Page 80 of Every Promise Broken

Closing the distance, Conrad gestures toward the table. “Sit.” Pulling out the chair for me, he adds, “I’ve prepared a dinner for us.”

32

Conrad Strauss

Whit looks like he’s seen a ghost as he lowers himself onto the chair. He’s white knuckling the letter in his hand, and his face is red and wet from his tears. He’s devastatingly beautiful, and all I want is to wrap him up in my arms and wipe his tears away, but I can’t do that yet.

My heart hammers, my nerves shot as I’ve prepared for this moment all day. To be honest, there was a large part of me that wondered if Whit would even show up at all. He said he would, but I wouldn’t have blamed him if he decided to back out.

“What is all of this?” he asks cautiously as I take the seat across from him. His hands are in his lap, and his eyes are wide and red-rimmed as they watch me.

“I wanted to eat dinner with you while we talk,” I say, my eyes on his. “While I talk and tell you how sorry I am.”

Whit’s lips part like he may say something, but he slams them shut just as fast. Before he has a chance to try again, I hear the barn doors creak open. We both turn our heads, watching quietly as my nana strolls into the office, a ridiculous aproncovered in dachshunds wrapped around her waist and a bucket in her arms filled with ice and a bottle of wine.

She smiles when she spots Whit, but he turns back toward me, confusion passing through his eyes.

“What on earth is going on right now?”

“Welcome to Chateau Strauss,” she greets, coming to a stop in front of the table. I grit my teeth, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger as Whit looks between the two of us. “Would you like a glass of champagne, dear?”

“Uh, sure,” he mumbles before asking again, “What is going on?”

“We are your servers tonight, honey,” she says with a smile. “A lovely dinner was prepared for the two of you, so just sit back, enjoy your wine, and talk amongst yourselves while we finish getting everything ready.”

Whit drags his gaze over to me. “We? Who is we?”

“Me and Nana, of course.” Whit turns around as Shooter strolls into the office, his typical cocky smirk on his face, and a matching apron around his waist. I heave a sigh, still unable to believe they talked me into this. This is ridiculous.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Whit asks.

“Keep up, buttercup,” Shooter quips. “Nana already told you, we’re here to serve you two while you have a nice, candlelit dinner and talk.”

Whit’s stiff as he looks between the three of us before settling on me, the questions clear in his gaze. “I’m sorry,” I breathe out. “They cornered me and talked me into this. It was just supposed to be a dinner I made.”

Surprising me, Whit lets out a small chuckle before he takes a sip from his drink. “You’re getting soft with your old age,” he murmurs, humor lighting up his eyes as they search mine. I breathe out a sigh of relief that he’s not freaked out or pissed.

“We’ll leave you two to it,” Nana says, patting Whit on the back. “Dinner will be out in about ten minutes.”

Shooter and Nana shuffle out, and then we’re left alone. I’ve spent all week thinking about how tonight would go. I’ve rehearsed what I wanted to say ad nauseam, and now that he’s here, it’s like every thought I had is gone. I’m blanking and my nerves are getting the best of me.

Whit sets the letter on top of the table. “Why didn’t you ever give this to me?”

Holding his gaze, I reply honestly. “Because I didn’t deserve you,” I murmur. “I hurt you, and you had every right to leave. I didn’t fight for you when I should’ve, and when you left, I knew I didn’t deserve to fight for you back then.”

His eyes fill with moisture all over again as he chews on the inside of his cheek. The silence between us is deafening.

“I wish you would’ve,” he finally says, his voice filled with emotion. “It’s all I ever wanted, Conrad. For you to fight for me. For us. But you never did. You just let me go. You gave up on us.”

“I never gave up on us,” I say with conviction. “I never gave up on you. I gave up on myself. I lost myself, and it’s no excuse. But I never, ever gave up on us. I have never stopped loving you, Whit.”

A tear falls down his cheek that he doesn’t bother wiping away as he holds my gaze. His bottom lip quivers. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Know where his head is at.

“In the letter, you said you’d come for me. You never did. Why?”

I give myself a minute, breathing in, then out, trying to steady my erratic heartbeat. “The year after our divorce was a dark time. I was lost and angry with the world, but mostly at myself for losing you. I ended up seeing somebody.” I clear my throat, admitting this feeling uncomfortable. “A therapist.”

His eyes widen. “You did?”

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