Chapter 3 #2
Getting over the shock of the uneaten food, she gets to work.
She’s pulling a cardboard wine box off the top of the fridge.
She’s filling it up with bottle after bottle.
My Riesling, my Pinot Grigio, even her personal favorite, the Sauvignon Blanc.
Thousands and thousands of dollars’ worth, collected from the country’s finest vineyards.
My hands go to my hair. I want to tear it out. I scream, “Stop, this instant! That’s my property. You leave it right where it is and get out of here!”
Her back is facing me and her ponytail sways as she gives a hard shake of her head. “Can’t. Bronson’s orders.”
“What are Bronson’s orders, exactly?” I sneer.
“All the wine in the Village goes to the family cellar in the restaurant till you get yourself under control. Every single bottle.” She’s so fast, she’s already filled one box and is on to the next one.
“You have got to be kidding me!”
“Nope. And we’ve all agreed—we’re going dry, too. Especially with Brett’s memorial this weekend. We’re all going to be sober. At least until he gets here, to get you under control,” she snaps.
He who?
Rockland.
The tips of my fingers go to my lips, pressing lightly against them. For a moment, I forget about the wine thief who’s stealing my stash. I see his face. Those gold eyes. The black spirals that mark his hard muscles.
But the mental lapse is short lived, and my temper awakens within me.
I dash around the island, almost falling from my lightheadedness.
I grab the edges of the full box on the floor beside her, but it’s too heavy for me to lift.
I gasp, releasing it. Sasha shoos me away like a pesky fly.
Effortlessly lifts the heavy box from the floor, moving it behind her.
How have I become this weak?
She steps closer to me, blocking the box as well as the fridge from me with her body. Her hands go to her hips.
She stares me down. “It’s been two years, Tess. Life goes on. You have to let it.”
I want to slap her beautiful face. Claw out her gorgeous eyes.
What does she know of timelines when you’ve lost your husband?
Become the lone widow in a Village of lovers?
Anger roils in me, making me nauseous. She may be a hell of a lot stronger than me, but I have crazy lady psycho energy on my side.
I say, “Get the hell out of my house, now. Or I will make you.”
No longer tugging her hair or trembling over her words, she’s suddenly hard as steel. The tigress is rising in her and she growls at me, “So help me, Tess. I know you’re hurting but I will kick-box the crap out of you right now if you touch me.”
My mouth drops open. I want to scream, to yell. My hands reach out toward her, I want to hurt someone.
To make someone feel as much pain as I do.
I take a step toward her.
Her arms wrap around me, engulfing me. She holds me to her chest. She’s stroking my hair. Rubbing my back. My body racks with sobs. My words choke in my thick throat, but she knows what I’m saying.
“I’m just so damn… lonely!”
Her voice is full of empathy. “I know. I know, sweetheart. I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through.”
“I just… I feel like I don’t belong here anymore,” I say.
She pushes my wild hair from my eyes. “Oh, Tess! I hate that you feel that way. We miss you so much, but we’ve been trying to give you your space. We’re here for you. We love you.”
“If you love me, why are you taking all my wine?” I sniffle.
She smiles. “What you need right now may not look like love. But it is… tough love. For a tough woman.” She gives me a tight hug. Holds me at arm’s length and searches my gaze. “Why don’t you go on up to bed? I’ll take care of this and you can just sleep through the whole thing. Okay?”
I nod, sniffling and wiping at my eyes. I turn to leave the kitchen, head up the stairs to my room.
She calls out, “And Tess?”
I turn to her, my eyes blurry from tears. I say, “Yes?”
She says, smiling as her nose wrinkles, “For goodness’ sake, woman, take a shower. You look like crap.”
I laugh. And it feels good.
I take a shower. Exhausted from the effort, I fall into my bed, naked, hair soaking wet.
I’m so spent I can barely think, but there’s a nagging feeling in my chest—as if there’s something I should be worrying about.
I piece together the evening for clues as to why I feel unsettled.
Sasha’s words dance in my head, until he gets here to get you under control, but it’s only for a moment, then the wine creates a cloud in my mind and I just can’t think anymore.
I drift off. I sleep a deep, dreamless sleep.
When I awake, despite a dull headache, I feel almost… whole again.
And there’s a new sensation washing over me, the morning sun warming my skin through the picture window. A clean feeling. A lightness I’ve not felt.
For about two years.
The grip of grief’s tight clutching fingers have gone. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. Brett is a warm memory in my heart. A good feeling that I will carry with me all the days of my life. No longer a hindrance to me living my life.
I make an effort. I brush and curl my hair, tugging at the stubborn tendrils that have dried in a mass of chaos. I put on a little mascara. Slide gloss over my lips. I file my talon-like neglected nails, painting them a pale pink.
Taking my time, I dress carefully—like I used to. I decide on a short red dress. Kitten heels. Sling my white leather Prada bag over my shoulder.
I’m going to the office today. It will be good for me.
As I leave the house, I take one long look in my hallway mirror. I’m halfway decent. There’s a new light in my eyes. A determination.
I must start my life over again.
Today. He would want it this way.
And the Village needs me.
I step outside. The air is crisp, clean. I take a deep breath as a gentle breeze flutters my clean, curly hair. I smile.
Family members wave to me on the street.
Their faces read shock, surprise, and relief.
I wave back, flash them smiles that are real, not forced.
A few minutes later, I reach the west side of the Village, gaze up at our family’s tall gray stone office building.
Read the familiar sign, Bachman Enterprises.
Press my thumb to the pad and greet our doorman.
He welcomes me warmly, as if I hadn’t missed a day of work, much less a year, then pushes the second-floor button on the elevator for me.
The doors close. I’m alone. The tiniest flinch of panic rises in my chest. So many people—ones I’ve been ignoring for months. I breathe through the anxiety. When the doors slide open, I step out into the hall with a smile on my face.
I’m greeted by a few of the office Beauties, hugs and kisses and squeals of delight to be reunited.
It feels so good to be back in the world.
Why have I avoided it so long? I say hello to the legal team, my fellow accountants.
I hit the café, order a cappuccino. Hold it in my hands and inhale its warm cinnamon scent before I take a sip of the heavenly concoction.
I pass a few more people. I’m eternally grateful of how cool they are being—no deep questions, no sorrowful stories of Brett. Just polite, light interactions. It’s business as usual, which is exactly what I need today.
What I need to move on.
I reach my office door. A little thrill of excitement rises in me, knowing behind this door is the familiar surroundings of my private workspace. A smile stretches on my face as I throw it open. I begin to walk in but stop dead in my tracks.
Bronson Bachman is perched on the edge of my desk.
My small glass gemstone globe is casually being tossed from hand to hand.
His gaze meets mine and his dark brow raises.
“Lovely of you to join us, Tess.” He places the globe gently on the desk with his left hand.
My eyes catch the platinum band around his ring finger as he does.
I’ll never get used to the idea of hardcore bachelor Bronson being in love, married.
He strides across the room, stopping inches from me.
“How did you know I’d be here?” I ask.
He smiles. “Darling. You know I have eyes and ears all around this Village.”
He must have men watching my house. Keeping tabs on the town’s crazy widow.
I throw my bag on my desk, claiming it as my own. “So, you’ve been spying on me?”
He shrugs. “Perhaps. Just a bit. For your own safety, of course.”
“For my safety, right? Like the Village isn’t the safest freaking place in the city?”
His brow darts up in distaste. “Tone.”
I swallow, hard. Mutter an apology.
He says, “I take it you’ve learned of our dry spell in the Village?”
“Yes. Sasha paid me a little visit last night. I lost over ten grand worth of wine. Are you going to replace it?” I ask.
His gaze searches mine. “I’ll pay you double what it was worth. Purchase it for the family cellar. We all just want to see you well.”
I take a deep breath. My anger is misplaced. I’m furious with death, but I’ve been taking it out on the Village. My family. My tone softens and I say, “I know.”
His hands rest on my shoulders. His dark eyes fill with emotion. His guard is down, just for a moment, as he says, “Tess, we love you. We gave you the privacy you needed to mourn. Now it’s time. You need to come back to us. We’ve lost Brett; we can’t bear to lose you, too.”
His kind words resound within me. I’m filled with a warm gratitude. For their love. Their care. The space they’ve given me, the fact that they love me enough to demand my return. I raise my gaze to his. “I know. I’m… back. I—I promise.”
“Good.” He kisses my cheek. Pulls away. Heads to the door of my office. Just before he steps out, he turns over his shoulder and eyes me carefully. He says, “But I’ve called in reinforcements, just to be sure.”
My brow furrows. “You mean, just for the memorial this weekend, right?”
He gives me one of those deep, dark looks he’s famous for.