Chapter Twenty-Two #2
Josiah loudly clears his throat. “ Wrapitup! ” He does a terrible job of masking his cough, sending laughter dancing over the impatient group.
“Okay, okay. To wrap it up …” I chuckle. “Thank you, and without further ado, I give you…Cornelia Livingston and The Morning Tea .”
I point the remote, my heart full as the television rises from the wall, the screen lighting up.
Then Ebony, using my iPad, presses play on the YouTube video.
Azalea and Yvette, the co-hosts of The Morning Tea , face the camera.
“Can y’all believe it?” Azalea crosses her long legs, leaning toward the edge of her seat in a navy suit. “We’ve got Cornelia Livingston with us today!”
The camera pans to the crowd applauding. There’s nothing wild or raucous about this welcome, and it’s clear they’re all waiting for the scandal to unfold.
“I don’t know if they’re ready,” Yvette says, waving her The Morning Tea cue cards, prompting louder cheers this time. “And Nora Whitfield, the OG Luxe Lady, will be here.”
The noise level explodes, both on- and off-screen.
“Oop! Gaslighting 101!” Priscilla calls, already marking her sheet. “OG Luxe Lady, check!”
After about five minutes of ads and a monologue about the upcoming season of Luxe Ladies , Cornelia walks out in sensible black heels and a stiff-looking black dress adorned with gold-threaded flowers. Her gray hair, as expected, is styled in a severe updo, fit for a principal handing out demerits.
“Thank you for having me.” Cornelia looks like she might hurt herself trying to smile. If I’m judging by the pageant wave alone, it’s clear she’s uncomfortable.
Right on her heels, Nora walks out, heading straight for the audience.
She shakes hands and hugs people before she even acknowledges Azalea and Yvette.
“Yes, it’s so nice to be here with my favorite local morning show hosts,” she says, the subtext thick with animosity, especially after they’ve practically called her old.
All in all, though, things start off pretty tame.
The co-hosts congratulate Cornelia on Hailey and Donovan’s wedding next week, commenting how honored she must be to have her son and soon-to-be daughter-in-law hosting the first event in the newly restored Madison Manor.
Then, in true gossip-seeking form, Yvette adds, “And the first event planned by your ex-daughter-in-law—the viral sensation, the divorcétante—in over a year since her untimely divorce from Julian.” She’s got the decency to look contrite, but it’s below the belt.
Even for a duo who built their fame on scandal and salacious tea.
Yet everyone in the yard is loving every bit.
“That’s right! Dig, Yvette!” Whitney yells at the screen. “Earn your ratings!”
On screen, Cornelia laughs, but it’s clear she’s unamused. “Yes, especially in light of her recent brushes with the paparazzi unearthing all those unseemly photos with the man overseeing the restoration.”
The shame.
Now I’m rooting for Yvette. “Yeah, keep digging, Yvette! Get in there, Azalea!”
My guys are in stitches.
I’m taking it all in stride, though. Cornelia’s got her just desserts coming.
“Yes, Lincoln Bridges,” Azalea interjects, prompting everyone to look at me. To which I take a well-deserved bow.
She’s saying something about Bridges Heritage Conservation and Ellswood’s familial roots, and I missed the first part of the sentence, but I turn back in time to catch Cornelia pursing her lips.
Undoubtedly, she’s hating giving me even a moment of exposure.
“It was a clear mistake on my part, hiring either of them, given how unprofessional they are. Who knows what unsavory acts they’ve committed on the premises? Honestly, it’s a disgrace to the other event planners I interviewed, who would’ve done a far superior job, and to the city of Ellswood.”
“I’m on the board,” Manny says, triumphantly, shoving half a skewer into his mouth. “Got my money on either a fight or fainting spell up next,” he adds, just as Cornelia uncrosses and recrosses her legs.
Looking straight into the camera, she tips up her chin. “I can assure you, we definitely won’t be using Ebony Grace Events for the next one.”
An audible gasp ricochets through the audience.
But Yvette is already tugging on the loose thread. “Next wedding?”
Cornelia gives a single, decisive nod.
“Wait for it!” Vincent is up on his feet, hands out, warning everyone to stay silent. “Is this it?”
One of my crew mumbles, “At this rate, I’m going to be bingo-ing in no time,” and then gets immediately shushed by Vincent.
The air crackles with electricity.
“That’s correct.” Cornelia blinks repeatedly, but I’m sure every single pair of eyes watching is focused on the tightness in Nora’s expression, screaming what are you about to do as Cornelia fixes her lips and says, “Julian and Nora will be wed next summer.”
Oh shit.
Everyone goes wild, Vincent running laps around the yard, the audience in an excited uproar, and Nora Whitfield—OG Luxe Lady with an expensive bun in the oven—is shaken with tears.
I scrub a hand over my face, resting my palm over my mouth. “Wow.”
“I called it.” Ebony nudges my shoulder with hers, still shaking her head. “She literally admitted it to me at the bridal shower. The woman truly knows no limits to her dirty, underhanded work.”
Priscilla is gobsmacked. “I cannot believe she just did that.”
Azalea and Yvette share a loaded glance.
“Oh, wow !” Azalea is reading the distress all over Nora’s face. And still, she grins like the dang Cheshire cat. “Look at us getting the freshly brewed tea this morning.”
“And there’s more,” Ebony says at the same time as Cornelia on the screen, smiling smugly, before Cornelia announces that she’s recently requested for the mayor—an old friend of hers—to initiate a petition to change the city’s name from Ellswood to Livingston.
Suddenly, all the blaring noises, the shouting about wild-’n’-free spaces, and the audience booing her—they fade into silence, leaving me numb.
This isn’t new information. I’ve got friends on city council and in the mayor’s office. But hearing her say it so nonchalantly, that she’d erase my family’s history based on a completely fabricated smear campaign because of a grudge…
Jesus.
I’m dumbfounded, even knowing it won’t pan out. Still, it’s the cue that we weren’t one hundred percent sure she’d deliver.
Ebony slips her hand in mine and squeezes, grounding me in the moment, reassuring me that we’re doing the right thing.
“Interesting.” Yvette tilts her head, her eyes lowered like she’s still turning the information over in her mind. She asks more questions about the petition, specifically Cornelia’s reasons for the proposed change when Ellswood has such a long history that’s so important to this community.
Leave it Cornelia to be cavalier. “Why would you want to live in Ellswood when you could thrive in Livingston? Doesn’t it have such a lovely ring to it?”
The co-hosts lean in closer with that casual, knowing air, as if it’s just them and the audience—conveniently forgetting the millions watching from home.
“This is it,” Ebony says, bracing. “It’s the switch-up. Tea will be spilled. Expeditiously.”
“Cornelia Sterling Livingston…” Yvette dips her chin, her dark brown eyes narrowed. “Now, I know you’re here celebrating the upcoming nuptials of your sons, but my dear ,” she says, far too familiar, “can we dig a little deeper for a few seconds?”
“She said that to me,” Ebony whispers. “This is where Cornelia could change her fate. It’s a small, seemingly insignificant choice, and she can say no.”
But she doesn’t.
Perhaps too proud to admit she isn’t untouchable, Cornelia gives a small laugh. Hand to heart, like she’s summoning every minuscule ounce of grace, she smiles for the audience. “Of course!”
Of course.
Yvette claps and squeals, and if I wasn’t paying close attention, I might’ve missed Azalea giving a quick nod. It couldn’t be clearer that she’s signaling to go in for the coup de grace.
“Are there any other reasons you’d want to replace the name Ellswood?”
Cornelia’s got to know what’s coming.
She gives a nervous laugh, and for a second, I think Manny might be onto something with his faint-or-fight predictions.
But then Yvette tag-teams with Azalea, dragging Cornelia, willingly, into a public scandal. “Tell us about your relationship with Theodore Bridges.”
She gasps, and I’m pretty sure it’s the first time I’ve seen Cornelia Livingston’s expression resemble anything close to human.
Outright indignant, she insists, “There is no such relationship—”
“But there was,” Yvette presses, really digging her heels in. “Once upon a time, before either of you were married, he was your Zion & Zara cotillion escort, wasn’t he?”
Cornelia tries to recover, tossing a shaky laugh to the audience because she knows this is the end, the way she knew she shouldn’t have agreed to be on this “unwatchable, low-class television” show.
Right about now, I’m guessing the words oh, shit are going through her head, because this is not just trending gossip.
Turns out, along with scandalous, salacious details about the Ellswood’s elite, Yvette and Azalea are more than titillating daytime TV hosts and fame-seeking former Luxe Ladies of Ellswood.
They did the research and checked the sources. Twice.
Cornelia inhales deeply, then locks eyes with Yvette. “What has that got to do with anything? It’s ancient history.” She flashes a small smile, glancing at Nora, who looks like she’s counting the minutes until this nightmare is over. Then to Azalea, who doesn’t give her any reprieve.
“Because we’ve got sources claiming your parents were discussing marriage”—Azalea clears her throat—“before he dumped you for Carlotta Bridges, formerly Carlotta Ellswood.”
Damn.
“Isn’t that the real reason, as the president of Zion & Zara, that you rejected Lincoln Bridges from membership? Why you’re holding a grudge against the Bridges family, and why now you’re seeking to remove Carlotta’s family name from the city that her ancestors built?”