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“Why? What’s going on?” I sigh, waiting to find out what kind of drama she’s manufacturing now.
She slides her long legs over the side of the lounger, angling herself toward me. A few yards away, Dash and the kids splash in the pool. Leave it to my sister to invest the time and energy into getting herself pool ready with her SPF 100 sunblock, her oversize hats, and her carousel of designer resort-wear swimsuits . . . only to never so much as dip her toes in the water.
“The other day,” she begins, chin tucked, “I could’ve sworn I saw you and Briar having some kind of heated argument outside.”
I remember everything about that day—except seeing my sister, apparently.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” I lie.
“Really? Because I asked Briar about it, and she said something must’ve upset you at the lighthouse.”
“Not sure why she would say that. I gave her a tour and we came back.”
Nicola cocks her head sideways, her mouth half-open as if she doesn’t buy a word of this.
“You have the worst poker face, just so you know.” She adjusts the floppy brim of her hat, studying me.
“Okay.” I shrug, letting her words bounce off me. She can call bullshit until she’s blue in the face. It won’t change anything. And it sure as hell won’t get me to tell her a damn thing about those three fateful nights one year ago, when I made the biggest ass of myself, thinking I’d met someone special.
Someone different.
I’ll take that to the grave.
“You don’t like her, either, do you?” Nicola asks, taking a surprising left turn with this conversation. “You hardly look at her, and when you do, it’s like . . . I don’t know, like you’re disgusted or something.”
“That’s a strange thing to notice.”
“You realize who you’re talking to, right?”
She has a point. Nicola never misses a thing, especially when it concerns other women treading on Rothwell soil. Whether her astuteness is coming from a place of protectiveness or self-interest is anyone’s guess, though I have my suspicions.
“Is this about Burke being happy?” Nicola continues, “I mean, let’s be honest, he’s been happier. But does it bother you or something? I’m married, Burke’s getting married, and you’re alone.”
I refuse to justify her ridiculous question with a response, so I steer my focus to Dash, who’s carrying Remy on his back in the deep end of the pool while Augustine teeters on the edge of the diving board, working up the courage to take the plunge.
“Marriage isn’t everything, you know,” Nicola says, keeping her voice low. “I don’t know why Dad’s so obsessed with it. I mean, I know why. We all know why.” She pauses, glancing at her family for a split second. “Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband. I do. But sometimes I want to kill him . . . and I think that about sums up marriage perfectly.”
This is exactly why I’ll never exchange vows with anyone.
I’d hate to have the woman that I promised to spend the rest of my life with feel like she wants to strangle me half the time.
“He’s not so bad,” I say. He’s more hands on than our own father ever was. And despite my sister’s petulant attitude most of the time, he still looks at her like she hung the moon. “You could’ve done worse.”
“Talk to me after you’ve spent almost twenty years with someone.” She rolls her eyes while the man who sired her children and promised to love her until the day he dies is over there being father of the year.
“Why stay with him, then?”
She sniffs. “Do I even have to answer that?”
“You signed a prenup. It’s not like you’re walking away with nothing.” From what I know, they have five properties between them, his trust fund, and a portfolio of successful business ventures they’ve invested in over the years. Nicola could walk away right now, and her lifestyle wouldn’t change a bit.
“And give up half of our family’s estate to Burke? Yeah, no.” Nicola’s failure to mention the emotional well-being of her children is disappointing, but it’s no surprise.
“I’ve never understood this family’s obsession with money.” I rise from my chair, not about to let Nicola ruin this perfectly good afternoon with more Nicola-isms.
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Is it something I said?” Nicola shields her face with her hand, squinting up at me from behind an oversize pair of designer sunglasses.
“Yeah, actually,” I say. “You just sat here and told me you want to kill your husband half the time, but you’re willing to stick it out until our dad dies so you don’t miss out on your share of the inheritance.”
Her nose wrinkles. “So?”
“Not once did you mention your kids. Screw them, right? Who cares how any of this affects them as long as you get your millions.”
