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My stepbrother's estate is fading fast. My resistance to him is fading faster.
When my marriage hits rock bottom, I escape to South Carolina to help my charming disaster of a stepbrother, Charlie-aka "the douchiest man in Manhattan"-fix up the decaying Southern mansion he's just inherited.
But the house has other ideas. Doors slam, voices whisper, and something-or someone-wants us to be more than reluctant roommates. An old journal confirms it: Charlie and I seem to be mirroring every step of a love story that took place a century ago.
A doomed one.
With every soft moment and stolen glance, it gets harder to imagine ending up with anyone else. But all I've ever wanted is a family, and that won't be happening with a man who once said he'd rather be murdered than father a child.
Our story was written long before we came to this house. But do we still have time to rewrite the way it ends?
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