Page 47 of Bordeaux Bombshell
Mother. Fucker.
She fuckingplannedthis.
And for some reason, knowing she came here last night with every intention of leaving me again doesn’t make me angry.
It makes me sad. The tiny flame of hope that had been steadily building stronger in my heart flickers out with a whimper.
A real, out-loud whimper that I can’t hold back as I reach for the damned envelope. The one I equally do and don’t want to read.
Nate,
It’s my turn to walk away and build something new for myself, like I should have all those years ago. Shame on me for waiting so long, even when there was no hope. You were my first everything. My first crush. My first love. My first kiss. My first lover. I always thought we were destined by the stars.
Go figure that the one time I have a sappy, romantic notion, I fuck it all up.
I think the stars must have gotten it wrong, though, because destiny shouldn’t hurt this much. We hurt each other as much as we help each other, and I don’t think I can balance the scales anymore.
I’m leaving this afternoon to stay at Lauren and Alfie’s place in Boston. You ran away across the Atlantic—I’m not going quite as far, but I’m hoping it will be far enough. I’ll be back for the wedding. After that, who knows?
What Idoknow is that I need to do it for myself and get away from here. Everywhere I look at Sunshine reminds me of you, of us. If I’m ever going to learn how to stop being angry, I need to start over somewhere fresh.
I thought about leaving without telling you why, but that would be hurting you the same way you hurt me all those years ago. It was so tempting—my soul screamed at me to make you feel the same pain I felt—but that would defeat the purpose of me going. I’m not saying that to prove anything or make you feel bad, only that I needed you to know.
Be happy,
Sydney
There’s a postscript in a different pen, scribbled into the space below her name:
PS Thank you for telling me the truth about Manon. I think the memory of what I saw will always hurt, but I am choosing to let it go for my own sanity. Please don’t feel guilty for my sake.
Collapsing back on the bed, I fight to control my breathing as a cacophony of emotions rattles through me. I’ve lost her, but for all the best reasons.
Bone-deep grief overwhelms me in the end, and I bury myself in the sheets that still smell like her, letting the wave of anguish out through tears I don’t bother to check.
I could stop her. I could go to her house right now and convince her to stay.
But I won’t. Escaping this place, even though I did it because I was a coward, was the best thing for me. It gave me a chance to taste a different kind of life. And even though I came back reluctantly, I know now that this is the life I’m choosing.
I’m choosing to stay at Sunshine for as long as Sutton will let me. The plans I made? There’s no reason I can’t still make some of them come true—the ones to do with the vineyard, at any rate. As much as I didn’t want to hear it, Sophie and Theo really do want my home to thrive. Just because it’s not my name on the bottle anymore, doesn’t mean the legacy isn’t still there.
So I won’t fight her leaving. For now. I won’t play dirty and use my lips and fingers to distract her from her anger instead of doing my best to earn her forgiveness.
But I have six weeks until the wedding to show her what kind of life there is for her here if she wants it. I can only hope it’s enough.
Nate
Theglassdoubledoorsof the Mailbox, Inc., building swing silently shut behind me. The lobby is bright and open, with a large double desk in the center, blocking access to the elevator.
A pair of women sit behind it, a brunette on the phone and one with bright blue hair, typing at the computer beside her. The blue-haired one looks up after I clear my throat, her eyes dropping to my shoes and back up, appraising me. Suddenly, my jeans and flannel feel very out of place, even if I made sure everything was clean when I got dressed this morning.
“Can I help you?” She tips her head to the side, watching me, clicking without looking at the screen.
I clear my throat again. “I’m here to see Theo.”
Her eyebrows shoot up at the name.
“Uh, Mr. Sutton, I mean.”
