21. Tristan
W ith security in place at the distillery and a crew to roll with, the situation feels a little more solid. I keep a couple of guys parked at the gates outside Evie’s house and add two more to her security detail. By now, Cole and his guys might recognize Timmy, but they don’t know Sully or Jett. I instruct them to keep far enough back that they can keep an eye on her without anyone else knowing they’re around.
“Good,” she says when I tell her one morning. She’s standing at the kitchen counter, making herself a cup of coffee. “No more house arrest.”
“It’s only been a few days,” I retort, tugging on her ponytail.
She smacks my hand away lightly. “Why are you always pulling my hair?”
“Because I like you,” I tease, pressing the front of my body against the back of hers. I don’t know why her fussing always gets me kinda hot, but it does.
But Evie likes it, too. She likes it when I chase her, loves it when I catch her. I kiss the hollow beneath her collar bone, and she gives a soft, breathy laugh, arching her body like she can’t help it . Her ass pushes up against my zipper and that’s it —goodbye, rationale, hello lizard brain. We haven’t fucked in days, and she smells so good, that Evie combination of soap, shampoo, and undertones of natural sweetness.
Her head falls back as I suck gently on her throat. The blush spreading across her chest continues beneath her shirt and I’m sure, if I checked, that her tits have the same rosy glow. “What time are you meeting Opal?” I murmur into her skin.
“Soon,” she says, trying to sound firm.
“How about?—"
Finn clears his throat from the doorway and Evie slips away, leaving me with an erection. “Alex just called. Some girl’s at the gate, saying she’s Evie’s sister.”
Evie whips her head around, glancing at me. “I’ll go see what she wants.”
“If Maribelle’s already here, you might as well let her in,” I call, adjusting myself before following her. Well, that’s a mood killer. I didn’t consider that Maribelle would know where Evie was living now, but of course she would. They’re both related to Myrtle, though it’s apparent Evie was the favorite.
I’m glad. After observing her father’s disregard, she deserves to be someone’s favorite.
We walk across the front yard, still soggy from yesterday’s deluge, and down to the gate where a white Mercedes coupe is idling beside Alex’s Suburban. Maribelle rolls down her window as we approach, her amused smile at odds with the impatient flick of her hand. “What is this, Evie, the White House? Can I come in or not?”
Evie glances at me, rolling her eyes.
“Let her in,” I tell Alex, who takes his time ambling over to unlatch the gate.
Maribelle pulls in and parks beside Evie’s pickup. Climbing carefully out of the driver’s seat, she flips up her sunglasses and gives the house an appraising look. She appears more like her old self today, in a ponytail, cashmere sweater and designer jeans, only she’s got a baby belly now.
Evie strides ahead of me, not bothering to hide her irritation. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Maribelle’s gaze sweeps over the leafy wreath on the front door and the rickety, old porch swing before settling on Evie and me. Her dark eyes are smoky with an edge of something I can't quite place. Trouble, maybe, or just bitterness. Who knows. “Daddy told me you were playing lady of the manor at Aunt Myrtle’s, so I figured I’d come see for myself. Not exactly fair, but I can’t say I’m surprised the old bat left you all of this.”
When neither of us say anything, she sighs. “You two know damn well why I'm here, so you might as well invite me in.”
“If you insist,” I say, giving Evie a gentle push toward the house.
“Hello to you too, Tristan,” Maribelle says sweetly, following us up the porch steps.
Evie shows her to the sitting room just inside the front entryway. “Can I get you something to drink?” she asks, folding her arms.
I lean against the doorjamb. “She doesn’t need Southern hospitality, babe. I’m pretty sure she just wants that money.”
“That’s right,” Maribelle says with a sharp laugh. “You know all about that, don’t you, Tristan? After all, money’s why you married Evie in the first place.”
Evie flinches beside me. I hate it. “It’s not just about money.”
Maribelle snorts. “Oh, honey. Do you really think this is anything but a business transaction?”
She’s not wrong, but she’s not totally right, either—there’s a lot more to us than she knows or cares to understand. It doesn’t matter, though, because her words land just as she intended. I can see it on Evie’s face, in the way she won’t look at me.
“I think it’s none of your fucking business,” I say, tired of Maribelle already. No wonder Evie struggles with her self-worth. She’s been fed this bullshit for years. “You could’ve saved yourself the drive, by the way. We know you want ‘your share’—you’ve mentioned it about a hundred times.”
She recoils, eyes flashing. “Can you blame me? I just watched everything my family built get taken away by your family! And I’ll come back every single day to remind you of that if you don’t make this right, Tristan. The distillery might be yours legally, but it’s not yours morally.”
“It’s mine too dammit,” Evie grits out, and I can tell she’s clenching her teeth. “Legally and ‘morally’ whatever the hell that means. You’re in no position to talk.”
Damn, shots fired .
“And,” she blazes on, talking over her sister when she starts to respond, “I already told you we’d give you a share once we figure everything out! I’d never screw you over like that, even though you’d do it to me in a heartbeat.”
“You’re such a martyr,” Maribelle says, rolling her eyes. “Well, fine. Daddy always said we'd split things fifty-fifty when he died. He might not be dead, but he’s no longer in the picture so when do y’all plan on having this ‘figured out’?”
“We have an accounting firm doing audits as we speak,” I say. “Once they work it out, we’ll pay any outstanding bills and try to figure out who else your father owes.”
“Doyle Whiskey’s an LLC,” Maribelle says. “So technically none of us are responsible for the distillery’s debts.”
I give her a yeah, right look. “That might be true with banks and companies he’s borrowed from but try telling that to people like the Deschamps. They want their money, just like you.”
Something like uncertainty flashes briefly across her face, gone as soon as it appeared. I’m tempted to mention all that skimming off the top she was doing, reminding her that she’s already paid herself and then some, but it’s irrelevant. She screwed her dad over, not us, and anyway it’s better to play my cards close.
“Evie and I will let you know as we know.”
“You do that.” Rising from the couch, she swings her purse over her shoulder. “Because if you don’t, I will make your lives hell.”
Evie scoffs. “Like you haven’t been doing that for years.”
Maribelle smirks, but I step between them before this little tit-for-tat can go any further. “Bye, Maribelle.”
“Bye,” she says breezily, opening the door. Pausing, she looks back at me. “You’re looking good these days, Tristan.”
“It’s that sex glow.” Smiling, I slide my hand around Evie’s waist and yank her to my side. “My girl’s a tigress.”
Maribelle blinks a couple times, momentarily speechless for once. “Whatever you say,” she finally mutters, shutting the door on her way out.
Evie grins up at me, pinching my side. “You’re so bad.”
“Did I lie?” I ask innocently, dropping my hand to her ass and giving it a little smack. “You’re kinda feisty. ”
“Only with you,” she says, peeking out the window beside the door. We watch Maribelle turn around and drive swiftly back to the gate, where Alex lets her out.
“Your sister’s a real piece of work,” I muse.
Evie turns, giving me a wry smile as she heads back to the kitchen. “You’re only now realizing that?”
Now that life has hit a brief lull, I find a local doctor so that I can get my arm checked out, something I should’ve done weeks ago. He gives me the green light to start training again, which is good because I’ve already started. I set up my punching bag and weights in the garage the week we moved in. Evie and I attend jiu jitsu classes when we can, too, often staying for open mat sessions. I’m guessing people have realized we’re together because the ladies seem to be leaving me alone.
One day we drive up to an antiques and garden shop in Hilton Head for Evie, stopping at a microbrewery on the way home for me. It’s the weirdest relationship I’ve ever been in. It’s like we did things backwards—we got married and now we’re going on dates. There was no natural progression of feelings, no slow, flirty, falling period. And even though we live together, even though we have lots of really, really great sex, there’s this surreal element of make-believe. Like we’re playing the part of a couple and all the intimacy we’re enjoying will end once the director yells “cut.”
I don’t want it to end, but I don’t see how we can go on like this forever. Evie’s life is here, and mine is in Boston. Marriage is a forever thing, a blending of two lives that takes careful consideration. We jumped into ours knowing it was temporary, making it feel both safer and less serious at the time. Now I’m not so sure.
Late Friday afternoon, Alex and Finn drive me into town so my attorney and I can meet Randall and his attorney at Kenny’s office for the remaining ownership documents. I already have the contract Randall signed, so all that’s left is the deed to the distillery and its properties, as well as the intellectual property assignments. Randall seems resigned for once, refusing to make eye contact as he sags in his chair.
By the time I leave the office, the sun’s gone down. The days are getting colder, though autumn here is much milder than Boston. Someone, somewhere, has a fire going and the chilly air laced with the scent of firewood makes me a little homesick. Keeping the Suburban’s windows cracked, we spark a blunt as we drive to a liquor store to stock up. I grab a bottle of the wine Evie likes and call in an order for Thai food that we’ll pick up on the way home.
We only come downtown when we absolutely have to, steering clear of Deschamps territory for now. I did what I came to do, but there’s no need to shove it in anyone’s face. Evie thinks I should find a way to appease them by giving them what her father owes or returning the warehouse. They’re an enemy we don’t need, and if my family is to have a presence in this city, we’ll need strategic alliances.
I don’t know. Paying off the Deschamps might seem smart on the surface, but it doesn’t sit right with me. Compromise and negotiation are fine, but I live in a world where paying tribute is akin to admitting defeat. The Kellys don’t kneel, we negotiate from a position of strength. I’ll have to talk to Lucky about it.
We’re about to leave the city proper when Finn gets a text from Timmy, asking if we can pick up another quarter from the plug. We all track each other on our phones, so he probably saw where we were.
“What d’you want to do?” Alex asks, eyes glazed crimson as he grins at me from the driver’s seat.
“That little fucker,” I say fondly. “Might as well. We’re close.”
Alex takes the next side street and circles back, heading toward the Starland District as I text our guy to let him know we’re coming.
Ten minutes later, we’re waiting in the Suburban while Finn runs inside. Alex is messing with the playlist and I’m texting lewd shit to Evie because I get horny when I’m high.
“Wait,” murmurs Alex, and I glance up. “Isn’t that ...”
A couple is coming down the steps of another rowhouse a few doors down. It’s Cole Deschamps, and he’s got a possessive arm slung over Maribelle Doyle-Spencer, who’s wearing a jacket over the same outfit she had on earlier. They walk down to the curb, where he leans her against her Mercedes and kisses her.
“What the fuck?” It’s sketchy enough that Evie’s pregnant sister is stepping out on her husband, but with Cole of all people? After all the bullshit he’s put Evie through? Either Maribelle doesn’t know, or she’s more diabolical than I thought.
“Yoooo,” Alex whispers, smacking my arm. “You think that’s his baby?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” I say. The longer I watch them make out, the more possible that seems. “Hold up, let me tell Finn to wait inside.”
But they’re already moving on, Cole palming Maribelle’s ass as she walks around to the driver’s side. They talk through the window for a second, and then she pulls away while he jogs back inside.
I now know where Cole lives, or at least where he hangs out. I also know who Maribelle’s been cheating with. But this means Cole might have more info on Evie, and access to her, than we realized. Maribelle was just at the house today—who’s to say she wouldn’t tell Cole?
It’s pitch black by the time we get back to the house, and I’m starving as usual, my hunger made worse by the munchies. Evie’s on the phone in the kitchen when I walk in. She takes one look at me and rolls her eyes in amusement, scooting away from my grabby hands as she tells whoever she’s talking to she has to go.
“You smell like weed,” she says, sniffing me as we hug.
Alex comes in with our Thai takeout as I hand Evie the bottle of wine. “There may have been some post-meeting celebrating on the ride back.”
“Scandalous.” She holds the bottle up, grinning when she sees the label. “I love this one!”
“I know.” I wink at her, hanging my suit jacket on a chair.
After dinner, Evie and I slip out to the front porch to smoke a bowl. We talk quietly about our day, pushing the swing slowly back and forth with our feet.
“I saw something kinda crazy tonight,” I say after a comfortable silence.
Evie wraps her blanket a little tighter around her shoulders, switching her attention from the stars to me. “What?”
“Did you know Maribelle was having an affair?”
“No.” She pauses. “But that doesn’t come as a shock. I never see her with Dylan. He’s always working and traveling, and she’s always flitting around town like socializing is her job. Which, I guess, it is if you’re a society wife. ”
“Huh.” I rub the stubble on my chin, considering. “You think they have an open relationship?”
“No way! He’d be livid if he knew.” She laughs quietly. “It’s funny. She was trying to make me feel shitty this morning about our relationship when her marriage is all about status. She married him because he’s rich and successful, and he married her because she’s rich and pretty. They both come from old money and important families—it was totally strategic.”
“I think we both know Maribelle’s full of shit,” I say. “But listen, I saw her tonight. With Cole.”
Evie whips around, staring at me. Now she is shocked. “Are you serious?”
I nod. “They were all over each other outside this house in the Starland District.”
“I think DJ lives out that way,” she says. “You’re sure it was Maribelle?”
“Evie, come on.”
“You know, they fooled around when I was seeing him in high school,” she says. “That’s what finally made me dump him.”
“What assholes,” I gripe.
“I can’t believe they’re still at it, all these years later.”
“ I can’t believe he still tries to mess with you while he’s messing with her,” I say. “What’s his angle?”
“Cole’s nuts. That’s his angle.” She gasps suddenly. “Wait, do you think he got her pregnant?”
I stand up, offering Evie a hand. “Either that, or Cole’s got a fetish for pregnant women.”
“Ew,” she says, letting me pull her up.
“It’s only ew if it isn’t his baby.”
“I’m too high for this conversation.”
Snickering, we go back inside where, thanks to Timmy and Finn, it smells like fresh, buttery popcorn. “Mm,” I hum, starting toward the kitchen.
But Evie hooks her finger through my belt loop and pulls me back. “Let’s go upstairs. I have a fetish for this,” she croons, running her hand over the sleeve of my white dress shirt.
“My shirt?” I laugh .
Her hand drops down to my zipper, which she brushes briefly. “The whole look.”
I call Dad while Evie’s in the shower.
“Tristan,” he answers.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Hey. Everything okay?”
It’s getting late, almost midnight, but I knew he’d be up. We’re both night owls. “Yeah. Just wondering if you saw the document scans I sent Lucky.”
“I did,” he says. “Everything looks good.”
“I told him I’d send the originals tomorrow. It was late when we finished up today.”
“Don’t worry about it,” he says. “You’ve handled this perfectly. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks.” Warmth spreads through my chest. His approval still means as much as it did when I was a kid. “Thanks for trusting me with the job in the first place.”
“We all gotta pull our weight, eh?” he jokes. “How’s the audit coming along?”
“They gave me a call today, actually. Said it’ll be a couple more days,” I reply. “It’s not as straightforward as we’d like, but we expected that. Evie mentioned there was some shady stuff going on when she worked there a few years ago—double invoices, shit like that, so I’m sure there’s a lot to sort.”
Dad chuckles. “It is what it is.”
“Yup,” I agree. Out of all the shit Randall—and Maribelle—have pulled, that’s the one thing we can relate to. “Listen, I want to talk to you about something. Concerning the Deschamps.”
“They been giving you trouble?” he asks, his voice sharpening.
“Nah, not yet. But …”
“They won’t sit by idly while we get rich off the most respected distillery in the South.”
“Something like that.” I take a sip of water. “Evie thinks we should consider setting something up. Clear the air, sort out Randall’s debt with them.”
Dad grunts, skeptical but interested. “What do you think?”
“I don’t love the idea,” I hedge. “I came down to deal with what Randall owed us, not to tangle with everyone else. But I get where she’s coming from. We need as few enemies as possible if we’re gonna do business in town, even if we’re not living here.”
“Hmm,” he says, unconvinced.
“Another option would be returning the warehouse on West Saint Julian Street to the Deschamps,” I continue. “I think we can agree that it’s rightfully theirs, and it has all kinds of structural damage from years of neglect anyway.”
“Agreed,” he says. “What does Lucky think?”
“He likes the idea,” I say. “There’s a decent amount of whiskey being stored there at the moment, but we can probably store it at the distillery temporarily. Or maybe even Evie’s. There’s an old workshop at the back of the property.”
“I wouldn’t move any stock to Evie’s place,” he counters quickly. “You need to keep the distillery and everything that comes with it separate. Don’t bring potential trouble to her doorstep.”
My heart sinks. As careful as I think I’ve been, there are so many ways to fuck this up. “Of course. You’re right.”
“How’s Evie doin’, anyway?”
I smile, thinking of the way she undressed me a little while ago. “She’s great.”
“Yeah? You talk to Mom yet?”
“Haven’t had time.”
“Tristan,” he says, sighing. “You two text almost every day. You have time.”
“We text about casual stuff, like the weather and what she made for dinner. All the wine at her wineries. Telling her I have a wife is gonna take a real conversation and I have a lot going on right now,” I protest, knowing my excuses are getting lamer by the millisecond.
Evie comes out of the bathroom wearing a sleepy grin and a long t-shirt. I just had her, but knowing she has nothing on underneath makes me feel weak in the stomach and hard as a rock everywhere else .
“She deserves better, Tris,” he says firmly. “They both do, and I think you know that.”
“Yeah.” I caress Evie’s thigh when she sits beside me on the bed, ghosting my fingertips over her freshly scrubbed skin. “I’ll call her in the morning, okay? Promise.”
We disconnect. I toss my phone aside, resting my head in Evie’s lap and closing my eyes as she cards her fingers gently through my hair. Moving the whiskey will probably be a logistical nightmare but handing over the warehouse to Deschamps feels like the way to go. Ultimately, this is about compromise and putting old ghosts to rest.
“Who was that?” Evie asks quietly, her fingers lulling me into a dreamy state.
“My dad. Busting my chops, as usual,” I joke, keeping my eyes closed.
“Oh yeah?” There’s a smile in her voice. “What about?”
“My mom.”
“He wants you to tell her about us, huh?” There’s a vulnerability in her voice that tugs on something deep inside me. “Why haven’t you?”
“I don’t know.” I turn to my back so I’m looking up at her. “I just don’t want to hurt her. We’re usually pretty close, you know? I don’t want her feeling like I excluded her from something so important.”
“Is it important?” Evie asks, touching my lips.
I bite her finger.
“Ouch, Tristan!” She yanks her finger away, then flicks me with it.
“Of course, it’s important.” I try to grab her hand, but she holds it away, pouting. “What kind of question is that?”
“I don’t know. You’re the one who’s keeping it a secret.”
“I’m not keeping it a secret. It’s just never a good time to bring it up,” I say. “Besides, she’s gonna have all kinds of opinions about the wedding and us in general, watch.”
“I hear you, but honestly, it’s too late for all that, Tristan. We’re married. Maybe not forever, but for right now.” She curls a lock of my hair around her finger contemplatively. “This is real.”
“I’ll tell her tomorrow,” I say, and I will. “And you don’t have to keep reminding me that this is temporary. I know.”
Her fingers still, her breath hitching like I’ve caught her off guard. “I—I’m just saying I understand what we’re doing, here. I know the deal.”
“Do you?” I bring her down to the bed and lie beside her so we can talk face to face.
“Of course, I do,” she says. “We’re on the same page.”
“I don’t know. Sounds like you’re trying to leave the back door open so you can run if things get too real.”
“Maybe I’m leaving the back door open for you, dummy,” she shoots back. “You have a hero complex, you know, always putting everybody else first. I’m just saying you don’t have to do that with me.”
“First of all, that’s not true,” I say with a dry laugh. “I’m selfish as fuck unless it’s my family. Them, I put first.” I nod my chin toward her. “Second, you’re family.”
She gives a slow, thoughtful nod, but other than that her face is inscrutable. “I just don’t want you to ever feel trapped.”
“Why would I feel trapped?”
“You married me because it was the right thing to do,” she says evenly. “And you’ve been really good to me, Tristan. When the time comes, I want you to do the right thing for you , even if that means dissolving our marriage. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”
After everything that’s happened between us, she still believes that our marriage is one of convenience. And can I blame her? It’s not like I’ve said or done anything to make her feel any differently. Evie’s strong, but she’s got a delicate heart that’s been bruised by people who’ve made her feel like she wasn’t enough. I don’t want to be one of those people. “Well, maybe you should hold it against me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you should expect more.”
“Fine, but it still stands that I don’t want you staying with me out of obligation,” she says, her voice rising an octave. “I’d rather be alone!”
“Obligation? You said we’re on the same page, but I don’t think we are. This isn’t about the distillery anymore, Evie, or saving you from your crazy ex.” I rest my hand on her hip. “It’s about you and me, so let’s stop analyzing the fuck out of this relationship and see where it goes.”
That shuts her up. She watches me for a long time, seeming to digest my words. “You mean that?”
“Yup.”
“Why?” Her whiskey-colored eyes flicker up to mine, and she reaches up to trace her fingers over the contours of my face. Sometimes her gentleness wrecks me. “What changed?”
“I like being your husband.” I drag my hand up, rucking her shirt with it until I can see a hint of the juncture between her thighs. “More than I should.”
And there it is. My admission hangs heavily between us, the taut silence that follows even heavier. Revealing how I really feel means I’ve laid myself bare for Evie, something I vowed not to do after the implosion of my last real relationship. But she lays herself bare for me, too, doesn’t she?
I stroke her thigh, keeping it PG.
“Alright,” Evie agrees after a while. “Let's see where this goes.”