Page 39 of Bordeaux Bombshell
Jackie takes the broccoli I finished chopping and throws it in a steamer basket. “Maggie’s bridal shower, remember? Honestly, Greg. I’m going to take you in for dementia testing one of these days.” She gives me a knowing look over her shoulder—as if female solidarity over forgetful men is something that happens between us on the daily.
Maybe forgetting conversations and promises made in the afterglow of sex runs in the family. The second the thought occurs to me, I shove it away. Gross. I do not want to think of Greg, Jackie, and sex in the same sentence ever again.
Greg waves off her comment with a chuckle. “Right, right. As long as I don’t forget your birthday or our anniversary, I think we can put it off.”
“My parents married on my mother’s birthday so my father only had one date to remember. Or forget.” Of course Manon had to have something witty to contribute to the conversation. Then she laughs, and it makes me want to scream.
This is why I wanted to get in and out without being seen. I know she’s staying in the spare cabin, but I thought I could sneak into Nate’s while she was busy with Greg.
I did not anticipate Jackie catching me as I was attempting to pick his lock. She didn’t say anything, but her grip on my arm was firm enough to signal I wasn’t getting out of joining them fordinner. She’d handed me a head of broccoli and a knife while she texted Greg, and I knew a showdown was inevitable.
But that doesn’t mean I’m here to play nice. “Seems like forgetting things runs in the family.”
Jackie points to the cupboard housing the plates, and I obediently pull out five. As I turn to set them on the table, I catch Nate regarding me, his eyebrows drawn and arms crossed over his chest.
“Like shutting down and refusing to talk runs in yours?”
“I’m talking right now, aren’t I?”
“Are you? Or are you—”
“Food’s ready,” Jackie announces, cutting us off. “Go wash your hands, and then we’ll eat.”
I finish setting the table while the others wash up, then grab the bowl of steamed broccoli to bring it to the table.
Greg and Manon dominate the conversation during dinner, trading stories about blind tasting tests and unruly customers. Jackie interjects occasionally, while Nate and I stare each other down.
When she found me outside, Jackie seemed to think I was taking her advice to let bygones be bygones, and I didn’t correct her. I suppose getting revenge and burying the hatchet are pretty much the same thing, right?
Every time she adds something to the conversation, she looks back and forth between us, her eyes sparkling. Guilt eats at my stomach, making it hard to choke down the chicken and potatoes on my plate, but I do.
Someone has to teach Nate a lesson. Show him how it felt for the rest of us—me—when he took off. He deserves to feel the same pain we all lived with. I’ve spent the last several years holding together the gaping hole in my heart through sheer stubbornness, waiting for the boiling anger inside me to fade, but it hasn’t.
Instead, I’ve watched everyone tiptoe aroundhis, as if he has a right to it. One by one, they’ve forgiven him, accepted him, let him worm his way back into their lives. Everyone but me. I’m the only one who’s stayed strong, who’s kept him at the distance he deserves.
Last week, I was weak—tired from years of holding the line alone. I let that tofu-flavored asshole at the bar rile me up, and Nate took advantage of the momentary lapse. There’s no other explanation for why I let him into my pants. I was horny and mad. Nothing more.
But I’m going to use that motivation to make him pay for his mistake. And the ammunition Manon handed me at the shower yesterday is going to rip open the secrets he’s been keeping.
Everyone else may have forgiven him, but I refuse. And tonight, I’m going to prove that I was right.
“Were you surprised when Nate decided to stay here in Oregon, Manon?” I interrupt her story, unable to contain myself any longer.
She blinks and takes a sip of water. “Non. Obviously, Greg’s accident was unexpected, but I always thought he would go back to his family one day.”
“Hmm, that’s not the impression we had.” I lean back in my seat, drumming my fingers on the edge of the table. “In fact, I remember him giving us all the impression he was gone for good. That he’d started anew lifein France and was done with us all.”
Jackie sucks in a breath and lays a hand on my shoulder. “Sydney, honey, maybe this isn’t—”
“No, she’s right, Mom. I wasn’t planning on coming back.” Nate’s eyes meet mine, refusing to let me go. “When you sold the Ridge, I didn’t see what there was for me to come back for. What was the point in holding out hope for a place that was no longer ours?”
For a second, his jaw tightens with anger, before softening with something I might call regret if I was feeling generous. But I’m not, so I glare right back, steeling myself to say everything I’ve planned, to hell with the consequences.
“You know, Kel told me there was a woman with you when he called to tell you about Greg’s fall. I did the math—it was two in the morning in France when he called.” I snap my eyes to Manon. “Was it you?”
Her pointed chin lifts a fraction. “Oui.”
Greg and Jackie go still, the food on the table forgotten as I keep pushing, ignoring the other three people in the room. My question is for Manon, but my words are aimed at Nate alone. “How long did it take before he was in your bed? Was it before he came home for his birthday or after?”
