She, the Kingdom (She #1)(9)

Sophie began to fan me with the number she had taken for the upcoming auction.

“Darling, please. You’re making a scene,” Max said.

“Get her a water, Max.”

“Sophie,” he begged.

“Get her a goddamn water, Maxwell. She’ll be fine.”

Max met my gaze, utter mortification and genuine regret in his eyes. I found myself in the strange predicament of deciding whether or not to ask him for his help in leading away his persistent wife.

“Morgan,” Sophie said, the sweetness in her voice returning.

“I haven’t told anyone,” I said.

Sophie tossed back her head and laughed. When her shoulders finally stopped shaking, she held my hands in hers. “I’m not here to scold you, Morgan. I want to thank you.” She glanced around at the tuxes and gowns, the bulbs on strings crisscrossed in a grid over the heads of everyone in the courtyard. “None of these people understand true need. True sacrifice. Not like we do.” She noticed my expression. “I know. I come from a wealthy family, and I met Max at Harvard. He was bound to do great things. And then we landed in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas with new money and old ideas. And my husband,” she said, watching Max trying to rush the bartenders at the open bar, “is a man of many needs.”

“I would never,” I began, shaking my head.

Her eyebrows pulled in. “Oh,” she said, genuine sadness weighing down her words. “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” I said. She was as crazy as her husband.

“I was hoping for some help in that arena. Max is a full-time job. His anxiety is unmanageable, and it’s come to the point where he can’t sleep at all if he doesn’t…” she trailed off, then squeezed my hand. “Most women would think it’s a blessing, to have a husband who begs to go down on you every night.”

“He owns a hospital. Couldn’t he… get a prescription for his anxiety and insomnia?”

“He owns eleven hospitals,” she said, the sweetness gone. “Max spent a year walking around like a zombie, heavily medicated. We almost lost everything. We’ve done what we could, and now we’ve realized that I simply can’t keep this up. I need help.”

You both do. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“Max said you would be perfect. He’s very picky, you know.”

“I’m not interested.”

Max arrived, handing me a water, and his wife a glass of champagne. “Sophie, let’s go. The auction is about to start.”

She wasn’t deterred. “You’re not interested in eight thousand dollars a month? You don’t have a job.”

“Sophie,” Max begged.

“We have to draw a line somewhere, don’t we?” I said.

“Lines can be erased. For the right price.”

“Sophie,” Max growled. “Enough. Leave her alone. She’s said no.”

“What is your price?” Sophie asked.

I bristled. “I’m not for sale.”

“Not for new clothes and shoes for your children? A new car? If not eight thousand, then what? Ten? Fine. And you can keep the car. Really, Morgan, it’s not permanent. We’re women of sacrifice. How will you feel clinging to your pride when you’re shopping at the thrift store for school clothes?”

“Sophie, damn it, that’s enough,” Max demanded.

“Do you hear yourself?” I asked, incensed. The nausea was gone, replaced by anger. Whatever their situation was, I didn’t want any part of it.

I stood, making eye contact with Max for less than a second. “Thank you for the water.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said as I shouldered past him.

John and Amelia were standing at the edge of the crowd that had gathered for the auction. I stood next to her, finally feeling safe under the umbrella of my anger and the people around me. Max and Sophie were standing at the other end, and although I tried not to look, Max caught my eye, silently begging for my forgiveness. For just a moment, I felt sorry for him, but that was soon taken over by more anger for feeling that way.

“Sold! To number three-eighty-four!” the auctioneer called.

Amelia squealed and threw her arms around John, who hugged her tightly. I wondered at what point Max and Sophie stopped behaving like that and had turned into the manipulative wolves they were now. I glanced at Max, and he was looking down, seeming out of place. He wasn’t the wolf. He had a need, and she was tired of filling it.

The auction was over, and Amelia and John were standing with a drunken group at the bar. One strap of each of Amelia’s shoes were hanging from John’s index finger, and she had one leg bent over his lap, the other standing, allowing her hip to wedge between his legs. I’d had several glasses of wine, so I was glad John was staying sober.

I found my way to a hall with a mirror, freshening the makeup Amelia had spackled on to my face. I’d wanted to leave the moment I’d arrived, but since my run-in with Sophie Kingston, I was hoping at any minute Amelia would say they were ready. At one point, I’d even hoped they would get drunk and start fighting—anything to get out of there that didn’t require me being to blame for cutting their night short. Every time I decided to ask to be taken home, they seemed to be having so much fun, I just couldn’t do it.