Chapter 5
Silvie
I wake up to the sound of a hush of waves through the window, blowing a breeze across my face.
It’s soft at first, like it’s a dream. There’s music in the distance playing softly.
Something low and familiar, and comforting.
And then it hits me. The unmistakable aroma of coffee and bacon.
And something sweet I can’t put my finger on, but if I had to, I’d say they were Birdie’s honey biscuits she used to make for me when I was a kid.
Anytime I had a bad day, those mouthwatering biscuits saw me through it.
It got to the point where, no matter how bad a day I was having, if I told her I needed her biscuits, they were in the oven before I knew it.
There’s not much in life that Birdie’s honey biscuits can’t fix.
Even a rotten sister and a cheating groom.
God, I am so glad I got away when I did.
As quickly as the thought of yesterday’s fiasco enters my head, I push it away. I’m here now, and out of that godforsaken dress, which means I can focus on healing myself. Things will get better.
I smile before I open my eyes. The breeze flows over me, and I let myself truly feel it. Love from Birdie. This has to be a dream. I have to be dreaming. Because yesterday felt like a nightmare.
I burrow deeper into the bed and pull the covers over my head, curling onto my side, the sheets soft against my skin. The smell of Birdie’s home fills my senses like a hug. For a second, I let myself believe I’ve woken up in a new life. A better one than the rat race I’ve been living in.
Then my head pulses hard, reminding me of all the choices I made last night that led me to this wicked hangover.
I groan and finally sit up. Sunlight spills across the room, painting everything in gold.
I turn my head and spot a glass of water and a bottle of ibuprofen on the nightstand beside me.
The room tilts a little, and I pop two pills in my mouth, draining half of the glass in one go.
Last night’s events at the bar come back to me in embarrassing fragments. The shots. The dress choking the life out of me. The pleading for Cal to get it off me.
Cal.
Warmth pools in my stomach at the memory of his dark, honeyed eyes, so kind and honest.
He had plenty of opportunity to take advantage of the situation, but he didn’t. Instead, he calmly assisted me through the worst night of my life.
And he was really, really cute. Not that I was looking. I’m so over men it’s not even funny. But I do have eyes. A lot of the patrons flirted with him. He was friendly and fun. There was something about him that made him feel like a safe space. Plus, if Birdie approves, then he has to be okay.
She never liked Tyler and look how right she turned out to be with that assessment.
I’m still reeling over the fact I fled before the wedding.
It was so out of character for me. Then, I allowed myself to get publicly drunk and relied on a bartender to take care of me.
I’m not one to be reckless or impulsive.
I’m the woman with spreadsheets, backup plans, and color-coded systems. I don’t wake up with gaps in my memory due to a night of drinking.
What if something happened to me last night?
Except nothing happened. And now I have to figure out my life. How to fix everything. To be honest, though, I don’t even know where to begin. Or how to begin. How do I rebuild my life? How do I fix the mess I’ve made of my life, my company, and my family?
For the first time in my life, I feel like I have absolutely no control over anything. The thought sends a spike of fear through me, and it’s scary. I press a palm to my chest and breathe through it.
I’m safe with Birdie. I’m here. There’s no more Tyler, no more Belladonna, no more betrayal and drama. What a relief that is.
I push myself out of bed to find a folded T-shirt and leggings on the chair next to the bed.
It smells like laundry soap and sunshine.
I recognize the outfit as one I’d left behind on accident.
I’ve never been more grateful for cozy clothes.
I pull them on and head to the bathroom.
I look in the mirror and cringe. Wedding makeup and wild, crazy hair. Lovely.
After brushing my teeth and hair and washing my face, I exit the bathroom and pause to admire the bedroom.
Warm, muted colors decorate the space, and it fills me with happiness.
Each silly knickknack or piece of art was painstakingly chosen with the purpose of making the guest feel comfortable.
I could spend hours marveling over each figurine or carefully placed book.
I make my way out of the room and into the living room.
The whole cottage is eclectic and so Birdie.
Because of her, my childhood has color and playfulness despite the cold, perfectly decorated home I was raised in.
There’s a frame sitting on an end table and I can’t help but pick it up.
It’s of me and Birdie. I must’ve been in elementary school.
We’re both grinning at each other, happy as can be.
I needed this escape.
I set the frame back down and step into the kitchen, smiling when I see Birdie. She’s at the stove, humming along to the music, drizzling honey on her biscuits while swaying to the music. The kitchen is warm and bright, like coming home.
I can breathe again. It’s safe to be…me.
She turns and beams at me. “Morning, sunshine.”
She wipes her hands, and we meet in the middle of the kitchen for the biggest hug.
I swallow back emotion and say, “Morning, Birdie.”
“There’s my beautiful girl,” she says as she pulls back. “Too skinny. But beautiful all the same.”
I lost so much weight to fit into my wedding dress that my mother insisted could not be resized. I know she did that on purpose, and it’s another reason to add to the long list of why my mom sucks. There was nothing wrong with my body size. She just insisted I be smaller.
I will never do that again. Shrink to fit someone’s needs.
Birdie slides biscuits onto a plate and sets it at the table. “Are you hungry?”
I smile and nod. She ushers me to her little breakfast table with mismatched chairs. It’s already set for two. She waited for me and set up a beautiful breakfast for us. It’s the little things that I cherish about Birdie. The way she makes you feel seen and so loved.
She pours me a coffee without asking. But, of course, she does. She always knows.
We sit at the kitchen table together, eggs, bacon, and honey biscuits. Tea for her and coffee for me. It’s a comfortable silence between us for a while, enjoying the open windows and breeze from the beach.
But I know it won’t be for long. I can see it etched on Birdie’s concerned face.
“You ready to talk?” she asks softly.
I know she’s worried about me and how everything went down, and I know I would be too if the roles were reversed. It doesn’t make talking about it any easier, though.
I focus on my food. “It was pretty bad.”
Understatement of the year.
My eyes begin to water, and I hate that I’m about to cry for the millionth time. I’m usually so good at locking down my emotions.
She sips her mug and waits patiently. Birdie’s always had a way of bringing out whatever I need to talk about.
“Belladonna,” I say, voice hoarse and lip trembling. “Sorry.” I sniffle and bat at a rogue tear. “I’m a mess.”
Birdie reaches over and pats my arm, encouraging me to continue. “You’re not a mess, Silvie. You’re in pain.”
I swallow hard and nod. “I wish I weren’t. They’re not worth it.”
She nods as if she agrees.
“She’d been sleeping with Tyler for the past five months, Birdie,” I choke out. “They admitted it right before the wedding. Who does that to their own sister?”
“Oh, honey,” she says, frowning. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe that girl. What was she even thinking?”
“I know. I can’t believe I didn’t see the signs. I was so busy planning the wedding,” I mutter. “What a joke.”
She takes a bite of her food and chews as if she’s thinking.
My mom never liked Birdie, and Belladonna was awful.
Birdie was always my kindred spirit. Dad knew that and never allowed Mom to let her go.
No matter how many lies my sister made up or what she put Birdie through.
Birdie tolerated a lot for me. I always hated that they treated her that way.
In some ways, I think my mom was jealous of Birdie and me. And Belladonna was just plain mean.
“You’re not the one in the wrong here,” Birdie assures me. “You were planning a life while your sister was stealing it behind your back.”
“Mom actually wanted me to go through with the wedding,” I say through more tears. “Even after she learned what happened.”
“That’s plain insanity if you ask me,” she huffs. “What a terrible thing to want for your child.”
My mom and Belladonna are cut from the same cloth whereas Dad and I are similar.
That’s probably why my dad and I are so close.
We work together, and we share the same drive in business.
I don’t have anything in common with my mother other than our shared DNA.
Sometimes I still can’t believe my sister and I came from the same gene pool.
I stare down at my plate. “I think I lost myself, Birdie.”
She doesn’t say anything, just waits for me to continue. She reaches out and clasps her hand to mine.
“I don’t know what happened,” I continue. “But somewhere along the way, I stopped being me and started being...what everyone expected me to be. I don’t even know who I am anymore. I don’t like who I see when I look in the mirror.”
Birdie’s eyes soften. “Sounds like you needed a break, sugar.”
Tears sting, and I laugh weakly. “That’s one way to put it.”
She squeezes my hand again. “You don’t have to figure it all out today. You just need rest, baby.”
“Okay,” I say feeling exhausted.
“Eat your food. That’s the first thing we’ll do. Get you nourished,” she says as she pulls my head to her and kisses it.