Page 15 of Entwined
Easton must have sensed the shift, because he quickly changed the subject. "Did you eat?"
The mere thought of food sent a wave of nausea crashing through me, gnawing at my insides. "I don't eat much these days."
"You've lost weight since my father got sick," he noted, his tone laced with worry.
"I know," I admitted, feeling the hollowness in my bones. "And I suspect it'll be more after I lose Colson."
To my surprise, Easton leaned in, pulling me into a tight hug. His sudden warmth made my breath catch, and when he pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek, I felt tears sting my eyes.
"Promise me you won’t leave," he said, his voice rough with emotion.
"Leave?" I echoed, confused.
"You have no reason to be here after my father dies. You can do anything you want. I don’t want you to go."
His words sank deep, and I could see the fear in his eyes—fear of being left alone, of losing not just his father, but me too.
"I promise," I said, my voice wavering. "I’ll stay here for a little while."
But as I spoke, doubts crowded my mind. Staying here, in this house filled with memories and ghosts, was suffocating. And then there was Vaughn. I knew he was waiting, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the right moment to end his engagement and pursue me.
Once Colson was gone, I doubted Vaughn would give me much time to grieve before he made his intentions clear. Would he be respectful, or would his desperation to satisfy his own needs override everything else?
I shuddered, pulling away from Easton, the weight of everything pressing down on me again. "I'll stay," I repeated, more to convince myself than him. But in the back of my mind, I couldn't shake the feeling that Vaughn was just biding his time, and when the moment came, I would be forced to make choices I wasn’t ready to face.
Chapter 7
It was a bitterly cold day in March when we buried Colson. The wind cut through my coat as I stood by his graveside, feeling the chill seep into my bones. After everyone else had left, I remained, staring at the fresh mound of earth that marked his final resting place. The silence was deafening, broken only by the rustle of the trees as they swayed in the wind. I wanted to talk to him one last time.
“I miss you,” I whispered, my voice trembling with emotion. “Even after some of the horrible things you did to me. But that man... that man slowly began to disappear, and I wonder what you would’ve been had you lived.”
I paused, my breath hitching as tears welled up in my eyes. I wiped them away with the handkerchief clutched in my hand, my fingers tracing the embroidered initials—C.A. I looked up, feeling a pair of eyes on me, and saw my brother, Logan, standing by the limo. He was watching me, concern etched on his face.
“Colson,” I continued, my voice breaking. “I want to thank you for telling me the truth. And I’m sorry for keeping my truth fromyou. I won’t have the baby we created, and I feel guilty for not telling you. But I refused to burden you when you were already burdened with so much. I love you.”
The tears I’d been holding back burst forth, and I pressed the handkerchief to my face, my shoulders shaking with sobs. The grief I’d been suppressing for so long finally overwhelmed me, and I felt as if I were drowning in it.
A minute later, I felt Logan’s presence beside me. He slipped his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into a tight embrace. His warmth was a stark contrast to the coldness that surrounded us, and I clung to him, desperate for comfort.
“Come on, Joey,” he murmured, his voice gentle yet firm. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get you home.”
Home. The word echoed in my mind, hollow and meaningless. The Ashworth mansion would cease to be my home once the will was read. I was sure Vaughn would be the new owner, and the thought of living under his rule was unbearable. According to what I had managed to glean, Colson had left me more than I deserved. But no amount of money or property could fill the void he’d left behind. All I wanted was to escape, to start a new life away from Windmere Haven.
Logan helped me to my feet, guiding me to the limo. I felt numb as he helped me inside, my body moving on autopilot. My parents were waiting for me, their faces etched with worry as they tried to comfort me on the drive back to the mansion. I barely registered their words, lost in my own world of pain and regret.
When we arrived, the driveway was lined with expensive cars, a stark reminder of the life I’d been a part of. They were here tocelebrate the life of my husband, but I didn’t feel like celebrating. The very thought of it made me feel sick. All I wanted was to crawl into bed, to hide under the covers and pretend that this was all some terrible nightmare. Maybe if I wished hard enough, I would wake up and find Colson beside me, his hand resting on my stomach, feeling the life we’d created together.
But I knew that wasn’t possible. I knew that Colson was gone, and so was our baby. And no matter how hard I tried to escape it, the reality of it all would follow me wherever I went.
The ballroom was a blur of faces, some familiar, most not. I moved through the crowd, accepting condolences with a nod or a forced smile. Colson’s associates and friends, people I’d barely known or exchanged more than a few words with, offered their sympathies in hushed tones.
Their words, though well-intentioned, felt empty. They didn’t know the man I had known—his complexities, his flaws, his moments of vulnerability. They knew only the facade he showed the world, the powerful businessman, the commanding presence. But that was just one side of Colson.
I spotted my parents, standing together near the wide French doors. My mother caught my eye and gave me a sad smile, while my father, usually so stoic, looked genuinely mournful. They had always admired Colson, respected him even. Their expressions mirrored the loss I felt but couldn’t fully express. And now that I knew of their history with my husband, it had deeper meaning than just the loss of their daughter’s spouse.
As I moved past them, I found Easton standing by the fireplace, a drink clutched in his hand. He looked devastated, his face drawn and pale, eyes red-rimmed from holding back tears. Simone was beside him, her usual haughty demeanor softened by grief. She reached out, placing a hand on Easton’s arm, but he didn’t seem to notice. He was lost in his own world, consumed by the loss of his father.
I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked over to them. “How are you holding up?” I asked quietly.
