Page 32 of Whiskey Kisses

I take a long, fortifying sip of my own drink, hoping it gives me the strength I need to deal with her. I don’t know how she found me here, or if the fates are just that cruel, but she is the last person I want to see right now. Well, maybe not the very last—that title goes to my father, and then maybe Cole. But Maribelle’s up there.

“It’s a little early to be drinking, isn’t it?” She gives her Cartier wristwatch a passing glance, like she doesn’t know exactly what time it is. “Everything okay, little sister?”

Rolling my eyes, I sit back and twist so I’m facing her. When I was little, I followed Maribelle around like she was the sun. She played with me then, dressing me up like I was one of her dolls, enlisting me in elaborate make-believe games. As we got older, though, something changed. She got colder, meaner. More beautiful as I got uglier, and she never let me forget it. By the time we were teenagers, we were like oil and water.

She didn’t like it when I finally got a backbone but then, she didn’t like me, period.

“Why wouldn’t it be?” I ask slowly, trying not to slur. I’ve had plenty to drink, and that stupid croissant was the only thing I ate today. “Unless you’ve been talking to Daddy.”

“Well, yes.” Her club soda arrives, and she takes a tiny sip. “He did update me on the latest.”

Of course, he did. I used to be Mama’s favorite, but Maribelle has always been Daddy’s. She’s just like him, with her angelic face and silver-tongued charm … manipulative and two-faced. She’d barely graduated college when she took on a full-time position at Doyle Whiskey, in what I presume was practice for when she took over.

When I don’t offer up any info, she sighs. “If you’re expecting me to congratulate you on your shotgun wedding, I won’t. You’ve really fucked up, Evie.”

“I’d prefer elopement,” I say breezily. “Shotgun wedding would suggest I’m pregnant, when I’m not. That’s your thing.”

“Whatever.” She glances disdainfully at my ring finger, which is now sporting a simple gold band along with the flowery engagement ring. “I don’t think you appreciate the mess we’re in.”

“Who’s we?” I ask, looking at her askance.

“Our family.” She lifts her chin. “You know the distillery is teetering on financial ruin.”

“Actually, I did not know that until quite recently,” I remind her, stirring my straw around the dregs of my drink. “The distillery has always been your and Daddy’s domain.”

“Regardless, if we don’t figure things out, we’re going to lose it altogether.”She frowns at me. “You could at least pretend to care. This is our legacy—our inheritance!”

“Hate to break it to you, but it sounds like we’re already losing it,” I say evenly.

Sunlight gleams through Maribelle’s auburn hair as she leans forward. “Yes, because it’s being taken from us!”

I raise an eyebrow. She’s not all wrong, but damn if I don’t feel like playing devil’s advocate. “Or because Daddy bit off more than he could chew.”

“Maybe, but that doesn’t change the fact that the Kellys are trying to yank it from beneath our feet like the uncouth gangsters they are,” she rants. “Really, you think you know someone!”

“Yeah, it’s a little aggressive,” I allow, parsing my next words. “But Daddy does owe them a ton of money. Did he expect them to just be cool with it forever? They’ve given him plenty of time to?—"”

“Ugh, Evie, come on!” she cries, disgust marring her features. “How could you marry someone like that? You can’t possibly think?—”

“Someone like that?” I snort indelicately. “You mean Tristan, who you panted after for years?”

The mask of sisterly concern she’s been wearing falls away in an instant, revealing the cruel bitch I know so well. Her true self. “Ipanted after Tristan?” She laughs a bit, leaning even closer so that her gaze drills into mine. “Tristan was panting afterme, you little twat. You were the one with the unrequited crush, pathetic and pining like a pre-adolescent stalker. Did you think no one knew? You were so obvious, Evie. My God.”

I might be well acquainted with the bite of Maribelle’s fangs, but I’m not immune, and her venom shoots right to my heart. I know she’s only saying all of this because she lashes out when she’s stressed, but her words have me questioning both my relationship with Tristan and what I thought I knew about the nature of theirs.

But I must be a little too good at feigning indifference because she goes on, eager to draw blood.

“You know how many times we fucked around when everyone else had gone to sleep?” She wrinkles her nose. “He’s hot, I’ll give you that, and he’s got a nice dick, but think about it—why would he tie himself toyou? Isn’t it a little too convenient?”

Tristan slept with Maribelle?

My stomach sours, bitterness and jealousy sloshing around with those Cuba libres, but I finish my drink and level her with a cool look. “Are you done? You sound like a jilted prom queen.”

A smug smile curves her full lips. “Or maybe I’m hitting a little too close to home.”

“To answer your question,” I say loudly. “We got married so I wouldn’t have to marry Cole.” I watch her closely, looking for any signs she might’ve known about Daddy’s plans.

But she recoils, disgust flashing across her face. “Why the fuck would you marry Cole?”

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