Page 40 of Don't You Dare Marry Me

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.”

Elia hummed, but she didn’t say anything for a long time. Abagail held the phone close to her ear, waiting for Elia to say something else, to guide the conversation, because she was more lost now than when she’d called.

“I think… I feel bad for her.”

“It’s more than that. You feel bad for a lot of people and you don’t go wiping out their debt because of your guilt.”

“You’re right.” Abagail rubbed her fingers together before closing her eyes. “This is different.”

“Do you feel a sense of duty to her? Because of Warren?”

“Maybe that’s all it is.” But even as the words left her lips, Abagail knew it wasn’t that. There was something else. Something more.

“Just don’t you end up getting married without telling me.” Elia laughed lightly. “Oh, I’ve got a student. Sorry to cut this short.”

“No problem. We’ll catch up soon.” And this time when Abagail said that, she genuinely meant it. She missed Elia. And they needed to finish resolving their problems so they could get back to what they were before.

Now she just had to really find the time to analyze everything that Elia had told her. And since Nicola was out of the house, she should have plenty of it to spare.

fifteen

“Don’t you have any alcohol in this house?” Nicola rummaged through the kitchen, shooting an exasperated look over her shoulder at Aunt Simone.

“No, sadly, I don’t.” Simone sighed heavily and ran her fingers through her hair. She was leaning against the kitchen counter, her shoulders drawn and her chin dipped to the ground.

Nicola narrowed her eyes at her, trying to keep the happy energy high, but it was next to impossible with Simone moping like that. Then again, she’d been in a mood like that for years now. “Why the hell not?”

“Howie doesn’t like alcohol. Says it impedes…” Simone stopped sharply, “…abilities.”

Nicola snorted and rolled her eyes. “I never liked that man.” She opened the last cabinet that she hadn’t checked yet. “You don’t have a secret stash anywhere?”

“No.” Simone shook her head. “Tea?”

Nicola sighed loudly in an exaggerated manner and then threw her hands up in the air. “Sure. But I’m making it.”

Simone waved toward the cabinet where the tea was and Nicola immediately started to boil the water. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing for things you can’t control. You know I don’t like it.” Nicola had her back to Simone. She didn’t want this to turn into a self-deprecating bitch fest where she tried to pick Simone up off the ground and where she didn’t get her actual frustrations out. Because she was so mad at Abagail. And she was still pissed at Warren. And she just needed to make sure that if she blew a gasket and someone ended up dead and buried—most likely her—that Simone would have the capacity to take care of Alanna.

Nicola handed Simone the hot tea and raised an eyebrow at her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” Simone plastered a smile on her face, but it was fake, and Nicola knew without a doubt that she was one of the few—if not the only one—who would be able to sniff that out. “Let’s go to the family room.”

Simone turned her back and immediately started toward the room with a large couch and large television. Though she couldn’t remember seeing the television on when Simone was home alone. When Howie was there, however, it was always on and blasting so loud that Nicola swore it shook the walls. The man seriously needed to get his hearing checked.

Nicola settled down, but the energy still running through her body from the argument with Abagail wouldn’t stop. She really wanted to stop that. Abagail was out of her life. She’d walked out of that house, expecting absolutely nothing, regretting the mistakes she’d made. She just needed to get her feet under her again.

“How’s Alanna?” Simone asked, her gaze flicking toward the front door of the house.

“She’s good. The seizure was bad, but they got it under control quickly and she doesn’t seem any worse for wear.”

“That’s good.” Simone glanced down at her tea. “I think I’m going to do it this time.”

“Do what?” Nicola frowned. Simone had talked for years about divorcing Howie, but she’d never did anything beyond talk. Nicola had been ten when they’d gotten married. She hadn’t liked the jerk then and she didn’t like him now. She remembered even her mom talking bad about Howie before the wedding.

“Leave him,” Simone whispered the words. “Really, really. I’ve been saving up money.”

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