Page 106 of The Bourbon Bet
I stand up, pacing between the bookshelves. The rain outside intensifies, mirroring the storm inside me. “He didn’t just threaten my lease. He blocked my loans, cornered me into accepting his help, all to teach Sebastian some lesson?” My voice rises with each word, anger burning through my veins.
“Thorne’s… complicated,” Daniel offers weakly.
“Complicated is a fancy word for manipulative,” I snap. The lease documents on the table now appear in a different light. Not salvation, but another chess move in a game between brothers.
I stand abruptly and run my hand along a shelf of nearby books, needing their comfort. “And Sebastian passively let it happen.”
“That’s not entirely—”
“He didn’t stop it. He didn’t talk to me,” I sigh. The anger that flared so brightly dims, replaced by something more complicated. Despite everything, I miss him. My heart still wants him.
“He couldn’t talk about it. Like you, he signed an NDA.” Daniel stands and moves to my side. “He’s been trying to make things right from the very beginning.”
“What do you mean?”
“Talk to him. Let him tell you everything.” He turns, goes to his briefcase, and zips it shut. “About the author for Tuesday, she’ll be here regardless of what you decide about Sebastian. I’ve already confirmed with her, and she’s excited about the event. Your ‘anonymous donor’ made sure of that.”
I shake my head in disbelief. “So he didn’t merely secure her, but made it ironclad?”
“He wanted to ensure you had the help you needed, no strings attached.” Daniel shrugs, a smile playing at his lips. “Like I said, supporting what matters to you.”
The rain drums against the windows, filling the silence as I consider all he’s said. My fingers absently trace the spine of a nearby book. I glance at it and laugh softly. It’s the romance novel I recommended to Sebastian months ago.
“I should hate him,” I whisper, more to myself than to Daniel.
“But you don’t.”
No, I don’t. That’s the most maddening part of all. Despite the betrayal, despite the hurt, there’s a stubborn corner of my heart that still believes in what we shared. That still misses him.
I return to my seat and pick up the lease documents. “Tell Thorne I’ll review these with my lawyer before signing anything.”
Daniel nods. Walking toward the door, he hesitates before exiting. “Sebastian has never been the villain of this story, Rosalia. He was someone who made a mistake.”
After he leaves, I’m alone with the rain and my thoughts. The shop creaks and settles around me, filled with ghosts of what was and whispers of what could be. Each book is a repository of other people’s second chances, other people’s forgiveness.
I run my fingers over the lease agreement, thinking about second chances and whether some betrayals can be forgiven. Could it be like water, eroding what was solid, or might it, given enough time, carve something unexpected and beautiful from the wreckage?
The memory of Sebastian from around the first time we met surfaces. He’d said, “Some stories don’t end where you expect them to.” This is very true of us. But is ours over?
I’m not ready to forgive. Not yet. But for the first time since walking away, I’m ready to listen.
And that’s the first page of whatever comes next.
Chapter Forty-One
Sebastian
A gentle breeze drifts through the open windows of my master sitting room, carrying the scent of bluegrass and the distant sound of horses moving through the west pasture. I drum my fingers on the arm of my favorite chair, matching its rhythm, staring at the non-interaction agreement I’d had Daniel draft after our conversation the other night. It lies open on the coffee table, untouched since I setit there.
My jaw aches from Thorne’s fist from our fight last week, but also from clenching it. Anger has been my constant companion. Some of it was directed at my brother for his endless manipulations, and the rest at myself for my damned pride and paranoia. But the strongest emotion is regret.
All I see on repeat is the way the light died in Rosalia’s eyes when she saw the contract. The disgust that replaced her warmth.
My gaze drifts back to the open windows. The horses move freely through the pasture, unburdened by the complications that seem to define every human relationship in my life.
Shifting, I scan the legal document that outlines how Thorne and I can work in the same building without crossing paths: separate meeting schedules, different reporting structures, and communication through designated liaisons only. It’s extreme, but necessary. We need something to stop this toxic cycle we’ve been trapped in for years.
I check my watch. My brother should be here any minute. Will he show up? I’m surprised he agreed to meet so readily. The old Thorne would have made excuses, deflected responsibility, or simply not shown up.
