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Cool. Damp.
The stem of the glass is sturdy.
The simple weight of it hasn't changed.
I canfeelthem before I even see them.
I hear myself answering Parker before I can stop myself.
Why stop myself?
Haven’t I done that enough?
Haven’t I beenpoliteenough?
Haven’t Ismiledenough?
I didn’t only confront my rapist; I had toexplainto him what he did wrong. Has our society really failed us as women this much?
“Baby?”
For the past four – almost five – years this man has been at my side through every win and every downfall. He has yet to let me falter in my stride and he hasstayed.
Out of what?
Obligation? Loyalty?Love? A paycheck?
So then why was I restraining myself from actively loving him back? I don't want to hide anymore. I'm sick of lying to keep everyone else appeased. Yet diving into all of those feelings feels like diving into the same murky water they pull me out of every other night.
But the truth is, I'm tired of drowning. Sick of fighting the undertow only to keep my head above water and get sucked back down again. I'm ready for a life preserver.
So when I'm done telling them what happened in the office – pulling out Charlie's seashell necklace, which I'd miraculously chucked into the pocket of my skirt before ruining my office – I finish where I started.
I tap on the glass. “This was once my favorite wine. I had my very first sip of this wine when I was fifteen years old. Mama had just typed, ‘The End’on her first novel. It felt like the first good thing to come after Charlie's passing. Derek drove us away from the city – miles and miles away. We reached the coast just before sunset. It was cold. And it was drizzling. But I had never seen such a beautiful day. Do you know rainy days are my favorite because of that day?
“She hadn't even sent it to an editor or a publishing house yet. Just,The End. And she made a small triumph something large. Mama celebrates her smalls wins grandiosely. I love that about her.”
I take another breath. “I thought she had dissociated – closed herself off in her room and was mourning. She was not. She had closed herself off whilstinmourning and reinvented herself, wanting absolutely fuck-all to do with being a Winters. And very subtly, she emerged – wanting everything to do with being a Barclay. And that first breath she took out of mourning, was a sip of this wine…” My lip trembles. “With me. To celebrate the first step into a new chapter.”
And therein lay the shaky truth I was still unwilling to admit. I wanted fuck-all to do with Sabrina Winters andeverythingto do with SabrinaGiordano-Hayes.It may not be real to the rest of the world, but in my heart, I am married to both.
“Take the sip, Duchess.” Maksim says, and my eyes finally travel from the half-filled glass to his large, tan hand only inches away.
I hear the bar stool next to me creak - Parker's warmth radiating towards me like soft rays of sun poking through rain-filled clouds. “We're here, baby. Nothing is going to happen.”
“Or don't drink it,” Maksim says. “And nothing will still happen.”
“Because I'msafe,” my chin wobbles but I swallow the tears.
Because it wasn't the wine. It hadn't been the venue. It hadn't been what I had worn. It hadn't even been the drinks I was served or the bartender that served them. It had been the man.
Without another thought, I throw the glass of wine back like it’s a shot of whiskey. A drop escapes my mouth and runs down the corners of my lips. Cold. Delicious notes of violets, blackberries, and spice. The acidity burns but not for long.
I choke out a breath.
And then I laugh.
Maksim brings down the bottle from the shelf and serves himself and Parker a glass. Then, refills mine. This time, I sip.