Читать книгу Dressed To Slay - Harper Allen - Страница 8

It’s one of those questions that yank me back from the edge of sleep: was there any way things could have turned out differently? If Angelica Crosse had lived long enough to pass on to her daughters some of the knowledge that had been drummed into her from birth, would it have helped? Or if she hadn’t wanted so badly to give the three of us the ordinary life she’d been robbed of that she’d left instructions in her will for Grammie and Popsie to have custody of us, would that have changed anything?

Problem is, once you start playing this game, there’s no good place to stop, leaving a girl slathering on way too much Bobbi Brown concealer to hide the bags under her eyes when her alarm goes off in the morning. Or in my case, simply resigning myself to the possibility of needing my first mini-facelift before I hit the ripe old age of twenty-two. If Katherine and Natashya and I hadn’t been triplets. If we hadn’t gotten engaged when we did. If Grammie and Popsie hadn’t raised us to be indulged, shop-till-we-drop princesses, if—

As I say, no good place to stop; and on those nights, when all this is going through my head and making it impossible for me to get back to sleep, I get the sinking feeling that everything that did happen probably would have happened anyway. Lance and Todd and Dean still would have gone to Dean’s stag party, the stripper who called herself Zena still would have shown up, and our cheating jerks of fiancés still would have said yes to getting down-and-dirty lap dances from her.

Which all added up to Kat and Tash and yours truly, Megan, being totally unprepared when the men we were supposed to walk down the aisle with turned into undead creeps and tried to kill us.

As Tash says, don’t you just hate when that happens?