Free What She Doesn't Know by Beverly Barton

just fine. There was no love lost between them.
    But she had to admit that she wondered about her half sister. Did Mallory despise her the way Georgette and Max did? More than likely. But it didn’t really matter, did it? After all, Mallory was really Max’s sister, not hers.
    Jolie removed a small suitcase from the back of her SUV, then locked the vehicle before heading toward the inn’s front entrance. A young, lanky, model-handsome man sat in a chair behind the counter, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly parted. She cleared her throat. The man’s eyes opened and he stretched. Slowly. Languidly. Then he smiled at her, and she wondered how many hearts this young stud had broken.
    He stood and came toward her, only the counter separating them. “Yes, ma’am. Can I help you?”
    “I’d like a room, please.”
    “Just for tonight?”
    “No, for tonight and tomorrow night,” she replied.
    “Cash or credit card?”
    “Credit card.”
    She unsnapped her shoulder bag, opened her wallet, and removed one of her Platinum cards. When he took the card from her, he read her name.
    “Jolie Royale.”
    She nodded.
    “Are you Mr. Louis Royale’s daughter?” he asked.
    “Yes. His elder daughter.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” He went through the usual procedure to register her, then handed her a key. “Room two-oh-seven. Take the stairs to your left.”
    “Still no elevators in this place?”
    “No, ma’am. Afraid not.”
    Jolie accepted the key he offered, picked up her suitcase, and walked away.
    “Ms. Royale?”
    “Yes?” She glanced over her shoulder.
    “I’m sure sorry about your father.”
    “Thank you.”
    Jolie realized that she had to get used to accepting condolences. People would expect her to be in mourning. Damn, that was one of the many things she hated about living in a small town—having to live up to people’s expectations. How many Sumarville residents actually endured lives of quiet desperation? How many generations of her own family had spent every waking moment constructing their day-to-day living according to society’s rules and regulations, forever concerned about what other people would think of them?
    Jolie didn’t give a damn what anybody in Sumarville thought of her, but Aunt Clarice would care. And so would Mama, if she were alive. Perhaps she owed it to her family—to the Desmonds—to at least act the part of a true Southern lady.
    After making her way upstairs, she quickly found Room 207, unlocked the door, and went inside. She flipped on the light switch and was pleasantly surprised by the simplicity of the room’s decor. Fairly typical for an economy-priced hotel/ motel but clean and neat.
    She tossed her suitcase on the bed to her left, then kicked off her sandals, removed her sundress, and fell across the bed to her right. Staring up at the ceiling, she thought about tomorrow. Her father’s funeral. She couldn’t—no, she wouldn’t—pretend emotions she didn’t feel. She had come home for the funeral. That would have to be enough. After all, she wasn’t here to pay her respects to a father she had lost long ago; she was here to please Aunt Clarice.
    And to find out if Belle Rose was hers now. “And if it is?” she asked herself aloud. Jolie smiled, thoughts of bittersweet revenge playing inside her head.

Chapter 5
     
    Jolie wasn’t surprised that Sumarville hadn’t changed much in twenty years. But somehow she’d thought that Belle Rose wouldn’t seem the same, that it would be different. How odd that it looked just as it had the day her father had sent her away all those years ago. The same winding drive led from the road. The same tall, white wrought-iron gates guarded the entrance. Only the security cameras were new. The grounds appeared unchanged: the same trees, same manicured lawn, the shrubbery and flowers identical to the ones she remembered. And the mansion was as it had been, a remarkable tribute to days gone by. Of course standing outside her SUV and