Page 49 of Taming the Beast (Fairy Tales of New York)

“I’m afraid you’ll have to excuse me, Zel,” he said gruffly, striding over to his desk and grabbing his phone and his keys.

Her eyes widened. “Where are you going?”

“To Mercy’s apartment. To talk to her.”

“You won’t find her there.”

He stilled. Tensed. Felt a bolt of panic. “Why not? Where is she?”

“Argentina. Mendoza. Home.”

Right. OK. Fine. A slight delay but not a problem. If Mercy was in Mendoza then that was where he was going. “So I’ll take the jet,” he said, his brain racing through the logistics because now he’d realized he was crazy about her he couldn’t wait a moment longer.

“You can’t,” said Zelda. “We had to leave it in St. Petersburg.”

What? No. “Why?”

“Mechanical fault. Ty and I flew back commercial. He was pleased about that. He disapproves of the jet. We even went economy, which was novel. The food was awful and the seats were kind of snug, but actually it wasn’t that bad.”

The dreamy look of happiness on his sister’s face caught him right in the solar plexus, making his breath catch and his head swim because that was what he wanted. Happiness. Intimacy. He wanted fun. He wanted to learn how to start living again. He just wanted Mercy. So much his throat hurt.

“I love you, Zel,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

Zel looked at him, startled, then got up, her eyes watering, her smile tremulous. “I love you too, Seb,” she said, wrapping herself around him in a hug he didn’t think he’d ever tire of. “Now you go and get her, and try not to mess it up again.”

Chapter Twelve

‡

The temperature in Mendoza might be in the low thirties or the high eighties depending on whether she was feeling Argentinian or American, but Mercy, who was sitting on the verandah with her knees up, staring out across the vines that filled the land as far as the eye could see and twirling the stem of a glass filled with one of their mid-range reds, still felt as cold and numb and wretched as she had when she’d arrived nearly a week ago.

She’d been a wreck when she’d gotten on the first of the two planes she needed to take to get to Mendoza. In such bits that she’d barely even packed. The journey had passed in such a regret-filled, teary, heartbreaking blur she didn’t remember much about it. Nor did she remember her parents picking her up at the airport in Mendoza, although she did recall her mother hustling her into bed and plying her with tea – her love and support welcome rather than smothering for once.

Nothing, though, was strong enough or distracting enough to wipe out her misery and patch up her broken heart. Not the calm, concerned understanding of her parents, not her love of the vineyard, not work.

She’d heard about what had been going on in her absence and had listened to the advancing plans for the launch of rosé. She’d spent hours checking the systems and machinery she’d put in place and talking to the staff. And even more hours wandering through the vines, finding solace among the grapes and letting the heavenly warmth and scent of the soil envelop her as she thought about nothing but Seb and where she’d gone wrong.

That she had gone wrong she now had no doubt. Despite her vow not to fall into the trap of thinking she could fix him, she’d done exactly that. She’d really thought she could help him. Had really thought he’d welcome it. But, of course, he hadn’t. And why would he? He’d never asked her for help. In fact, he’d specifically warned her against trying.

So why had she done it? she asked herself for what felt like the billionth time. Had it simply been because that was the way she was? Or had she wanted to release him from his past so that he’d be free to fall in love with her?

Whatever the reason she’d been stupid. So stupid. And she deeply regretted it because it had been a mistake and now she was paying the price of that stupidity, crying into her pillow at night like some kind of pathetic teenager and sleepwalking through the days.

At least Seb didn’t know how she felt, she reminded herself, blinking back the ever present tears and taking a sip of wine. That was a blessing. She didn’t think she could bear it if he knew. The humiliation would be crucifying.

But he didn’t, and at least that would make facing him once she was back in New York that little bit easier. And unfortunately, she was going to have to face him at some point because he was now an important part of Zel’s life so he’d be around. And she wouldn’t have it any other way. Honestly she wouldn’t because Zel was so happy now. So she’d just have to suck it up and pretend everything was fine.

And it would get better. With time. The girls would help, too. The eighteen months she had left to complete her MBA would be over in no time. Everything would be fine. There was no point in wishing things were different. No point in wishing she could rewind time. No point wishing –

“Mercy.”

Mercy froze, her glass stilling mid-twirl, her heart leaping into her throat and her pulse suddenly going like a jack hammer because that voice had haunted her dreams for the last seven days and, what? Now it was haunting her days too? Was she imagining things? Was she going mad? Or was Seb here?

Her mouth bone dry and her head swimming, Mercy slowly lowered her feet to the floor and then turned. She looked up, and over, and there he was, standing in the doorway that opened from the lounge onto the verandah, wearing a crumpled white polo shirt and faded jeans and looking tired, haggard and absolutely, heart-meltingly wonderful.

And oh, how she wanted to leap up, throw herself into his arms and smother him in kisses. She wanted to beg him for forgiveness then drag him off to her bedroom because she’d missed him so damn much. But she kept herself right where she was because she didn’t get to do that anymore.

“Seb,” she said, her voice hoarse. “What on earth are you doing here?”

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