Chapter 10 #2
Brea smirked. “It’s vintage. Deep plum. Wrap-style. Subtle slit. Monica will think it’s new off the Paris runway and spend all night trying to figure out if it’s Dior or Valentino while steaming because I never once let her borrow from my collection.”
Riley raised a brow. “And it’s just… in your closet?”
“It’s from my ‘just in case I have to destroy someone’ section,” Brea said matter-of-factly. “Every woman should have one.”
Riley laughed, harder this time. “You’re terrifying.”
“I’m a Boone,” Brea replied, brushing imaginary lint from her lap. “Being terrifying is practically a family motto.” She batted her eyelashes. “Monica’s mother once compared me to Morticia from the Addams Family. She meant it as an insult. I took it as a compliment. The highest kind.”
“You’ve always known how to make me smile.”
They sat in companionable silence for a beat, watching the brothers disappear down a row of vines again. The breeze carried the scent of ripening grapes and summer dust, mixing with the lightest hint of Brea’s perfume.
Riley rested a hand on the book. Everything with her dad and the funeral was on pause since the body had yet to be released.
She might as well try to have a nice evening.
If she sat around here all night, she’d only drive herself crazy with questions she couldn’t answer.
“Bryson’s never liked putting on a suit. ”
Brea’s head whipped toward her so fast Riley thought she might pull something. “If you go, wearing that dress I just told you about, he’ll go. Trust me on that.” She pointed to her son. “Because the only thing he’ll be thinking about all night is how to get it off you.”
Riley tried to hide her smile. “Won’t we be late?”
“I don’t mind. Besides, I enjoy making an entrance.” Brea patted her knee. “But we’d better hurry. Can’t be too late.”
Just then, Riley’s phone buzzed beside her. She glanced down at the screen.
Bryson: Be right there. Just after one last race.
Riley smiled and typed a quick reply.
Riley: Better hurry. You need a shower, a shave, and a decent suit. We’re going to Monica’s party.
“Oh my.” Brea pointed. “Bryson’s about to…” Brea turned her head.
Riley grimaced as Bryson stood in the yard, staring at his phone, as Devon tackled him. “Hopefully, that didn’t leave a mark.”
“Let’s get you all dolled up,” Brea said, taking Riley’s hand. “We’ve got a party to go to.”
Riley swallowed, wondering if she’d ever be able to backpedal her way out of this one. But maybe this was exactly what she needed to get her mind off Grant and everything else surrounding her family.
Bryson had faced barrel-aged tempers, harvests from hell, and the heartbreak of watching the love of his life walk away. However, none of it had prepared him for the sight of Riley standing in the foyer, wearing a purple dress that looked like it had been designed with only her in mind.
His breath caught in his throat as his heart dropped to his toes. The room spun and faded in the background.
His mother leaned closer, squeezing his shoulder. “What do you think?”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.
“This party’s going to be bloody hellish,” Devon said as he passed him on the staircase, babbling something about Monica’s poor taste in menus and artisanal cheese displays.
His mother chuckled as she strolled down the steps, toward Riley, leaving him standing there like an idiot.
Bryson’s mouth dried out. The air thinned. And for a second, all the years between him and Riley disappeared in a swirl of purple fabric.
He gripped the banister, taking the steps slowly, praying he didn’t face-plant on the marble floor.
The dress clung to her curves in ways that made his brain go sideways. Her hair was down, loose and soft around her shoulders, and her makeup was just enough to highlight her eyes. She was poised, calm—and utterly devastating.
Only, now, he really didn’t want to go to the party. He wanted to rip that dress off her and ravish her in unspeakable ways.
Riley looked up and smiled. “Hey, you.”
He forced his feet to keep moving. “You look…” He trailed off, because ‘like every mistake I made twelve years ago’ didn’t sound like a compliment. “Incredible. Beautiful. Amazing…”
A little smile touched her lips. “You clean up pretty well yourself.” She winked.
“Ready for this?” Bryson asked.
“No,” Riley said, taking his hand and pressing it against her cheek. “But I’m not wasting this dress, so let’s go before I change my mind.”
Taking her by the hand, he led her outside and opened the passenger door to his truck.
“We’re not going with your parents?”
“My mom insisted we drive separately.” He chuckled. “She thought we might want to slip out early and have some alone time.”
“I’ve blushed more times today than I did during the entirety of high school, when your parents kept catching us with your hand up my shirt.”
“I was obsessed with your breasts.” He leaned closer, taking her chin with his thumb and forefinger.
He brushed his mouth over her lips in a gentle kiss.
Every nerve ending in his body ignited. She was the kindling to his fire.
He pulled away before things got out of control.
“I still am.” Gently, he closed the door and jogged around the hood.
Slipping behind the steering wheel, he sucked in a few deep breaths and eased out behind his parents' big, dark SUV. “Not to sour the mood, but I can’t believe we’re all going to this.
Since the divorce, it's usually just my parents who go. If one of my sisters, or Devon, is dating someone who has to be there, then they’ll make an appearance, but we haven’t all attended since I was married to Monica.
” He shook his head. “And the last time I was at the event, it didn’t go well. ”
“Really?” She turned her head and twirled a few stray strands of hair between her fingers. “Do tell.”
“Not much to tell other than Monica was mad over… something. I was drinking. A lot. And she took my wine glass from my hand and tossed it in my face. I laughed. She yelled. I kicked her out that weekend and filed for divorce the following Monday. She spent the next year begging me to take her back.”
“Come on.” Riley lowered her chin. “I’m sure if you dig deep enough, you can remember whatever it was you were fighting about.”
“Sure. It was always the same fight. Or a variation of the same thing. She wanted me to spend less time in the vineyard. She wanted me to spend more time taking her to fancy parties. To the country club. She wanted to be on display, and I thought that was gross. But the biggest thing we fought about was you and the fact that I was still pining for you.”
Bryson stole a quick glance at Riley, who’d folded her arms and squinted.
“And she wasn’t wrong. At first, I did my best to forget about you.
But in the back of my mind, I thought you’d get the travel bug out of your system and come back.
When I realized that wasn’t happening, I let Monica talk me into a proposal I didn’t want to make. It went downhill from there.”
“That’s no reason to get married. Now, I’m questioning my decision to go to this damn thing—not to mention yours. It’s like we’re only going to toss something in her face.”
“I’m sorry. That’s not why I agreed to go.” He reached across the cab and took her hand.
“Maybe not, but it’s kind of why I did.” She squeezed his hand, feeling the weight of her own pettiness. “And I’m better than that.”
He kissed the center of her palm. “She has the ability to bring out the worst in everyone. This was a charity started by my family, and somehow, hers has taken it over. It’s been a bone of contention for my mom.
Not that she wants to plan and run the event.
But it’s the fact that Monica, of all people, is butchering it.
” Bryson let out a long breath. “It used to be held at the winery. It wasn’t this excessive black-tie event. ”
“I remember.” Riley smiled at the memory. “There’d be food trucks, and a band, and even a non-scary clown that did those balloon animals for us kids. When did it change?”
“It was the year my mom’s father died, and things were just too much for my parents. Monica and I were engaged, so it seemed like the right thing to do. The following year, my mom had to have surgery, and things just got out of hand from there.”
“Your family should take it back,” Riley huffed.
“That would mean fighting Monica and her mother, and no one has it in them to do that. They’re exhausting. Not to mention all my mother cares about is that the people of Stone Bridge open their wallets.”
They rolled to a stop in front of the country club. A big white tent stretched across the side yard with twinkle lights and an actual arch of imported roses. Music wafted from somewhere behind the hedges, and servers glided around like they were auditioning for a period drama.
“I’ve always hated coming to the club.” Riley hesitated, her fingers tightening slightly against his arm. “I feel out of place.”
He leaned closer. “We can leave,” he whispered. “It’s not my cup of tea, either.”
“Nope.” She gave a breathy laugh. “I’m not backing out.”
As soon as they stepped past the arch and under the massive tent that overlooked the eighteenth green, the world seemed to slow. Heads turned. Whispers rippled. Monica’s curated crowd took notice.
“Riley.” Erin scurried across the room, leaving her husband to deal with a couple Riley didn’t recognize. “I didn’t think you were coming.” She kissed Riley’s cheek.”
“Bryson’s mom talked me into it.”
“She has the wickedest sense of humor.” Erin smiled. “Hello, Bryson.”
Inwardly, Bryson groaned as Grant and his wife, Kelly, strode across the room.
Grant was an impressive man, no doubt. His wife was stunningly beautiful in a red strapless dress with her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail at the nape of her neck and a single strand of pearls around her neck.
They looked like a power couple, and in many ways, they were.