Page 34 of Bordeaux Bombshell
“Figures she’d try to steal Maggie’s thunder.”
“…attention seeking.”
A hand touches my shoulder, and I freeze. “Come on, bathroom’s this way.”
I follow Emma as she leads me away from the crowd.
“Are you okay?” She hauls the restroom door open, propelling me inside.
I catch myself against the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. My stomach lurches again. “I think I’m going to throw up.”
“Don’t let me stop you.” She pushes me into a stall, and I immediately start retching.
She has a son.
Who looks an awful lot like Nate.
But how could he have just left them? Has he really changed that much since I knew him?
I’ve been calling him an asshole, accusing him of abandoning me and our families. But deep in my heart, I didn’t actually believe it.
I still believed he wasmyNate. The boy who used to let me have the biggest slice of cake at our birthday parties. The man who diligently played my wingman in college—even when I was doing my best to make him jealous. Kel’s best friend. My soulmate.
But my Nate wouldn’t abandon his kid. Wouldn’t leave the mother of his child to raise him alone. He’d have brought them to the Ridge, shown off the legacy he was so proud of.
Except he doesn’t have a legacy anymore, does he?
“I have gum, if you want,” Emma calls over the top of the stall. “You wanna talk about it?”
I spit a few times for good measure, knees shaking and stomach empty. “Damn. What a waste of really good scones.” My voice is weak, even to me, but Emma doesn’t comment as I emerge.
Cold sweat still prickles the back of my neck, the face-framing strands of hair I painstakingly styled this morning limp and plastered to my temples. Washing my hands, I take stock of the damage. My lipstick is gone, and my mascara is smeared beneath my eyes. If I saw myself on the street, I’d think I was sporting the remnants of last night’s look. Except, last night,I’d been distracting myself from thinking about Nate by doing a thorough skin care regime.
The cold water running over my wrists helps settle my stomach. As does swishing water in my mouth. “Gum would be amazing, thanks.”
Emma rummages around in the tiny purse strapped to her hips before presenting me with a stick of silver. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”
Horror fills me before I shake my head, cinnamon flavor flooding my mouth from the gum. “No, definitely not.”
“You’re sure?”
“I appreciate the concern, but I have an IUD. The last time I had sex, we definitely used a condom, and that was the day my period ended. No chance.” I don’t care if that’s too much information—reciting the list is reassuring.
Emma shrugs. “Well, that’s good, ’cause you were tossing back drinks like it was your job.”
The comment stings. She couldn’t have known that my family has been making side comments on the amount I drink for years. The thing they don’t seem to understand is that these days, they mostly see me when Nate is around. And I need the alcohol to dull the burning rage that fills me whenever I look at his face.
I finish washing my hands, taking the towel she offers. “Before you ask—no, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, I’m fine, and no, I’m not trying to ruin my sister-in-law’s shower. I’m just a messy bitch, apparently.”
Emma shrugs. “Have you met my family? We’re all a little messy.” Instead of leaving the bathroom like I expect, she pulls a tube of lipstick out of her purse and hands it over. “You probably don’t want to go back out yet.”
“That bad?” I try to joke, but I still take the offered armor.
“Did you know that my high school ex-boyfriend is my mom’s friend’s stepson?”
The change in subject stops me short, lipstick inches from my face. I look over my shoulder in the mirror. Emma is leaning against the door, hands twisting the fabric of her skirt. But her blue eyes are locked on mine in the mirror.
I blink and go back to what I was doing. “Does that mean you have to see him often?”
