They speak some more, and finally, Ivy, forgetting or not caring she’s in public, shoves Mercedes’s arm off and stands. She only gets about two steps in before whatever Mercedes says stops her, and Santiago and I move just a little closer. Close enough to catch enough of the words that will condemn Mercedes to her fate tonight.

“In nine months' time, I’ll be back in my rightful place,” Mercedes hisses.

“What did you say?”

“Or eight months, I guess?” She sips from her drink.

“What are you talking about?”

She stands and walks toward Ivy, her approach that of a predator.

Santiago sighs in disappointment as we hear the rest of their conversation.

“What did you think? That you could steal my family from me?” Mercedes asks Ivy.

“I’m not stealing anything. Your brother made a choice. He chose me.”

Mercedes pauses, then cocks her head to the side to study Ivy. And she laughs. “Oh, my God! I don’t believe it. You’re in love with him. You are seriously in love with him.”

“I—”

“Well, poor, stupid Ivy,” she says, leaning closer, twirling a strand of Ivy’s hair around her forefinger. “He doesn’t love you. He could never love you. Not after what your father did to him. To us.”

Ivy’s face pales.

“So enjoy your little victory for now. But remember what you are to him and what he needs you for. Once you give him his heir, it’s bye-bye, Ivy.”

25

Mercedes

“Mercedes.” Judge’s voice is thick with warning as I try to pull away from him before we can even reach the car.

I know whatever punishment he has waiting for me at home won’t be pleasant, and right now, in my tipsy state of mind, I’m questioning if I can actually outrun him. The answer comes when I do break away from his grasp and nearly topple face-first into the sidewalk. Judge’s steely arm catches me from behind, hauling me back against him with little effort before he drags me back toward the Rolls Royce.

I resist him, trying like hell to pry him off me, but people are starting to stare, and humiliation burns me alive as I notice three familiar faces watching the scene unfold from the courtyard. Giordana, Dulce, and Vivien are all sipping from their flutes of champagne, their eyes glued to my face as they revel in my anguish. Those women are supposed to be my friends, but I can see now they never were. They made it obvious tonight when they didn’t even bother to ask where I’d been for all this time. Concern for my welfare was nonexistent in our brief conversation, and it was plain to me that they’d enjoyed my absence. That bitter truth stings, but if I can be grateful for one thing, it’s the indignation on Vivien’s face.