy, but a lawyer, no less. Thomas has done well for himself.