Tessa smiled and gave her friend’s hand a squeeze in solidarity. “Good luck.”
But she’d need more than luck with that woman. She’d need a miracle.
In a way, Vivien had been waiting for this moment her whole life. She couldn’t remember a time when she stood up to her mother and won—certainly not on anything this big or important.
But she’d been preparing for it since she arrived in Destin.
She’d faced her ex-husband and come out victorious. She’d confronted her wretched client and lost her job rather than be used. And now, the supreme test was standing in front of her wearing a violet suit and a furious expression.
The sounds of the party outside and the catering crew in the kitchen filled the main living area of the house that Maggie didn’t even appear to be interested in seeing.
“All the way up,” Vivien said, pointing to the top floor. “It’s private.”
“I wouldn’t need privacy if all these people would leave.”
“Mom.” She put a light hand on her back. “Please. Upstairs.”
With a grunt of sheer disgust, Maggie trudged up the stairs, still refusing to look at the beautiful home that Eli had designed and Vivien had decorated.
“Where’s Crista?” she said as she reached the top. “And Eli?”
“Eli is with Kate and Jo Ellen.”
She sniffed furiously.
“Crista is probably with Nolie.”
“She better not be mad at that child,” Maggie said sharply. “Apparently Nolie is the only member of this entire family who loves me enough to be honest with me.”
“We all love you,” Vivien said, ushering her toward the reading nook that she’d just furnished with two chairs, a table, and a small bookshelf. The tiny retreat was bathed in sunlight from the upstairs windows, which now seemed unforgiving and too bright.
Vivien had hoped this unexpected sitting area would be used for rest and relaxation. But now it would be used for…confrontation.
“What are you doing here?” Vivien asked as they each took a seat.
“I own this house.”
Vivien sighed and held up her hand. “I realize that, Mom, but last I checked, you were supposed to be in Europe until next weekend.”
“And when the cat’s away, the mice will…play house with the enemy.” At Vivien’s look, she lifted a shoulder. “I called Crista and Nolie spilled all the beans. And when she mentioned…Wylies? What else could I do?”
“The Wylies are not the enemy,” she shot back.
“Tell that to your dead father.”
The words cut like ice through the sunny area, making Vivien draw back. Not in surprise, but from the sheer force of her anger.
“Mom, he’s been gone for thirty years. Artie Wylie passed away seven months ago. Is there any way in heaven or on Earth that you would bury the hatchet with these people?” Vivien heard the plea in her voice, but didn’t care. This mattered.
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because your father told me not to, for one thing,” she said. “And for another? If it weren’t for Arthur Wylie and his big fat mouth? Roger could be sitting here next to me. Right here, right now. But he’s not and they are and…” She shuddered. “I don’t know if I can take that.”
“Why don’t you try?” Vivien asked softly. “We did.”
“You knew you shouldn’t have,” her mother shot back. “If you didn’t fully understand just how bad what you’re doing really is, you wouldn’t have lied to me.”
