Over and over again, from his handles––@McTav on Twitter, @McTav_2 on Instagram, @TavistockedAndLoaded on TikTok, where he exclusively posted videos of Tavistock and Ashby House—to his online bio at the law firm where he worked (Benjamin McTavish resides in the iconic Ashby House), it was clear that being a McTavish was maybe the most important thing in Ben’s entire life.
How it must sting, knowing that the name was the only thing he could really lay claim to.
Once I knew the bait to use, dangling the hook was easy.
And that’s why Ben thinks I’m on his side. That I’m going to talk Cam into taking some kind of reasonable settlement from the trust and turning over the rest of it—the house, the bulk of the money, whatever else comes with this kind of life—to the McTavishes. Ruby’s actual family. Everyone gets what they want, or so Ben believes. Camden gets his freedom, I get some money, and they get to keep Ashby House, and preserve the McTavish legacy.
But as you and I both know, I’m playing for the whole thing.
This is why I wanted you to understand that I really do love Camden. This isn’t just about the money. This is about us taking back what belongs to him and living the life we deserve.
Yes, we. Because I deserve this shit, too.
I grew up in a trailer park in Panama City. I’ve dug in the seats of my car for spare change to pay for hamburgers at McDonald’s. I’ve gone without running water for a week so that we could keep the power on in the summer.
I’ve watched the Nelles and the Libbys and the Bens from the fancier suburbs drive by in nice cars, spending money like they’ll always have it.
So, yeah, fucking sue me: when I found out the man I was married to had access to that kind of wealth, but wouldn’t touch it because the family who adopted him was a bag of dicks?
I thought, Fuck that, and tried to figure out how to fix it.
That was a lot of swearing, but this topic always gets me heated. Camden is worth a thousand of them, a genuinely kind and decent person. Ruby McTavish saw that, and I’d wager she saw what her family was, too (though she probably wouldn’t have called them a bag of dicks). That’s why she left Camden everything. She saw what I see in those different-colored eyes every time I look at him––someone worthy. Someone with integrity.
That’s not me. Like I said, I’m not that great of a person. Lying, scheming, sins of omission … I didn’t major in theater for nothing. But that’s why Cam and I are so perfect together.
He makes me feel like more than some Florida trailer park trash, like I’m every bit as shiny and good as he is. But he needs me to do the harder things, the shady things, the necessary things. Things that might tarnish his shine.
So, are we good? Do you get it?
Because right now, I have some shopping to do.
When Camden came back from town the other day, he told me it was looking “down in the mouth.” I could tell that it bothered him, the idea of his hometown drying up, but to me? The girl from Shady Palms Trailer Park near Tallahassee?
Tavistock seems pretty goddamn idyllic. It’s like every small town from a Hallmark movie, but on speed. Vaguely Bavarian buildings, a whole section of the main thoroughfare that’s closed to traffic and is pedestrian-only, and more places to buy LIFE IS GOOD T-shirts than any town probably needs.
I love it immediately.
I wander for a while, stopping into a bookstore, a stationery place. I pick up a journal for Cam, and a pretty plaid scarf for me, the kind of thing I can see myself wearing on foggy mornings, driving down from the mountain in my brand-new Mercedes SUV, picking up coffee, tipping extravagantly, hearing people say when I leave, “That’s Mrs. McTavish. She owns Ashby House.”
Oh yeah. If this works out the way I want, I will happily change my name and become Mrs. McTavish.
I pass by Libby’s shop, but there’s a CLOSED sign hanging on the door. Not surprising since she was still at the house when I left, collecting an assortment of powders and freeze-dried vegetables to make a green juice.
However, after grabbing a quick lunch at a crepe place near the square (a crepe place! By the square! This town is officially a Gilmore Girls Wet Dream), I duck into another shop and am surprised to see Libby, leaning against the counter, talking to the guy at the register.
She straightens up when she sees me, and I give a little wave, unsure of the proper decorum for running into your husband’s bitchy cousin in public.
But Libby gives me a bright smile and totters over in her nude platform heels. “Taking in the sights?” she asks, and I nod, holding up my bags.
“And supporting the local economy. It’s a gorgeous place.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “There was basically nothing here until my great-great-grandfather built it.”
She takes a long slurp of her iced coffee, and I nod even though I know that’s not true. I’ve read up on the history of Tavistock, and there was a little village here before Angus McTavish showed up. It wasn’t much, just a series of ramshackle cabins, but still. There were people who called this place home, and it was a place that mattered to them, that belonged to them.
That would obviously mean fuck all to Libby.
“Honestly, it’s kind of weird when you think about it,” she goes on. “Like, because my great-great-grandfather did something over a hundred years ago, I don’t really have to do anything, you know?”
I look into her eyes, trying to figure out if she’s fucking with me. Is she really this out of touch, or is she just being sar—
“Then again, I guess it’s also weird to have a great-great-grandfather who did nothing, so your best bet is marrying some guy who was a charity case to a rich old lady, huh?”
Well, there’s that question answered.
She winks at me, chewing on the end of her straw. “See you back at the house.”
She glides out of the store, and I take a second to pull out my phone, open up Instagram, and unfollow LaLaLibby.
I don’t need that information anymore anyway.
I turn to leave, but before I can a woman approaches, almost nervously. “Hi?” she says as though it’s a question. “Are you … you’re Camden’s wife, aren’t you?”
After Libby’s bitchery, this woman’s kind eyes are a balm, so I’m probably too enthusiastic as I reply, “Yes! Hi!”
She rolls her eyes in exaggerated relief. “Okay, I thought that must be you. I hadn’t seen you before, but you were talking to Libby, and we heard he was back in town, so—”
“Logical assumption.” I nod. “I’m Jules.”
“Beth. Lord, Camden McTavish. I thought he was never coming back.”
I don’t miss the way Cam’s name sounds in her mouth or the way her expression brightens. It doesn’t bug me—look, you don’t marry someone who is cute, tall, and comes from money, and not expect other people to have noticed those same attributes—but it’s also jarring. A reminder that Cam had an entire life here before me, that he’d forged connections I know nothing about. For most people, this wouldn’t be such a revelation, but Cam has always seemed to me like someone who just sprung to life fully formed. I’d liked that about him, honestly. We were both orphans, we both understood what it was like to feel alone in the world. We were the couple with no one but a handful of coworkers at our courthouse wedding. We’d never celebrated a holiday that wasn’t just the two of us.
I guess I’ve gotten used to never having to share him with his past.
“He was always quiet,” she goes on, “but nice. Guys who had way less reason to brag than he did could be arrogant pricks, you know? But Cam was sweet. Maybe it’s because he was adopted into all that money or something, I don’t know.”
“He’s still quiet,” I tell her. “Except when UNC makes it to the Sweet Sixteen. And nice. No exceptions there.”
“Good,” she says, nodding, and then she looks around before leaning in, lowering her voice.
“Between you and me, Camden is the best thing that ever came out of that family. Whole town knows it. I think if you two decided to stay, we might throw a parade.”
I laugh. “Always love a parade.”
“And,” she adds, her voice a whisper now, her dark eyes bright, “if you threw every other member of that family out on their tails? Well, hell, girl, you’d probably get a statue in the town square.”