Page 153 of Enthrall
There was nothing but an aching, a wrenching, making me fear I might disappear inside it. I pulled my hand out of his. “Do that thing.”
“Mia,” soothed Cameron.
“Do it.” I begged. “Please, just do it.”
“Cameron,” said Richard. “Help her.”
Cameron gave a consolatory glance my way.
Richard wrapped his arms around my seat and around my shoulders, grabbing my arms into my body, his hands gripping my wrists, holding me pressed back.
“Hush...” soothed Richard.
Cameron’s hand rested on my inner thigh just as he’d touched me in Chez Polidor. His ironclad grip tightening, bringing with it a blinding pain, more than what he’d delivered in the restaurant, and a moan tore from me. Yet held firm in Richard’s grip, I couldn’t move.
The only place to go, forcing me within.
To surrender...
Immersed in stillness, the heaviness in my heart lifted, swept downwards toward my thigh, burning brightly in a ball of pain and light. I squeezed my eyes shut as this absolute agony released me.
Cameron’s hand lifted and he eased down my skirt, returning his grip to the wheel. “Better?”
My breathing settled. “Better.”
“We get to spoil you,” said Richard, letting go and leaning back once more in his seat. “That’s non-negotiable.”
Cameron navigated the car away from the curb and back onto the road, pressing his foot on the gas and picking up speed. Calmness descended as all pain dissipated, the ache in my heart gone. I shot Cameron a look and he gave a nod of acknowledgment; he knew.
I breathed in a deep cleansing breath. “Thank you.”
As we picked up speed, I allowed the breeze to blow wisps of hair across my face and into my eyes. I let go.
Windswept.
THE BARDESSONO with its five star everything was the classiest hotel I’d ever stayed in. Cameron’s decision that we should book rooms in Yountville had found us here. He told us that sleeping on today’s events in order to make the right decision was crucial. So we ‘regrouped’ surrounded by all this rustic luxury, not far from my father’s vineyard.
The view from our dinner table was breathtaking. Stretching out beyond our private restaurant balcony was a spectacular vista of the sprawling wineries that were enveloped by lush greenery as far as the eye could see. This was the place that had helped my father forget me.
The table was elegantly set with gold-rimmed plates, polished silverware, and a pristine white tablecloth that I was terrified I’d spill something on. The Chardonnay we drank had apparently won all kinds of awards, including a top one in France, which apparently was a big deal.
Not that I cared.
A ball of grief was stuck in my throat. I’d hardly touched my creamy carrot soup that Cameron had ordered for me. He knew my appetite was dulled and this was all I’d be able to manage. I hadn’t touched my bread roll.
I just wanted to go home.
“I’m going to burn it,” I murmured.
“What’s that, Mia?” asked Richard, his brow furrowed.
“The baseball card,” I whispered.
Richard looked across the table at Cameron. Both he and Lotte had paused mid-bite, their hands elegantly poised on their silverware. I’d watched them eat. They held their knives and forks so gracefully. Same with the way they’d sipped their water, along with that award-winning wine, dapping their mouths oh so elegantly with those starched white napkins.
“I’ve been holding mine wrong,” I said, gesturing with my spoon to Richard’s knife and fork.
“Come here.” Richard pulled me up and onto his lap. “No one cares about that crap. We love you. We just want you to be okay.”
