Page 121 of Happy Wife

I find myself closing in on Gianna, making sure I’ve got her between the wall and me. She can’t get out of this conversation.

This is war.

I watch her take a step back—she’s not sure what I’m going to do. But she regains her snake-like composure and then steps toward me.

“I don’t have to listen to anything from trash like you,” she hisses at me. “Leave it to you to be too uncouth to know that you’re not welcome here anymore.”

“It’s funny. When you parade around a party showing off your forty-thousand-dollar ring with a sapphire that issucha rare shade of teal, people take note. I guess that’s sort of the point, right? So, imagine my surprise when the police showed me the picture of that exact rare stone. It turns out it’s evidence in amurderinvestigation now. And you’ll never believe where they found it.”

I’m watching all the information cascade onto her like a wave of anvils. I hope every word I say is imprinted on her brain. I want her to bleed out. I want to do to her what she did to Will. To take from her like I know she took from him. I’ll settle for a social death. Which for her will be just as painful.

“I never quite understood why you froze me out. But I get it now. I realize now that Iamthe enemy. I am the person who threatened the glass house you put yourself in. I am the little pebble that shattered the image of who you are.” I take another step toward her, until I’m inches from her and hear her catch her breath. “Emily Post never wrote a chapter on the protocol for this, but I’ve come by to let you know I’m not quite finished.”

She doesn’t visibly react, but there are signs I’m getting through. I can see it in the vise grip she has on her gym towel.

“Oh, please, don’t worry, I don’t want to be some Messiah Pariah who outs the ridiculousness of all of you. But I owe it to myself and Will to be more than anyone in my life has ever given me credit for. I don’t want to be in the shadows, but I am not looking for the limelight either. Maybe I am failing. Maybe I am succeeding. But I’ll do it on my own terms from now on. You can have your gilded cage. Oh, but wait…”

Now I am so close I can feel her shaky breath on my face.

“It won’t be so gilded now, will it?”

One of the tennis biddies snorts at that. She must be picturing Gianna in prison.

Amazing. Her own courtesans are ready to usurp her power and take the mantle so quickly.

“Easy, Tippy,” I snap. “I saw Ardell’s hand up your skirt at the Christmas party. The sun doesn’t shine out of your ass either.” The other biddies gasp and shuffle just a hair away from Tippy.

Poor Tippy. I enjoyed that a little more than I should have.

Gianna pulls on my arm. “You’ve made your scene, Nora. Now, should we discuss this like adults?”

“You can have that chat with the police. I’m sure they’ll be eager to talk to you.” I check the locker room wall clock. “Any minute now.”

“This is slander. You should be ashamed—”

“Will was always quick to remind me,” Constance says, leveling a look at Gianna. “That you can’t sue for slander just because you don’t like what people have to say about you.”

To my complete and total surprise, Constance moves right beside me. Gianna backs away from us a little, looking from Constance to me. A pair of Mrs. Somersets. Even as her best friend turns on her, Gianna tries to regain the upper hand.

“The gemstone proves nothing.” She huffs. “I could’ve—lost it at the party. Before I left.”

“You’re right. The gemstone doesn’t prove you killed Will, but it does point cops in the right direction. And now they’ve managed to gather enough evidence to put you away. Something about a bloodstain on a bimini. Does that ring a bell,G?” I laugh a little. “God, I remember when I first learned ‘bimini’ meant ‘boatawning.’ The glossary of terms I have had to download just to keep up in this town. Rich people are crazy. So is DNA evidence, it turns out. Shame you nicked yourself that night.”

I fight the curl of the corner of my mouth as the color drains from her face. There will be time for smiling later.

Now I know there is nothing left to say. Nothing left to do. I walk toward the locker room exit, stopping only to grab some country club mints. As I push through the door, a herd of uniforms rushes in, calling out Gianna’s name. I lock eyes with Constance, and we exchange a wordless “holy shit” right before the swinging doors shut behind me.

I tuck into the shadows of the pro shop and watch Gianna Hall as they stuff her into the back of a police cruiser with half of Winter Park standing by to witness. And, somehow, even in this moment of total ruin, there is still something elegant about her. She’s destined to be a fucking felon now, and she makes it look good. A hint of glee threatens to show itself on my face when I realize that Gianna will have to live the rest of her life knowing I was the person who took her down. And with her own jewels.

Thanks for that, Will.

I watch the taillights disappear down the winding brick road, feeling a flicker of hope that this part of the nightmare can finally be behind me now. I turn on my heel and walk past the group of gawking Winter Park wives.

Let them stare. I would, too.

They’ve just witnessed the minting of an urban legend: the second wife who took down the queen. The buzz of this story will linger in the air at cocktail parties and Park Avenue brunches for years. The chatter starts as I stride away. It’s a familiar hum, the whispered gossip that has followed me around like a shadow since the day I met Will. But I tune it out for good this time.

I’m not listening to what they say anymore.

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