Wesbury
Trina and I sit across from each other, in a restaurant, our loaded lunches spread before us, wine glasses in hand, but our conversation is far from light. All we talk about is the mess with Duke and Simone.
‘You know, Simone really does deserve something,’ I start, thinking of the complexities that have tangled their lives. ‘After everything she’s been through.’
Trina sighs, stirring her drink. ‘She wants to meet Duke face-to-face before she asks for anything.’
I smirk. ‘And you think Duke will do that?’
A pause. ‘No.’
I let out a sigh, knowing Duke all too well. ‘He won’t meet her, Trina. You know how Duke is. He’s just not going to do it.’
Our meals arrive, creating a brief moment of distraction. But the weight of the topic makes the flavors dull, the ambiance of the restaurant merely a backdrop.
‘It’s done. Aisling knows, and Duke’s shut everyone out. My aunt tried everything. She even suggested we take a break from it all, but I don’t think we’ll ever go back to how things were. That’s why I’m looking into marriage options now,’ I admit, feeling utterly drained.
Trina hesitates, her eyes scanning the restaurant as if searching for an answer. ‘She’s starting another treatment at Rich Oaks.’
‘Yeah, she’s been there almost two weeks now,’ I confirm.
‘For the fifth cycle?’ she probes further.
‘That’s right,’ I nod.
Trina chuckles and I cannot help but join in.
‘How much longer is she going to keep trying?’ She asks.
I meet her gaze squarely. ‘Who’s going to wait around for that? Are you?’
‘She still believes in that lie? That she’s ‘cursed’?’
I nod with a smirk.
Trina’s expression shifts to one of worry. ‘Aren’t you scared?’
‘Scared of what?’ I ask, confused.
‘You know, what if Aisling gets pregnant this time and Duke finds out you lied about her being cursed?’ she asks, her eyes wide.
I shake my head firmly. ‘Don’t even think about it. That’s not going to happen.’
Trina’s eyes meet mine, sharp with warning. ‘There might be consequences if she gets pregnant and discovers the truth.’
I shake my head, dismissing her concerns. ‘It won’t happen.’
Trina’s fingers grip her wine glass, but she doesn’t drink. Instead, her eyes are fixed on me, questioning, and challenging.
I push my plate away, appetite lost. This web of deceit is tightening, and I can’t shake off the feeling that we’re all caught in it.
