Page 36 of Knockout (Whiskey Dolls 2)

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Layla

Following the GPS directions coming through the speakers of my car’s Bluetooth, I turned right onto a private tree-lined drive. It went on for so long that I started to think I might have taken a wrong turn somewhere. Just as I was about to find a spot to turn around, the trees opened up, revealing the biggest house I’d ever seen in real life.

“Holy God,” I breathed out on a wheeze.

Before I even had the car turned off, the massive, intricately carved front door was flung open and Sybil stepped out, looking stylish as usual in a long, flowy, pastel floral tunic, cream slacks, and a pair of taupe pointed-toe kitten heels.

Throwing the door open, I stepped out onto the pebble driveway and shook my head. This place was unreal. When she’d invited me to tea, I hadn’t thought it would be at Downton Abbey. I’d remembered Jude telling me that the family had money on Sybil’s side, so I’d been expecting a mcmansion, but there was absolutely nothing “mc” about this place.

I’d never done the wholeteathing before, and I was really looking forward to it. And notjustbecause she promised to show me all the embarrassing pictures she had of Jude as a kid, which was apparently a lot. And since he’d pissed me off a few days ago, I was in the mood for some juicy ammunition. That was just one of the perks that came with being friends with Sybil.

However, the main reason this new friendship was so awesome was simply because Sybil was the freaking best. I absolutely adored the woman. I still hoped to be as badass as she was when I reached her age, but now I also wanted her impeccable fashion sense. It was ten in the morning on a Saturday and the woman was in pearls and heels, for crying out loud. Her makeup was subtle, yet sophisticated, perfect for a woman her age, and this time, her glasses were a pretty rose color. I mean, who had a pair of eyeglasses to match every outfit? A classy badass, that was who!

Being just like Sybil Kingsley was the ultimate #lifegoals.

“Oh, my dear. I’m so glad you could make it. Come on in. Tea’s in the drawing room.”

I took the steps up to her porch—if something as big as my whole apartment could be considered a porch. “Sybil, your house is insane. Do you have a butler? You totally have a butler, don’t you? Please tell me he has a British accent.”

She hooked her arm through mine with a tinkling laugh and led me inside. “No butler. British accent or otherwise. Sorry.”

“Bummer,” I muttered playfully.

She patted my hand fondly as we moved through the grand entryway, with a curved staircase off to the right, and into what I could only assume was the drawing room, not that I had the first freaking clue what a drawing room was. I took in as much as I could as we walked, noticing that, while the house was absolutely breathtaking, it didn’t feel overwhelming. It still felt like a place you could come in and kick your feet up. A real fete in a place like this.

“This place is beautiful,” I said as I took a seat on the deep green velvet wingback chair she indicated. On the coffee table was a full tea service and a tiered tray covered in different kinds of finger sandwiches. The whole thing was pure class. “But...are those Post-Its stuck to everything?”

Her face scrunched up hilariously, like she’d just sucked on half a lemon. “Oh, that,” she said as she leaned over the coffee table and picked up the pretty ceramic teapot, pouring the steaming liquid into matching delicate china teacups. She lifted a tiny little pitcher that matched the tea set. “Milk or sugar?”

“Um, I don’t really know. I’ve never had tea like this before. I guess I’ll take it like you do.”

“Perfect. Splash of milk and one sugar. You’ll love it.”

“Hit me with it then.”

She doctored my tea and passed the cup and saucer to me before taking her own and sitting at the very end of the sofa closest to my chair. “As for your question, the Post-Its are a middle finger to Medusa’s spawn that Isomehowgrew in my belly for nine freaking months and birthed like they were my very own.” The sip of tea I’d just taken went down the wrong pipe, straight into my airway, and I began to choke. Sybil reached over calmly and patted my back as I hacked up a lung. “You okay, sweetie?”

“I’m fine,” I croaked, finally pulling in a full breath. “Sorry. I wasn’t expecting that. Maybe warn a girl next time.”

“Oh, Layla,” she breathed on soft chuckle. “You are a delight!”

“Glad I can amuse.” I tried again with the tea, taking a second, more careful sip. “Mmm, this is actually pretty good.”

She pulled a face, almost as if she was offended, and harrumphed. “Of course it is. I don’t make bad tea.”

“Good to know. I’ll have to come back more often.”

“You’re welcome any time, sweetie. It’s just me in this big old monstrosity of a house most of the time. Jude visits, but I do enjoy company from time to time. As long as they aren’t annoying pains in the ass.”

I laughed at the wink she shot me following that decree before placing the cup and saucer on the coffee table. I twisted to face her full-on and brought up the topic that had poked and prodded my curiosity and wouldn’t let up. “Jude told me some about your family, but I have to be honest, part of me thought maybe he was exaggerating.” I lifted my brows in question. “I’m guessing now that he wasn’t.”

Sybil blinked slowly. “He talked to you about that?”

“Well, only in regards to how his ex-fiancée played into everything.”

She didn’t say a word for several seconds, her lips parting in bewilderment. Then finally, “He told you about Leah?”

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