Isabella raised her eyebrows. “Oh, honey. Everything.”
Emilia smiled after knowingly sighing. “Isabella’s been waiting to talk about this all week. Let her get it out of her system.”
I knew it.
“Thank you,” Isabella said. Then she turned back to me. “Yolanda got married two weeks ago to Erik Keane.”
I even sat up. Erik Keane wasn’t a small name in the whole of America. He was the kind of humble merchant who had wealth that turned most people polite.
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Yes, Liza, and I’m dead serious,” Isabella said. “The wedding lasted three days. Three whole days, and the lady couldn’t take her time to embrace her newly found status, she looked like she was auditioning for the role of Empress of the Universe or something.”
Emilia giggled at Isabella’s description. “She always looks like that.”
“Her gown looked drenched in diamonds,” Isabella continued. “The cake was taller than I am.”
“Really?” Emilia said, pouring tea. “I thought you liked the cake.”
“I loved it, but why would a cake be taller than me?”
I leaned back onto the sofa. I enjoyed being around them because they brought a calm that was soothing.
“So why do you sound so dramatic?” I asked. “People get married all the time.”
“Oh, darling,” Isabella said, “because the woman has the personality of Maleficent.”
I snorted at her description. I couldn't help it.
She grinned at me right before she added. “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Liza. Yolanda has always been obsessed with wealth. She treats money like it’s her god. Erik is in for a wild time with that one.”
Emilia set down the teapot gently. “I still say she was pregnant. That’s the only thing that makes sense.”
Isabella tilted her head toward her. “Don’t steal my theory.”
“It was my theory first,” Emilia said calmly. “You can’t steal something I already believed.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Pregnant?”
“Of course,” Emilia said. “If only you followed the wedding or at least attended, you’d see for yourself how it all adds up.”
“Or,” Isabella cut in, “it might also be that he just loves her. Some people do stupid things on purpose.”
“Love is not stupid,” Emilia said. “Loving the wrong person is.”
“Okay,” Isabella said in surrender, which was odd. She wasn’t the type to surrender quickly in conversations. “That part is true.”
They stared at each other for a long while.
I wrapped my hands around my warm cup and stared into the tea in wonder at how much I know about love. It turns out that I don’t know much. And by that, I don’t mean the kind of love that people could ruin their whole lives for. But I know whatit feels like to be trapped in someone else’s decisions, especially mine.
Maybe that’s close enough.
“You think he really loves her?” I asked Isabella, and she nodded.
“That man has been hooked for years. Remember the story about how he offered her his grandmother’s only necklace, which was made from centuries-old topaz?”
“That was a wild gesture,” Emilia said. “Romantic, but wild.”
