Take Your Time (Boston Love #4)(39)

“I just don’t understand why you would ever do something this stupid! I mean, for fuck’s sake, there had to be a better option than getting involved with men like this…” I run my hands through my hair, stomach churning with anxiety. This is a problem I don’t know how to fix. “You had to know these guys were trouble.”

“They didn’t seem so bad, at first. It all seemed very above-board. A few months back I signed a straightforward contract, got my loan, and even made my first few installment payments without any problems.”

“And then..?”

He grimaces. “About two weeks ago, they started getting pushy. Changing the terms we agreed on. They hiked my interest rate to fifty percent.” His hands curl into fists. “It’s extortion.”

“No,” I say calmly. “Actually, it’s just what happens when you MAKE DEALS WITH LOAN SHARKS!”

He flinches as my yell pierces the air.

“Of all the moronic things you’ve ever done, Duncan, this has to be the worst. Worse than your idea to sell women those mirrors that make you look thinner than you actually are—”

“ThinFlection,” he murmurs. “And I still believe, given the right marketing—”

“Oh, give it a rest! I don’t give a shit what they were called or what market they’d soar in!” I hiss, throwing up my hands. “How could you do this? How? Please explain it to me, because I’m struggling to comprehend the magnitude of your idiocy.”

“I just…” His voice is raw with anguish. “I couldn’t fail again. Can’t you understand that? I couldn’t watch another company go under. Not again, Lila.”

I blow out a breath. “I understand that. I do. But, to be frank, I’m not sure what I can do to help you fix this.”

His eyes hold mine. “You can give me the money.”

“Duncan, don’t you understand? I can’t give you the money.” A sob catches in my throat. “I don’t have any money left to give you.”

His face goes blank. “But… your trust fund…”

“What do you think happened, after you cleaned out Mom and Dad’s accounts? Who do you think they called to bail them out?” I shake my head sadly. “I can’t help you, because I already helped them.”

“It’s all gone?” he asks in a dazed voice.

“Look at this place.” I sweep a hand around. “You think I want to be moving? You think, if I had any other options, I’d be abandoning the place I’ve called home for the past three years?”

“I…” He looks like he’s about to collapse under the strain of his own poor life choices. “I…”

A pang of unwanted sympathy shoots through me.

I know I should have zero pity for him, but I can’t help it. His last hope has just been snatched away. It’s clear, as he sways on his feet and stares at my kitchen wall with unfocused eyes, that his demons are finally catching up to him. And clearer still, that he’s fully aware it won’t end well for him, when they do, considering said demons are armed with sledgehammers and rage.

“I need a drink,” I mutter, not giving a single hoot that it’s barely eight in the morning.

“I thought you didn’t have any food in the house?” Duncan asks numbly.

“I don’t have anything with actual nutritional value.” I cross to the cabinet above the fridge and pull down a bottle of amber liquid with a black label. “But I always have whiskey.”



Three hours later, I’ve traded my sea of moving boxes for an ocean of white taffeta, and sibling confrontation for best friend bonding. I take small sips of my mimosa and watch Phoebe pivot in slow circles in front of a full-length mirror. We’re camped out in the back of the boutique wedding shop on Newbury Street where she’s having her final fitting. As I watch her spin on an elevated platform, her stunning Vera Wang gown practically glowing under the lights, my eyes begin to sting despite my best efforts.

“You’re really beautiful, Phee.”

Her large hazel eyes meet mine in the mirror. “You think?”

“Not a matter of opinion. It’s a plain fact.” I shake my head. “Nate is going to have a heart attack when he sees you hurling down that aisle toward him.”

Her grin gets huge. “Good. That’s exactly what I was going for.”

“Any signs of cold feet? You seem remarkably calm, considering the rehearsal dinner is one day away and you’ll be an old married crone in two.”

She turns to face me. “Surprisingly, I’m not nervous at all. I thought I would be, but mostly I’m just… excited.” Her eyes sparkle. “I’ve wanted to marry Nathaniel Xavier Knox since I was five years old. I can’t wait to finally be his wife.”

“Sap,” I accuse, sniffling like a wimp.

“Priss,” she fires back, blinking away tears.

We grin at each other.

“Do you want to try on your dress again?” she asks, turning back to the mirror. “I can have them bring it out for you.”

“I’ve already had four fittings,” I remind her. “Frankly, that was three too many, in my opinion.”

She laughs. “I’m sorry if I’ve gone a little Bridezilla on you, these past few months. I just want everything to be perfect.”