Page 163 of Our Little Secret

“From a trainer?”

“And certified psychologists!”

“Because of all your divorces?” Brooke said and wanted to call back the words when she noticed Leah flinch.

Then her sister rounded on her. “Sure I got help dealing with my anger and despair when I went through the breakup of my marriages, all of them. But every time I went to a counselor it came out that most of my ‘problems’”—she used air quotes with her fingers—“were mainly because of you, Brooke. My feelings of inadequacy and my need for love stemmed from our toxic relationship and what you did to me.”

“Because of me?” Brooke shook her head so hard her ponytail loosened. “Save me! That’s BS and you know it. I didn’t put a gun to your head and force you to marry any of those losers!”

Leah sucked a breath through her teeth. She looked like she’d been slapped. “You started it all!” she accused, venom lacing her words. “With Neal.”

“Oh whoa. For the love of—” Neal said, coming out of the laundry area, as he stopped short. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Why not?” she countered, her eyes narrowing on him. “Don’t tell me you still feel guilty.”

“Leah,” he warned.

Brooke caught Eli silently watching the display, his eyes taking in the whole scenario.

Leah was on a roll. “He does, you know,” she said to Brooke. “And if you ask me, I think he’s never really gotten over me.” Her chin was angled defiantly. “Right?” she threw out at her brother-in-law. “Come on, Neal. Admit it.”

Neal frowned. “I think you’ve had a little too much to drink.”

“Sure. Blame it on the alcohol. Or me. Or even Marilee, because you knocked up Brooke when you were still seeing me, but why the hell aren’t you man enough to admit the truth?” she accused before knocking back the remains of her drink and attempting to set the flute on the mantel. The slim glass teetered. Leah made a grab for it, but it toppled and smashed on the rough stones of the hearth.

“Oh no! Mom’s champagne flute!” She glared at Brooke, tears sprouting. “Look what you made me do!”

“Me?” Brooke rounded the peninsula, and while Elvis kept singing about loneliness at Christmas, she used a towel to pick up the shards and dab at the bits of spilled champagne. “I didn’t make you do anything.”

“Of course you did! You’re the reason my life is the way it is! You always try to ruin everything!”

“What?” Brooke was immediately incensed. “Don’t blame me!”

Leah threw an angry look at the kitchen, where Neal, standing on the other side of the peninsula, was watching the ugly drama unfold. Then she snarled at Brooke, “You started it all!” Her voice was low, almost menacing, barely audible over the stereo, but Brooke heard it loud and clear. “I shouldn’t have listened to Eli! I should never have come back here!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t have!” Brooke said. And before Elvis could sing another note she stalked to the record player and clicked it off, the needle skipping over the old grooves with an earsplitting shriek.

“You’re horrible!” Leah said and left the room, stomping quickly up the stairs and down the short hallway. A second later a door slammed so hard it shook the entire house.

“And Merry Christmas to you too!” Brooke flung the towel and broken glass into the kitchen sink as Eli took off after his fiancée, his boots ringing on the stairs.

“Christ, Brooke,” Neal said. “Can’t you ever give Leah a break?”

“Yes. Yes, I can. When she gives me one! What kind of stunt is she pulling, huh? Springing a surprise fiancé on us whom she intends to marry right here, on our vacation. A guy we’ve never heard of, let alone met! Who does that?” she demanded.

“Maybe someone who wants to be a part of the family again.”

Stunned, she stared at him, this man she’d married years before and sometimes didn’t think she knew. “Why do you always do that?” she demanded, thinking of the way Leah had goaded him. “Why do you feel some inner need to defend her?”

“Maybe because she needs a champion.”

“She’s got Gid—Eli! He can be her champion!”

“What’s going on?” Marilee called from the top of the stairs before quick, light steps could be heard and she and Shep came into the living room, where Brooke was still picking up pieces of glass. “Wait, don’t tell me!” She held up a hand for dramatic effect. “Mom and Aunt Leah are fighting. Again.”

“That’s about it,” Neal said. “Look, I’m out of it.” He held up his hands and walked backward toward his makeshift office. “This is between your mother and her sister.” Then he closed the heavy pocket door to the laundry room, a door rarely used.

“As if you aren’t in the middle of it,” Brooke yelled, and Marilee sent Brooke an I-can’t-stand-this look.