My entire body freezes, the dream I was just picturing fractures like glass beneath a hammer.
“I’m sorry, what?” I turn so sharply that Mrs. Mayberry flinches. My voice is louder than I intend, tight with disbelief. She’s an older woman, but still incredibly spunky. “But you listed it for sale. Why can’t you sell it to me?”
She hesitates, her kind smile now tinged with regret. “We just… we can’t, sweetheart.”
The room, the view, the future I’ve built in my mind in the old house at the back of the property next to the stables—it all blurs as I feel the tears start to fill my lids again.
“What do you mean, youcan’t?”
But I already know. The ache spreading through my chest tells me I was wrong about everything. There’s a catch here and I’m not going to like it.
“I’m so sorry, dear.”
“Why?” I whisper again, fear creeping into my voice.
Mrs. Mayberry wrings her hands nervously, her fingers twisting and untwisting as though she’s trying to untangle the right words. “It was always Mr. Mayberry’s and my wish to ensure that whoever purchased the property would manage the wedding business that we started and could never finish. And that would include it remaining afamily-owned and operated business.”
“Yes… and the Marshall family and I will be doing exactly that,” I say firmly, trying to show her that thisisgoing to be a family effort. I’m part of a family even if I don’t have one of my own. “My brothers and I are going to manage this together. We’re a family.”
“Well, yes. Maybe the ceremony on your property—”
“And the reception,” I cut in, a sense of foreboding tightening in my chest. Something tells me I’m not going to like where this is going. “The ceremony and reception can all be hosted on the Marshall farmstead.”
“Yes,” she says cautiously, “but the business would also be split with this property. You’ll be using the two cottages for the bridal parties to get ready in and sometimes stay overnight. The bulk of the photos will happen here—the pond, the gardens, the views that we’ve built. Everything we’ve worked so hard to create… this is what makes the business, dear. The Mayberry property.”
She isn’t wrong about that, the sign out front will boast the facility, but it still doesn’t sit right that she doesn’t see thiswillbe family owned and operated. My voice comes out quieter now.
“What exactly are you saying?”
She takes a breath, her expression softening with regret. “Mr. Mayberry and I included a condition in the property’s deed and the sale. Whoever purchases theMayberry Manormust be a married couple.”
“A—A what?” My heart skips a beat, then starts hammering in my chest.
She nods, her kind eyes tinged with guilt. “I thought you knew when you called about the listing, darling.”
“I didn’t,” I say, shaking my head, disbelief washing over me. This can’t be real. “But I’m not married.”
Her face crumples into sympathy. “I know, sweetheart, and I’m so sorry.”
“But this is my dream,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “I’ve wanted this property since I was a little girl. I grew up here. I watched you and Mr. Mayberry work. I’ve saved all my money for this.”
“I know you have, Regan.” She reaches out, her tone gentle but unyielding. “And I want you to have it. Truly, I do. But don’t you see? Being married sells the product you’re offering—love, happiness,eternity. Couples want to believe in the magic, and a married owner embodies that.”
I swallow hard. Maybe she’s right, but there are plenty of people who aren’t married and still have a life full of love, happiness, with promises of eternity. Marriage isn’t the only way to model those things. I want to protest and say that, but when I look in her eyes I can tell this is out of her control. Her and Mr. Mayberry put that clause in the deed and now there’s no way to change it, even if she wants to.
This isn’t how I imagined this day going. Not at all.
“Please tell me there isn’t a married couple already making you an offer,” I manage, my voice barely above a whisper. The idea of losing this dream to anyone, much less a pair of strangers who only get to buy the property because they’ve signed a marriage certificate and I haven’t, makes my stomach drop.
There’s nowhere else to get married in this town unless you use our small town’s church where my friend Lydia’s father preaches. Most people travel to the larger cities like Charlotte for their ceremonies, or rent out someone’s back yard. This business would be a goldmine and beyond that, it’d bemine.Mything.Finally, something that’s my own that I would enjoy doing.
She shakes her head. “Not a married couple. But there is a man who’s expressed interest. He’s made me an incredible offer—.”
“I’ll match it.” The words come out in a rush, desperation lacing every syllable as I cut her off.
Her smile is soft but resolute. “He’s single too, dear. So, I can’t sell it to him either. Maybe the two of you can come to some sort of… arrangement.”
“Some sort of… what?” I stare at her, the weight of her words sinking in like stones. Her meaning is clear, but she can’t be serious at suggesting that. I don’t even know who the guy is.
