My stepbrother's home 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?