Enticing: Chapter 9

Dust settles. Queens don’t. Keep fighting because there is no other choice.

—Addie’s Secret Thoughts

“Do you need anything?” I ask Caitlin as I close the kitchen trash can, still smiling when I think about Leo looking for it a few weeks ago.

“Unless you have a magic wand that can make my life make sense somehow, I don’t think there’s anything you can do, Addie.” Exhaustion and frustration lie equally heavy in her words. “You know what—I take it back. Tell me this is going to all work out. Tell me being pregnant and living with the baby daddy, who I sort of hate and sort of love, will make sense eventually and that I’ll be happy one day.”

I stay silent as I finish loading the dishwasher, unwilling to lie to her. “I can only tell you you’ll be happy again, Cait. When they place your baby in your arms, you’ll be happy.”

“Fine. Tell me we’re still on for girls’ night tomorrow then,” she settles.

“That I can do. I’ve got the snacks and the wine and the ginger ale. I also have a bangin’ Netflix account full of Christmas movies.” I never knew I’d miss the Hallmark channel, but that just isn’t in my budget this year.

“I’ll bring the cookies.” I hate how defeated she sounds, when Caitlin Beneventi might just be the strongest woman I know.

“Listen, Cait. If I can figure out my life, so can you.” I hope that came out as supportive as I meant it, but I’m a little worried she sees through my cover to the actual shit show my life is and took it as an insult.

“You make it look so easy, Adelaide.”

My silent laughter hurts my chest. Easy is never a way I’d describe my life. Even when the rest of the world sees it that way.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Cait.”

“I’ll be there.” The call disconnects, and I straighten up the countertops, then go through the day’s mail.

Hospital bill.

Insurance bill. Yeah . . . that’s a joke. My insurance barely covers anything.

The larger envelope behind the insurance bill from the city of Kroydon Hills sends my stomach bottoming out. Shit. It looks official.

I slide my finger under the seal and hold my breath.

My tax bill greets me in bold black font at the top of the paper. I immediately shove it back in the envelope before I add the whole pile to the same kitchen drawer all the other bills live in.

All the bills I can’t pay.

“Hey . . .” Coraline rounds the corner with a self-satisfied tilt to her lips. “Both girls are bathed and in bed. At least for now.”

I shake my head, grateful I should have at least two to three hours before Lennox wakes up. Baby girl is far from sleeping through the night, but a few consecutive hours are better than where we were a couple of months ago.

“What’s wrong, Adelaide? Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”

I close the drawer, grab my phone from the counter, and cross the room. “Nothing. I appreciate your help so much.” I wrap my arms around my sister and squeeze as my voice threatens to break. “I missed you. Don’t forget, tomorrow is girls’ night.”

She rubs my back like I rub Izz’s when she’s upset. “Right. I get to meet the famous Bellamy and Caitlin.”

“Just Cait. Bellamy has to work.” I pull back and run a hand over her hair.

“More wine for me,” she winks and grabs a glass from the cabinet behind me. “You want a glass?”

I shake my head. “I’m still nursing.”

“I figured that out when I went to grab frozen waffles this morning and had to search through about a hundred bags of frozen breast milk.” Coraline pours herself a glass of red wine and lifts herself up to sit on the counter. “You remember the way Mom would lose her shit if we sat on the counter?”

An image of my beautiful mother, dressed head to toe in Chanel, flashes through my mind. The ever-present scowl on her face in place, and her sculpted arms bent with her hands planted firmly on her hips. “Mom was always annoyed.” I lean next to her and decide a tiny sip of wine won’t hurt, so I steal her glass for a second. “Do you ever wonder why she had kids?”

I manage a sip before Cori takes the glass back for her turn. “The better question is do I ever not wonder. How many nannies did we have before you graduated from high school?”

She offers me the glass back, but I shake my head. “I think we had six if you count Gerald. But he only lasted that one summer.”

“I think Mom was fucking him,” she says matter-of-factly.

Oh, little sister. “My bet’s on Dad. He was more his type.”

Coraline finishes her glass in one big sip, then wipes her mouth dramatically. “Maybe they shared him . . .”

One beat passes and turns into two before both of us laugh harder than I think I’ve laughed in a year.

“It was all about appearances for them,” she muses as she washes her empty glass and sits it on a towel. “I’m not sure they ever even liked each other. But then, I always wondered why they got together.”

I stare at her, my mouth agape.

“Are you kidding?” I ask with all seriousness, then take a step back when she looks at me with a legitimately puzzled expression on her face. “They got married because when Mom got pregnant with me, Dad’s father threatened to sell the franchise instead of handing it over to Dad if he didn’t marry Mom.”

Coraline hops off the counter and paces like a lunatic. “How did I never know that?”

“I’m not sure. You’re the smart one. How have you never done the math?” I hold up my fingers and tick off the numbers. “One plus one equals Mom and Dad married and the franchise safe and sound in his hands.” My heart tightens. “I’m not sure they ever loved each other, but I do think they loved us in their own ways. I just wish they hadn’t tried to control us the way Dad’s parents controlled them.”

“I still can’t believe Gran allowed that.” She’s stopped pacing, but I can tell her brain is working a mile a minute, like I’ve just blown her mind. “But really, what choice did she have? Gran had normal money for this town—maybe. But her wealth couldn’t hold up against Dad’s family’s wealth. Wealth equals power, Adelaide.”

The sound that rips from my throat is a mix between a laugh and a sob. “You’ve got that right. I barely have ten dollars to my name, and I’m completely powerless to do anything about it.”

God . . . Admitting it . . . hearing it . . . it all makes the sad truth so much worse.

“When do you turn in the next book?” Looks like she’s going into fixer mode.

“I was able to get my deadline extended to mid-January.” Thankfully, my publisher was lenient. “But I’m not due to get paid from the last book for another seven months. I swear, I think I’m going to publish independently after my contract with them is up. I want the control over my own work.”

“And going to Gavin still isn’t an option, right?” When I glare at her, she holds her hands up in defense. “Hey . . . I don’t want you to either, but I had to ask. I know I keep saying it, but I have to say it again⁠—”

“Don’t,” I stop her. “I don’t want to hear it, Coraline.”

She laces her fingers with mine and squeezes. “Just because you don’t want to hear it doesn’t make it any less true.”

I lean my head against hers. “Adulting really sucks.”

“Fuck yes, it does.”

No truer words may have ever been spoken.

Fuck yes, it does.