Page 22 of Bordeaux Bombshell (Sunshine Cellars #3)

Sydney

The room erupts into chatter mixed with laughter.

Daisy is calling out for people to finish up as I hunker down between Sophie and Lauren.

“Oh my god, what is wrong with me?” I bury my face in my hands, shoulders hunched, as if that could hide me from the eyes of all these women.

“Someone please put me out of my misery.”

A hand rubs circles on my back while a chair scrapes the floor. I risk a peek and see Emma sitting back down on the other side of Sophie. She gives me a little smile and wave, mouthing something I don’t catch.

“Just sit here quietly for a minute. I’m sure it will all blow over soon.” Sophie’s tone is as soothing as the circles she’s making on my back. My cheeks flame up again when I catch a few stares from the next table.

Someone snorts on my other side, and I turn to find Lauren squatting in the gap between my chair and the next. “It won’t. But Sydney is going to sit here with us anyway and ride it out because A) that was epic, and B) she’s giving Meg Ryan main character energy right now, and I want to soak it in.”

Groaning, I bury my face back in my hands. “I don’t want main character energy. I just want to crawl into a hole and die.”

Lauren snorts. “No one wants it while it’s happening, girlfriend. But it’s awesome for the rest of us.” She laughs, followed by the smacking of hands over my head.

“Don’t be mean, you two.” Sophie tsks and resumes rubbing my back. “Have you tried one of the cucumber sandwiches? They’re just delightful.”

Distracted by the array of snacks and sweets on the table, I let the conversation carry on around me. Jesus, what was I thinking? I wisely stay silent during the next game, filling my mouth with scones and clotted cream instead of my foot.

Sophie and Lauren keep a running commentary going—of the games, the answers, and some book they both read last week.

Despite seeing them at Sunshine regularly for the last few years, I’ve never paid that much attention to their relationship.

They banter with each other like the love interests in an old rom-com, and it fascinates me.

They make having a girlfriend seem so easy.

How weird would it be to ask them to teach me how to have a female friend?

Weird. It would be weird.

It’s still tempting.

With the silly bridal games over, Daisy calls for everyone to drag their chairs around to watch Maggie open gifts.

Okay, I take it back. If having female friends means I have to sit there watching them open presents, maybe I don’t want it.

A shiver runs down my spine at the idea of everyone staring at me while I struggle to unwrap a gift and act appropriately surprised at receiving the exact thing I asked for off my registry.

My eye roll must have been audible, because Lauren leans in as we drag our chairs into the loose circle that’s formed around Maggie.

“Sophie tells me this is the price we pay to ensure people show up at our own celebrations. But if you ask me, it’s a bunch of bullshit—besides, what if you never get married or have kids? No one ever celebrates you in return.”

“You’re faking having a good time much better than I am,” I whisper back.

We set our chairs down and sit, Lauren patting me on the knee. “I’ve just had more practice. You’ll get there one day.”

Unfortunately, I was paying more attention to my conversation with Lauren than who we parked ourselves next to.

A subtle whiff of perfume catches my attention.

Turning to my other side, the twist of nerves in my gut that had finally settled roars back to life.

Daisy and Manon are deep in conversation beside me, phones out as they compare something on the screens.

“Oh my goodness, what a handsome little man.” Daisy is gushing over something on Manon’s. I risk a glance over my shoulder but can’t make out what they’re looking at.

“He is my pride and joy.” Manon’s smile transforms her—her shoulders softening and some of the stinky-cheese expression leaving her face. I risk another peek and make out what might be some kind of animal in the photo. Guess she’s a dog person.

Daisy takes the phone and peers closer, zooming in on the photo. “He has so much hair. Does he take after your side of the family?”

Not a dog.

Sweat breaks out on the back of my neck, lightheadedness washing over me. Lauren is busy talking to Sophie on her other side. All I can do is sit here and listen to Daisy and Manon.

“Non, non. He takes after his father. Same thick hair and brown eyes, see?” Manon is pointing at something, and as it comes into focus, I can’t look away. There’s a little boy on the screen.

Thick brown hair.

Brown eyes.

Daisy leans back, turning the phone toward me. “Isn’t Manon’s son adorable?”

Then Manon reaches over Daisy, swiping across the screen to a new photo, and my heart stops. Full stop, flatline, get out the defibrillator.

The same little boy, his foot propped up on a soccer ball, with a man standing beside him, arm around his shoulder. Not just any man.

Nate.

Bile leaps up in my stomach, and I lurch to my feet.

No.

No, no, no.

He would have told me.

Wouldn’t he?

Again, I can feel everyone staring as I stumble away from the chairs. “Sorry. I’m sorry. I need to…”

Panicked, I scan the room, desperate to get my bearings and get out of here. Whispers fill the room again, following me as I flounder.

“Is she drunk?”

“Why can’t she just settle down?”

“Figures she’d try to steal Maggie’s thunder.”

“…attention seeking.”

A hand touches my shoulder, and I freeze. “Come on, bathroom’s this way.”

I follow Emma as she leads me away from the crowd.

“Are you okay?” She hauls the restroom door open, propelling me inside.

I catch myself against the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. My stomach lurches again. “I think I’m going to throw up.”

“Don’t let me stop you.” She pushes me into a stall, and I immediately start retching.

She has a son.

Who looks an awful lot like Nate.

But how could he have just left them? Has he really changed that much since I knew him?

I’ve been calling him an asshole, accusing him of abandoning me and our families. But deep in my heart, I didn’t actually believe it.

I still believed he was my Nate. The boy who used to let me have the biggest slice of cake at our birthday parties. The man who diligently played my wingman in college—even when I was doing my best to make him jealous. Kel’s best friend. My soulmate.

But my Nate wouldn’t abandon his kid. Wouldn’t leave the mother of his child to raise him alone. He’d have brought them to the Ridge, shown off the legacy he was so proud of.

Except he doesn’t have a legacy anymore, does he?

“I have gum, if you want,” Emma calls over the top of the stall. “You wanna talk about it?”

I spit a few times for good measure, knees shaking and stomach empty. “Damn. What a waste of really good scones.” My voice is weak, even to me, but Emma doesn’t comment as I emerge.

Cold sweat still prickles the back of my neck, the face-framing strands of hair I painstakingly styled this morning limp and plastered to my temples.

Washing my hands, I take stock of the damage.

My lipstick is gone, and my mascara is smeared beneath my eyes.

If I saw myself on the street, I’d think I was sporting the remnants of last night’s look.

Except, last night, I’d been distracting myself from thinking about Nate by doing a thorough skin care regime.

The cold water running over my wrists helps settle my stomach. As does swishing water in my mouth. “Gum would be amazing, thanks.”

Emma rummages around in the tiny purse strapped to her hips before presenting me with a stick of silver. “You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Horror fills me before I shake my head, cinnamon flavor flooding my mouth from the gum. “No, definitely not.”

“You’re sure?”

“I appreciate the concern, but I have an IUD. The last time I had sex, we definitely used a condom, and that was the day my period ended. No chance.” I don’t care if that’s too much information—reciting the list is reassuring.

Emma shrugs. “Well, that’s good, ’cause you were tossing back drinks like it was your job.”

The comment stings. She couldn’t have known that my family has been making side comments on the amount I drink for years.

The thing they don’t seem to understand is that these days, they mostly see me when Nate is around.

And I need the alcohol to dull the burning rage that fills me whenever I look at his face.

I finish washing my hands, taking the towel she offers. “Before you ask—no, I don’t want to talk about it. Yes, I’m fine, and no, I’m not trying to ruin my sister-in-law’s shower. I’m just a messy bitch, apparently.”

Emma shrugs. “Have you met my family? We’re all a little messy.” Instead of leaving the bathroom like I expect, she pulls a tube of lipstick out of her purse and hands it over. “You probably don’t want to go back out yet.”

“That bad?” I try to joke, but I still take the offered armor.

“Did you know that my high school ex-boyfriend is my mom’s friend’s stepson?”

The change in subject stops me short, lipstick inches from my face. I look over my shoulder in the mirror. Emma is leaning against the door, hands twisting the fabric of her skirt. But her blue eyes are locked on mine in the mirror.

I blink and go back to what I was doing. “Does that mean you have to see him often?”

“Holidays, mostly. He went to Indiana for school. But Frankie talks about him all the time. Everyone is so damn proud of him and his baseball shit.”

Pursing my lips, I finish swiping the color on, then turn to hand it back. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

She takes it from me with a knowing smile. “So, you’re telling me it never stops?”

Yanking a tissue from the box beside the sink, I scrunch it up, then wet it to dab at the mascara smudged under my eyes.

The roller coaster of my feelings starts to level out as I concentrate on cleaning up my face.

“Not in my experience, no. But at least they don’t all start crying when they talk about him. That was a rough time.”

The confusion and sadness that had been overwhelming all my other emotions are releasing their grip on me, muscled aside by a comforting anger. Anger has been my constant companion for years, and I welcome her back eagerly.

Emma huffs out a laugh. “Anyway, what’s up with the French lady? Is she your mortal enemy or something?”

Is she? The woman who seduced the love of my life, who possibly has a child with him? A tiny voice at the back of my head points out that she doesn’t know about the years I spent loving Nate from afar. Or that I saw them canoodling in France not even a month after he left me brokenhearted.

But the roaring of my anger drowns out that tiny voice. She knew what she was doing. She swiped to that specific picture on purpose, and she’s been goading me with her knowledge of Nate all afternoon.

I may not be ready to forgive Nate or let myself love him again. But I’m sure as hell not going to let her have him either.

Face tidy, I toss the tissue. I take a deep breath and smooth my hands down my dress. “Something like that, yeah.”

The bitch has got to go.