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I have to see her.
I have to apologize.
I have to undo this and show her shecantrust me.
I just hope it’s not too fucking late.
23
HONEYPOT (WINNIE)
Ididn’t think it was possible for a human being to cry so much.
Aside from blood, which remains in my veins, I never knew I had this much fluid to lose. Scalding tears leak from my eyes. My nose runs in an ugly stream that no amount of tissues seems to help.
I guess when they say the body is like fifty percent water, they aren’t kidding.
But when I fled my own wedding, I didn’t cry half this much. When I left my entire life behind for the unknown, I just had the occasional weepy fit.
It wasn’t this.
And this is a full-blown Winnie meltdown.
Disgusting and wet and body-shaking. Shuddering breaths, breathy sobs, red cheeks, the works.
It makes it harder to see to pack my stuff, but I’m working on it.
Archer went to another meeting, I assume, probably stomping through the mess I left him in. I need to takeadvantage of the opportunity to get the hell out of here and save face while I still have a chance.
Before he comes back and one look at his gorgeous face makes me crumble and want to stay.
Before I talk myself into ignoring how much my very presence hurts him.
God, it’s soweirdbreaking up with a man you were never really with, but who still means the world to you.
Archer can say whatever he likes, but when he told me I should just shut up and trust him, everything snapped into place.
It’s not right.
And I don’t meanheisn’t right for me when he’s perfect, possessive, and kinder than anyone I’ve ever known.
But this situation…
No matter how magical it feels with him, I can’t ignore the risk that I’m costing his company millions and running it straight into the ground. That’s not just him at risk or even his brothers, but everyone they employ, not to mention the customers who enjoy such beautiful places.
All because he stepped in to play hero and Dad’s ego couldn’t handle it.
I hate this.
I toss an empty box of tissues to the side and frantically dab at my eyes. Crying this much shouldn’t be possible.
I should be a shriveled husk right now, drained of all moisture.
But somehow the tears keep coming, the eyeball equivalent of dry heaves.
At least fitting all my stuff into my bags goes faster than I thought. I leave the new clothes he insisted on buying me last week hanging in the closet.
It’s not too late to return them, and I’m not going to make him waste another penny.