Chapter 3 #2
How long had I waited for these exact words? For too long. Stupidly.
But now, as I see him here, he looks pathetic, and I feel pathetic for having ever thought I loved this man while he was married to my sister. Perhaps, like Celine chased him because he was mine, I wanted him because she had stolen him from me.
Well, she can keep him.
I stand. “Get out.”
Hudson stares at me like I sprouted horns.
I walk to the door and open it wide. “Get out,” I say again.
“Darling Girl, I made a—”
“Out.” I raise my voice.
He looks frazzled. This isn’t what he expected. I was always the quiet one. In fact, I still am. I’m the introvert. The one whose social battery drains quickly, leaving me needing to step away and take a break from humanity.
Like his limbs weigh a zillion pounds, he slowly gets up and makes his way to me.
His eyes hold remorse.
I feel nothing.
The years I have wasted on this man!
Years, I lost living in Wildflower Canyon, being with my father because of what he did, how he cheated on me with my sister, how he got her pregnant when he was engaged to me.
There was only one reason. My sheer, criminal stupidity.
I see him now for what he is—a weak, insipid asshole.
“Aria,” he tries again as he stands outside my room now, “I—”
“You know the difference between a bad man and a weak man?” I ask, cutting him off.
He shakes his head.
“A bad man, I can respect. A weak man? That’s you by the way, is absolutely abhorrent.”
On that note, I shut the door in his face and lock it from the inside for good measure.
I sit on the bed, seething. I’m angry. Mostly at myself.
My phone buzzes, and I pull it out of the pocket of my dress.
I smile wanly when I see a message from Sanya, my friend whose wedding I had to bail out of when Nadine called to tell me Papa passed away.
Sanya: How are things?
Me: We buried him today.
The phone rings then. I sigh, but answer it.
“You okay?” Sanya asks as soon as I say, ‘Hello.’
“No.”
“Right!” She laughs in self-deprecation. “Your father died and…well, dumb question. Let me ask then, how are you holding up?”
I chuckle in response. “By a thread.”
“Hey, some threads are strong as fuck.”
This time, I huff out a laugh. “Yeah.”
“You see them?”
Sanya knows all about Celine and Hudson and that sordid tale.
“I did.”
“And?”
“And, he’s got a bald spot, a beer belly, a bad attitude, and I have a feeling he’s an alcoholic. He was just here in my room, telling me he misses me.”
“The fuck?” Sanya swears, incensed. “What did you say to him?”
“Told him to get out.”
“And?”
“He got out.”
I hear Sanya’s long exhale of breath.
“Why are you calling me instead of being naked with your brand-new husband?” I ask, wanting to change the subject desperately, to talk about something happier than a funeral.
“If we have any more sex, his dick will break.” Sanya giggles, and I hear Clayton’s voice saying something I cannot make out.
Clayton McKnight is my boss and the owner and CEO of the boutique wine company Knight’s Tale. He’s also my friend, but that’s through Sanya, who worked in the wine tasting room at Knight’s Tale, where they met. I had front row seats to their crazy and sweet love story.
“Go have fun with your husband. I’m fine…or rather, I’m on my way to being fine.”
There’s a long pause on the other side of the line. “I told Clayton you may not come back.”
“Well, I probably have to. I have my place there,” I say flippantly, not wanting to address her truthful words.
“Hey, as soon as we’re done with this Tuscan adventure and all the sex, I’ll come and see you in Colorado.”
I can hear the tears in her voice. For the past five years, we’ve been close, almost like sisters—actually, she’s more my sister than Celine.
“You’ll never lose me,” I promise.
“Damn right I won’t—bet your sexy ass on it.”
I set the phone down next to me after I ended the call.
I look around, and nostalgia slams into me. For a moment there, when I was talking to Sanya, I was back in Napa, my old life, the one where I had fun, where there was no heartbreak, no rejection.
But I’m in Wildflower Canyon, in the room where I grew up, even though it looks nothing like how it used to.
I walk to the window and look out.
I see some of the guests are leaving; some are drinking on the porch. Someone has lit up the outdoor fire pit, and people are around it, the smokers, mostly.
I see Maverick Kincaid. He’s talking to Earl.
They both look up at the window I’m standing at. I don’t know if they can see me. The evening sun isn’t throwing as much light, and the room is dark.
I know I should go back down and be the good daughter. But this is the Celine show, and I’m merely a guest.
And does it matter? Papa is dead. These people didn’t love him as I did, as I still do. They didn’t know him, accept him for the good and the bad. Love him through his cruelty because Papa could be harsh. Forgive him his stubborn pride, because that drove so many of his decisions.
These people who ate the catered food, drank Papa’s bourbon, they’d never know the heartache of loving a father who loved my sister more, who cared for her more.
I close my eyes to hold the tears back. Papa wouldn’t appreciate them.
“She’s weaker than you, Aria. She needs me more.”
“I needed you, too, Papa,” I whisper into the emptiness of the room, which echoes the silent space in my heart.