Page 102 of All Twerk, No Play

"Sorry," Beyonce

Victoria

“Theresheis,VickieSinclair,” Rebekkah said, loud enough to draw the attention of dozens of women on the patio. “The homewrecker.”

“I’m only here for my beloved grandfather’s birthday party,” I said, a reminder that I’d been born into this life, whereas she’d clawed her way up through marriage.

Behind Rebekkah, Eric emerged from the house in a rush. His alarmed eyes scanned the deck until they met mine, but he stopped abruptly when I gave him a minuscule headshake. I wanted him nearby in case shit went down, but I had to face this battle.

“Oh, don’t play innocent,” Rebekkah said, her voice sickly sweet. “We both know why you’re here.”

I kept my voice deceptively calm. “Enlighten me.”

Rebekkah tucked her hair behind her ear as an excuse to wiggle that ring, her lips twisting smugly when she caught me tracking it. “Spencer predicted this: As soon as that lawyer dumped you, he’d finally hear from his heartless ice queen ex-wife, begging him to take her back.”

The crowd hissed, leaning closer to catch every word. I pressed down the rage building in my chest, averting my eyes from Rebekkah’s sneer and letting them drift to Eric, who tapped his thumb on the side of his nose.Protect the moneymaker.

“I’m not sure what lies he fed you,” I said, crossing my arms, “but I left Spencer.”

“And you’ve regretted it ever since. You’re pretending to be happy with your new teenage boyfriend and boring upstate life and those awful crow’s feet, but I know you.” She leaned closer, like she was sharing a secret. “You’re trying to break up my marriage, because you want it all back for yourself. Including my townhouse.”

My breath caught in my throat with the memory of Mom kissing my forehead on the front steps, promising she’d make it to my piano recital … and never coming home. Dad and I moved out, leaving the place vacant for a decade. Then after Spencer and I returned from our honeymoon, Richard handed him the keys, urging us to fill it with his grandkids.

Spencer demanded the townhouse in the divorce, claiming he deserved it since he’d stayed in New York. He’d been shocked when I’d told my divorce attorney that I’d rather lose the house than my dignity.

I’d bargained that house in exchange for my freedom …

And this bitch had the gall to call ithers?

“Spencer said you were so uptight you wouldn’t let him update anything. The minute I moved in, I tore out all that hideous old shit.”

I felt my nostrils flare, my fists clench, and my weight shift into my back heel. I didn’t care how beautiful she was or how many people were watching … I was ready to let her have it.

“Here’s your wine, babe,” Eric said cheerfully with a steadying hand on my back, faking ignorance that he’d just stepped into the simmering fight. “What’d I miss?”

I sipped to cool my nerves, relieved he’d diffused the bomb in my chest before it exploded. “I was just catching up with Rebekkah Larsson.”

“Oh, I’ve heard about you,” Eric grinned. “Becky with the Good Hair, right?”

I bit my lip as Rebekkah bristled. “You must be the personal trainer she pays for happy endings,” she snipped, scanning his body appreciatively. “At least the lawyer made sense, he was as boring as she is. But she expects us to believe this?”

“You’re right, I’m no lawyer, not nearly as smart as her, which I guess is why there’s something I can’t figure out.” He scratched his chin, stroking the phantom beard I’d shaved off. “Victoria’s bought and sold dozens of houses since she left New York. Why would she still care about your townhouse?”

“She’s out to get my husband, to ruin his life again,” Rebekkah snarled. “That controlling bitch promised it to Spencer but never took her name off the deed.”

It took a moment for the words to sink in: ??I still owned the townhouse. I’d told my attorney to forfeit my rights, but something must have gone awry with the paperwork. Or somebody intervened. Is that what Richard meant this morning about making it up to me?

And if I still owned the townhouse …

I could evict Spencer and reclaim the life I’d abandoned with my head held high. I could find a new job, nowhere near Sinclair Larsson. I could live in that house I loved …

Alone.

I wouldn’t work with Alexander and Connor in the Greek Revival I’d bought for us.

I wouldn’t have cocktail hour tequila shots or fashion shows with Mallory and Kate.

I wouldn’t run with Eric every morning, or see his band play at Donnelly’s, or have mind-blowing sex and fall asleep in his arms.

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