Elizabeth TRUMP CARDS

“WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU two?” Tilley hissed as soon as the door closed behind Amelia. “I thought you had a plan. I thought this was all worked out.”

“Well, we thought it was, too,” Liv said. “Obviously.”

Tilley stood up, an impassioned rant coming on. “Those two gave me something to look forward to again. Babies. Weddings.” She cocked her head to the side. “In the wrong order, of course, but even still, they did. They made me feel like life was taking a turn for the better.”

I sighed. “Tilley, for heaven’s sake, sit down. We know. We wanted it to work out, too. But they’re not children anymore. This isn’t like the cotillion; we can’t force them into it. They have to come together in their own time.” I paused and took a sip of tea. “I have to believe they will.”

“Or…” Tilley interjected.

A wicked smile popped across Olivia’s face, and she said the phrase that kept my stomach in knots, the one I hoped she wouldn’t. “Or we play the trump cards.”

I sighed. The trump cards: the big, monumental things that Liv and I kept in our skirt pockets in case we ever needed them. We’d joked a lot about those two ending up together, and I have to say that, on this trip, I was convinced they might. A woman does not offer to have a man’s dead wife’s babies out of the goodness of her heart. That is a thing that one does only out of pure, unadulterated love. But my trump card was one I did not ever want to have to play. Not now. Not ever.

“You play yours, Olivia. I’m not ready.”

Tilley rolled her eyes. “It’s a new day,” she said. “People don’t look at things the same way. She won’t blame you.”

And that’s what I had worried about all these years, right? Being blamed. Everything somehow being my fault, like I had secretly suspected. Amelia not understanding. I looked Tilley in the eye, wondering if maybe she wasn’t having as good a day as I had thought.

Olivia locked her gaze on me. “Liz, it’s not fair to make me play mine if you don’t have to play yours.”

“But you have to,” I disagreed. “Eventually, Parker has to know. Amelia never does.”

She sipped her tea. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Let’s give it a few months,” Tilley moderated. “They will have had the chance to sort through these very strong emotions and perhaps the truth will come to light all on its own, no meddling necessary.”

I nodded optimistically, but I had to say that that very real possibility—that the truth would come to light on its own—haunted me night and day.