I thought so at first, but after the conversation we just had, maybe it wasn’t all as bad as I’d initially believed.
Although it was still pretty bad.
“They haven’t yet.”
“Oh?” Morgan sounds surprised. “So they’re making things right?”
I sigh, twisting a strand of hair around my finger. “They’re trying.”
There’s a moment of silence before Morgan asks, “And will youlet themtry?”
“I’ll try,” I admit. It’s all I can give her and them right now.
“That’s all I needed to hear,” Morgan says, her voice softening. “Thank you.”
Don’t thank me too soon.
I don’t want to get anyone’s hopes up.
Least of all mine.
EIGHT
The air is filledwith the mingling scents of champagne and horse shit—a unique combination that’s quintessentially Ascot on a Race Saturday.
I stand at the racecourse, feeling utterly ridiculous in an oversized hat that makes me look like a fucking peacock. The sun beats down mercilessly, and sweat trickles down my back under the stifling dress my mother insisted I wear.
God, I hate everything about this.
It’s like being trapped in some posh version of hell, where everyone is pretending to have a jolly good time while secretly wishing they were anywhere else. But that might just be me.
Abigail is beside me, looking just as uncomfortable, but probably for different reasons. August is off with their daughters, pointing at horses and trying to act like everything’s normal.
But it’s not.
I can see the strain in his eyes, the tightness in his shoulders. He’s putting on a brave face, but it’s clear he’s barely holding it together.
“You know he loves you and the girls so much,” I say, watching my brother. “He’s sacrificing himself for you.”
The words feel hollow even as I say them, but I have to try. I can’t bear to see their family falling apart like this.
Abigail’s laugh is bitter. “He’s sacrificingus.And he thinks he does it out of love, but he’s wrong.”
I want to defend August, but deep down, I know she has a point.
“What if he refused to take over the firm?” I ask, trying to gauge how bad it already is. “Would you still want that divorce?”
“Him leaving your father’s grasp is all I want,” she says, her voice cracking. The pain in her eyes is so clear it hurts to see. “It’s why I left and took the girls. Why I agreed to go back to live in the house if he leaves. Why I told him it would be over if he takes the path his father wants. I do this becauseI love him. I can’t stand by and watch while he destroys himself. Maybe making him choose will ultimately be the thing that saves him.”
Or it will be the final cut.
It’s like being caught between a rock and a hard place with no good options in sight. “It’s not that simple, Abigail. He’d lose everything. You and the girls would lose everything. Father would make your life hell.” I shudder, thinking of the lengths our father would go to if August defied him.
“I’m from a good family, too, remember?” she retorts, her chin lifting defiantly. “I have money. We don’t need him.”
Abigail always had that fire in her eyes that I admire and fear. She’s such a strong woman, but that also means that she won’t back down easily.
“You know he doesn’t want this either, right?” I ask, and we both watch him grab one of the girls by the hips to hold her up so she can look over the fence.
