Page 45 of Bordeaux Bombshell
He returns with a warm washcloth, which I take from him to clean up. By the time I finish cleaning up and make a quick trip to the bathroom, he’s under the covers, holding the blanket open in invitation.
“Come on, Hellcat. We need to talk about it.” His words are tough, but the tone is light, like he’s suddenly ten years younger.
I slide under the flannel sheets, sweat popping up on my upper lip. Whether it’s from the guilt, the horizontal exercise, or the heat radiating off Nate, I don’t stop to analyze. Instead, I curl against his chest, tucking my hands under my chin and staring at the faint scar on his pec.
“So…Manon’s son. Why?”
I knew he would ask. I just don’t want to answer.
But I owe him at least this much.
I must take too long to speak, though, because he squeezes my hip and asks again. “What did Manon say to you yesterday? Why are you so dead set against her?”
It pours out of me in a rush. “She was goading me, okay? There was a quiz about how well you know the groom, and she started answering the questions about you instead of Kel. Like she was trying to prove she knew you best. And I was not the bigger person, so I also started answering about you too.”
Let him think all I am is jealous. Better that he thinks I’m upset over an ex-girlfriend than the fact that I lost my mind thinking he had not only abandoned the life we’d planned but had the audacity to go recreate it in France with her, only to walk away from it again like an arrogant prick.
And the whole time, I’d had nothing but a few lousy boyfriends and carpal tunnel from swiping left.
“I’m still not connecting the dots, babe. Why did you think I would abandon my own kid?” He squeezes my hip again. “I want to be pissed. Ishouldbe pissed that you could think that of me after everything.”
“Nate—”
He cuts me off with a kiss to the forehead. “Honestly? I’m so happy to have you actually talking to me that it’s really hard to be angry right now.”
He will be tomorrow.
I cut him off this time. “I kind of lost it when she shared about the time you guys dumped me in the barrel and I thought it was the wood chipper. Likeyou’dtold her about what a—what a baby I was.”
He chuckles, shaking the bed. “Gabriel also ruined several casks of wine by climbing into them or dropping things in them. I’m pretty sure I told them both that story after he dropped a couple of frogs into a cask of cabernet when he was four.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes, and I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking about. Is he thinking about our childhood? Or Gabriel’s? My postcoital bliss is quickly being replaced by tension as his breathing slows and his grip on me slackens. If I’m going to go through with my plan, tonight is the perfect time to get some answers.
As he exhales softly against my ear, the question I’ve kept a secret for all these years tumbles out of my mouth before I can bite it back. “How long did you wait to sleep with her after you left me?”
Nate grunts and pulls me tight against him with a sleepy “What?”
But now that I’ve finally asked the question that’s been eating away at my soul, I can’t bear to lie here. To be vulnerable and naked against his body. I push him away and sit up, sliding until my back hits the headboard, the sheets crunched in my fists in a vain attempt to protect myself.
Maybe I don’t want to know after all. Maybe I should just forgive and forget about him, like everyone’s encouraged me to. No. I can’t. I need to know.
“I saw you with her. How long did you wait to fuck Manon? Were you already fucking her when you came home and promised me everything?” I hate the waver in my voice and the tears gathering in the corners of my eyes. He doesn’t deserve them, not for this.
Nate scrambles to sit, facing me in a tangle of sheets and limbs. When his leg brushes against mine, I flinch, and the confusion on his face shatters into a pained wince. “What are you talking about, Sydney? I told you it wasn’t like—”
“Don’t lie to me. Isawyou with her.”
His brows furrow, like he’s trying to remember seeing us together. “When? Today?”
I grab the pillow beside me and throw it at him. “No, you idiot. In France. I saw you two together in Bordeaux, looking very cozy.” Pulling the sheet tighter to my chest, I look away, studying the wall while I wait for him to react.
Instead of the aggrieved questions I expected, there’s only silence. I risk a peek and find Nate staring at me, open-mouthed. The pillow I threw is clutched in his hands, his shoulders up around his ears.
“When were you in France?” he manages to say after opening and closing his mouth several times.
“After your dad sold the Ridge and you left. I waited a month, but I couldn’t stand it here. You were all anyone could talk about, and I was slowly dying inside.” I keep my focus away from the man who I’m not sure I can ever forgive but can’t stand to let go. My voice drops lower, my knees drawing up into my chest. “I thought maybe I could convince you to come back. That everything didn’t have to be over.”
A hand lands on my knee—rough, warm, familiar. But I don’t look up. I can’t.
