Page 105 of That Time We Kissed Under the Mistletoe
“So … he ended up hurting you.”
I blow out a long breath. “Yes.”
“Hmm. I’m sensing abutin there.”
“Yes, Three hurt me,” I say. “But that was a long time ago. We’re different people now, in important ways that probably couldn’t have happened if we’d stayed together.”
“I hate to ask, but what if your parents still don’t approve of you being with Three?”
I stare out at the road, knowing that possibility grows closer with every mile. “They’ll just have to get over it,” I say. “I’m an adult now, and so are they. We all have to make our own choices. Follow our own paths. I can’t be in charge of my mom and dad’s happiness anymore.”
“Atta girl!” Bristol offers me a hoot of support. “When I told you to trust yourself, you really took that to heart, huh? And I’mreallydigging this new, independent Sara. Like, truly, madly, deeply. But I’m going to play devil’s advocate here for a minute, okay?”
“Okay.”
“What if your dad holds the position at Hathaway Cooke over your head?” She takes a beat. “If your parents were prepared to hit you with an ultimatum last time, couldn’t your dad threaten to tell the partners not to make you an associate now?”
“He could,” I say, “but this timeIhave the advantage.”
“How?” Bristol asks. “He’s still the managing partner. And you’ve put a whole other decade toward your goal. Aren’t you in a worse position?”
“I don’t think so.” My mind flashes back to all those summers I spent in Abieville, to the hope I felt, but also the uncertainty. “I know what I want in a way I didn’t before,” I say. “And it’s not just to blindly follow in my dad’s footsteps.” My heart swells withthe truth of the words. “Ten years ago, I put my heart on the line for Three. But I didn’t know who I wanted to be yet. And I sure didn’t know what love was.”
“And now you do?” Bristol asks.
“Yes.” I smile to myself. “And even better, so does Three.”
Chapter Fifty
Three
Here’s the thing: you haven’t felt real, pound-your-fist frustration until the love of your life is three hours away, and in a position to—quite literally—decide NOT to come back to you. Ever. Or maybe this is a totally common occurrence in life, andeverybody’sfelt this frustration.
What do I know?
Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure annoying stuff like this happens all the time inBridgerton. Thanks to Nella, I’ve seen enough of that show to know those dudes suffer for love. And they don’t get to wear joggers and a hoodie while they’re doing it.
Still.
It’s Christmas Eve, and Sara’s probably at the Windsor Club by now. She could be talking to her parents right this minute, about her future, about us. But I can only guess what’s going on, because I—probably shortsightedly—asked her not to call or text tonight.
I figured she should focuson the gala. The fundraiser part,andher folks. So I encouraged her not to think about me at all. I may not be a duke, but I am chivalrous.
In fact, if it weren’t for this stupid concussion, I would’ve insisted on going to the city with her. Then I’d be there by her side, holding her hand, offering my support. No matter what.
Instead, this chivalrous guy is stuck back in Abieville feeling … helpless. I’m dying to know what’s happening. I’m dying to defend her. But I won’t blow up her phone asking for updates.
Ididalmost call her dad, though.
As it turns out, a man who manages a high-profile law firm and runs an annual charity event at the Windsor is not all that hard to reach. Or maybe I was justthatconvincing when I spoke to the answering service taking calls on Christmas Eve. Either way, I had Charles Hathaway’s number, and I was all set to contact him when it hit me.
If I jumped in and talked to Sara’s dad first, I’d be taking away all her agency. Stealing her power before she has the chance to take control. Not to mention, I kind of need her towantto be with me, not end up with me because I burned some catastrophic bridge tonight, leaving her no other option.
So I’m back to pacing, but I’d rather do that over at the lake house. Which is why I’m going over there again.
What can I say? I miss Sara. I miss our Christmas tree. I miss Henry. I might even visit the flamingoes in the storage room when I get there. But don’t worry. I’m not going to drive myself. I know the rules, and I don’t want to poke the bear that is Sara Hathaway when she’s playing nursemaid.
So I reached out to Carver Townsend instead.
