Page 2 of One Weekend in London

That the cuts they inflicted will always bleed.

“I’m trying, Papaw.”

Diverting my gaze from his, I look at Lillian, my cousin Eli’s pregnant wife. As owner of the Bean, she stands behind the counter across the packed shop, a blush-colored apron cocooning her growing belly. A soft smile graces her pretty face; the sight of it brings me instant comfort.

“But it’s hard when…”

An overwhelming sense of foreboding takes hold of me, silencing what I was about to say, when the bell above the front door jingles and in walks Cornelia Beaumont, Maxwell’s witchy paternal grandmother.

Crap, I think to myself. Here we go.

Like a mischievous child trying to escape their parents’ ire, I sink into my chair, praying the floor opens up and swallows me whole. Death via being buried alive isn’t at the top of my wish list, but anything—and I mean anything—is better than the public humiliation I’m about to endure.

Cornelia, in all her high-society glory, strides in like she owns the place, her powdered nose turned so far heavenward I’m surprised she doesn’t drown each time it rains. Her beady, hawklike eyes scan the packed room, landing on me with the precision of a starved predator.

The sneer that overtakes her face is nauseating.

My stomach drops and the room falls silent, the air thick with dread as she makes a beeline toward me, each of her steps a measured toll of my impending doom.

“Well, if it isn’t Sadie Winslow.” The way she spits my name, her venomous tone one even the sharpest of tongues would envy, drips with unfiltered disdain. “My, how you’ve turned this town upside down.” She clucks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the sound making me flinch. “Quite the scandal you’ve created, leaving Maxwell high and dry at the altar. You must be so proud.”

Her barbed words hit their desired target.

I open my mouth to reply; no words come. My throat tightens, suffocating any semblance of the retort I wish to sling her way.

Cornelia smiles, malevolence bleeding onto her painted lips as she seizes on my weakness and continues, far from done with me.

“Not only did you embarrass your lowly self, but you tarnished my sweet Maxwell’s sterling reputation—along with ours.” If possible, her nose lifts even higher. From this angle, I can practically see straight through to her brain. “You owe him and the entire Beaumont family a public apology.”

Satan himself will dress in a sparkly pink tutu and start serving every tortured resident of Hell bottomless glasses of ice water before I ever apologize for leaving Maxwell at the church, his pants around his ankles and Vanessa’s legs wrapped around his waist.

The only person I owe an apology to is myself.

For running away in tears and calling Lillian for help instead of taking the business end of a baseball bat to Maxwell’s lying, cheating behind. It’s all right though. Eli—bless his beautiful, vengeful heart—served up a heaping dose of justice on my behalf.

I bet Maxwell’s still feeling that beating.

Rightfully so too.

Cornelia may think of my family as low class simply because we prefer to live a simple life versus the extravagant one she leads, but we Winslows possess something the Beaumonts never will.

Loyalty.

I glance at Papaw Boone, seeking the strength he’s never failed to deliver. His grip on my hand, the slight squeeze he offers, is just what I need.

If I request he step in, he will. But even though I feel like crumpling to the ground, I won’t.

“Excuse me, Cornelia, but I don’t think—”

“You’re correct. You don’t think, Sadie. You never have, and that’s always been your problem. So selfish, so thoughtless.” Selfish? Even if her insult is pure horse manure, it’s still a backhanded slap to the face. “And now you’ve ruined everything.”

The woman is insane. It’s the only explanation. How did I ruin everything when I’m not the one who cheated? The downright audacity makes my knot-laden belly roil. I’m half-tempted to toss my steaming coffee right into her face. Maybe that would shock her free from her delusions.

Then again, pigs would probably fly first.

Murmurs surround me, morphing into a cacophony of condemnation. I can’t make a single voice out, but their judgment is all the same. Suddenly, I’m drowning in a sea of cruel gossip, each word a strike against my already raw soul.

Cornelia smirks, but she isn’t finished.

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