The Next Wife by Kaira Rouda (speld decodable readers txt) 📕

to get this IPO out of the way and deal with other things. I want to be happy again, Katie.” John kept his eyes on the menu.

And that’s when I knew. He would get the IPO done, and then he’d get rid of Tish.

“What will make you happy again?”

“I don’t know exactly. It’s exhausting. I understand why it frustrates you, just trying to get business done. I’m sort of sick of the whole situation, too. She’s always glancing at my phone, trying to see my messages. It’s funny you need a special name just to talk to me. Funny, and sad. I think she’s figured out Mabel is you, by the way. I’m tired of all of it. I miss this. Us.” John pushed a hand through his hair before waving for the waiter.

As for me, I spent the rest of our lunch relishing the notion that Tish’s time, Tish’s hold over our family, was coming to an end.

I was wrong then, but I’m not now.

I turn onto the road to the cemetery with mixed feelings. I do want to visit John’s grave. For many reasons, not the least of it is the sense of finality it should provide. The resolve, too. As I drive, I remember something I read about the positive effects of anger. Angry people have a lot in common with happy people. Both tend to be more optimistic. It’s true. Take, for example, one study of the aftermath of the 9/11 terrorist attacks. In the study, those experiencing anger expected fewer attacks in the future. I feel certain seeing John’s headstone will have the same effect.

It’s likely not a wise move to meet with Tish alone, to try to strike a deal. But it is what I need. What my company needs. I’ll write up a proposal she can’t refuse.

After a quick stop at the caretaker’s cottage, I have a map, John’s burial site marked with an X. It’s a quick drive to the rolling green hills of the cremated burial area. The nerve. I find John’s simple headstone, a plain marker for an exceptional man, a man who was led astray by a younger version of his wife and suffered the consequences. Yes, a cliché. But my cliché. I take a photo, just to remember this spot. To remember my resolve.

I touch the cold white stone. “John. I’m going to make this right. I’m sorry for everything she did to you, to me, to Ashlyn. But don’t worry. She’ll be gone soon. I promise.”

I bow my head and say a few more words I know John would want to hear.

CHAPTER 59

TISH

I’m going to pack enough for a long, wonderful, luxurious vacation starting in New York City, then Paris, and ending wherever I want to go. The possibilities are limitless.

I’ve pulled out my two most expensive trunks, Louis Vuitton of all things. When I first bought them, I wouldn’t take them anywhere. I was afraid the luggage handlers would steal them, and everything inside. I know I would have, at least back in the day.

John had laughed and told me luggage was supposed to be used and enjoyed. He said that I needed to trust people. That most people are good.

He was so wrong about that.

All the windows are open, the shades drawn. My phone lights up with a text. It’s from Chris, my hunky realtor. Problem. I ran the title info on your home. You don’t own it.

I text back. Yes I do.

Chris responds immediately. No. It’s owned by a trust. The Ashlyn Nelson Family Trust. Do you know who that is?

Fuck. My fingers fly over the keypad. Sell the Telluride condo first. I’ll straighten this out with my lawyer.

Chris texts: Sorry. That’s titled to the Ashlyn Nelson Family Trust, too. So is your Florida property. It’s not your Florida property, actually. None of it is. I’ll come over tonight. We can mess around and make a plan?

I drop my phone on the kitchen counter.

I need George. George was supposed to protect me. The will was supposed to be ironclad. I’m going to kill him.

I text George. Need to talk now. Property not mine. Kate up to something. Help.

I stare at my phone, waiting for a return text.

But like the last time I called him, there is no response.

CHAPTER 60

KATE

I sit in my car parked outside of Tish’s house, waiting for 7:00 p.m.

When my phone buzzes with the alarm I set, I jump.

It’s time.

I scan the agreement I drew up once more. I figure if Tish and her shady attorney could download a will off the internet, I could find an official-looking template of my own. I was right.

I start up the walkway to Tish’s house. Actually, it’s not her house. And I cannot wait to tell her that.

My stomach clenches as I ring the doorbell and knock on the door. I tell myself to relax. This isn’t a boxing match. This is a business meeting. I take a deep breath.

Tish and I will come to an agreement. I have what she needs. Money. This is personal. It requires intimacy, talking face to face. I’m the only one who can do this.

And I will.

CHAPTER 61

ASHLYN

My mom shouldn’t be going there alone. Last night when I was moving out, I left my bedroom window unlocked, just in case I needed to sneak back in for something. The trellis was a handy escape route in high school.

As I make a plan, I think about the last conversation I had with my dad. He told me he’d agreed with mom’s idea to put all of his real estate holdings into a trust, for me. He told me it was what my mom wanted, and that he was glad he could make her happy. It’s weird to know I own Tish’s house. She didn’t believe me when I told her, but I imagine she’ll find out sometime soon.

I’m pretty sure real estate transactions weren’t enough for my