Page 21 of Whiskey Lies

My designer kitchen taunts me like I knew that it would. The beautiful white cabinets and shiny gold hardware are picture-perfect on the outside. But if you open the cabinets, you wouldn’t even find a box of old pasta. I’d spent months designing this spot, and we never even had a home-cooked meal here. Of course, there would be beautiful pots and pans, and gorgeous dishes which had matching serving platters, but I was never home at night to enjoy them.

I really had abandoned my husband. Or at least our marriage. We’d both been more interested in work then trying to make it work.

Why are these thoughts running through my head now? Is this what happens when you end your marriage? You take stock of everything you did wrong. Maybe so you don’t do it again.

I hope one day I meet a man that I can look back and appreciate these lessons for, but right now it just feels more like an autopsy of my life. Not something I particularly want to look too closely at.

Seeing all my flaws as a wife—my flaws as a woman and a partner—almost makes me understand why Steven fell for someone else. And right now, I’m so angry at him for putting me in this position, and I just want to focus on my anger. Because of him, not only am I losing all of these dreams but now I’m losing the possibility of making them with someone else. Someone who maybe could have been the silver lining.

Foolish Grace. You barely know him. It probably wouldn’t have worked out with Cash anyway. It was just sex. Hot, amazing sex.

As I walk up the stairs to my bedroom, my fingers trace the wall. I can’t stop touching everything that I see, as if committing it all to memory. I suppose I’m trying to say goodbye. It’s as if my body has already made the decision that my mind hadn’t quite reached—I’m going to let Steven buy me out of the house. I can’t live here. I can’t live within my memories. I need a fresh start.

Sliding my cell phone out of my pocket, I dial Marion. She picks up on the first ring.

“Hi Sweets, is everything alright?” Just the sound of her smooth voice makes me feel like I’ve sat down with a cup of tea and a warm blanket. That’s what she’s always been to me. My safe place. When I was a teenager and had to get away from my mother. As I got older andhad no idea what to do for a career. Even now as an almost divorcée, she’s once again my safe haven and she doesn’t even know it.

I plop myself onto my bed and curl up under the covers as I speak. “Yes. I was just wondering if you would mind if I stayed at the condo for the next few weeks. With all the work to find Mr. James his match, I’m going to be out late every night, and Steven doesn’t want me driving back and forth.”

The lie stings but the truth would be so much more painful to admit. My marriage is over. The matchmaker couldn’t even pick her own match. It’s pathetic. And certainly not a story befitting the future owner of her company.

Marion hums into the phone as she pours herself a glass of wine. I know this because I hear the tell-tale sign of the glass being set down on the counter, the cork being removed, and the glug, glug, glugging as it fills her glass. “Of course you can. Use your key and feel free to stay as long as you like. Asher made me promise that I wouldn’t stay in the city past three every day, so you’ll definitely have more on your plate with this client. I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”

I pull the covers up to my face, creating a faux pillow that props up my chin and comforts me in a way nothing else will. “That’s okay. You’ve earned this. You can count on me.”

“I know that, Sweets. That’s why I want to leave the company to you. I know you can handle it and I know you will flourish. Like me, you have it. You can spot the couples; you can create your own happily ever after. I’m proud of you, Grace. You’ve worked very hard for this.”

The tears burn the back of my eyes, and I swallow my sorrow.

Proud.

There’s nothing to be proud of. I don’t deserve her pride, nor do I deserve her trust. But like the parent she’s always been to me, she gives it anyway. For that I’m grateful. And because of that I will work ten times harder to make her proud, even if it kills me to do it. I will find Cash a wife, and they will be so well-matched that Marion will know without a doubt that she left the company in the right hands.

“Thanks, Mare.” I smile into the phone at my nickname for her. No one calls her anything but Marion. Not even Asher. Although, maybe at home he calls her something like darling.

Marion clears her throat. “Is everything alright, Sweets? You know you can tell me anything.”

I wipe a stray tear from my face. “I think I’m just a little tired from all the travel. Who knew taking a fancy vacation could be so draining?” I try joking.

“Of course. I’ll see you in the office tomorrow. Have a good night.”

I let the phone slide from my fingers without even hitting end. Closing my eyes, I inhale the smell of my bed, relishing in the feel of the sheets below my fingers, and the memories that all of it conjures. I know without a doubt this will be the last time I sit in this exact spot. I don’t even want to bring my pillow which I’ve carted with me everywhere I’ve gone for the last some odd years. I had a strange attachment to that thing—it was perfectly soft and firm at the same time, and I slept like crap on anything else.

Other than when I slept with Cash.

Huffing out a breath, I try to forget how it felt to be in his arms. To be held by someone who I could feel radiated a warmth for me. It wasn’t love. Obviously, that would have been too soon. But it was just the way that he held me, the way he looked at me, that I could tell he cared. He warmed me from within without even saying a word.

“Stop, Grace. You’re a grown woman and you don’t have time to think about this anymore.” I hope that by saying the words out loud I can actually make my mind understand. Cash is off-limits. Feeling bad for myself is pointless. And crying is not allowed.

I take one last inhale of my old life, throw the covers off my legs, and twist them off the bed. It’s time to pack.

An hour later and three suitcases full, I really regret the fact that I can’t at least have a glass of wine while I pack up the last eight years of my life. What was I thinking driving here? I should have arranged a car service.

After putting the last of my can’t live without things into the car, I look around the house and breathe in a silent goodbye. When I turn to the door, I regretfully notice that the doorknob is turning.

Steven is home.

Fuck.

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