The magic.
It’s strange the things that stay with you. It’s not always the sound of laughter, or a text you dismiss. Sometimes, it’s a phrase that lands like a slap.
Chelsea’s brief flirtation triggers a flashback I never expected to have, certainly not while Troy’s grounding me.
“How much longer do we have to stay?” I murmur to Bryce. “I only landed a few hours ago, and my time zones are completely messed up.”
“You’re amazing for even showing up.” He drags a glass of champagne down the open back of my dress. “Just a few more minutes.”
That’s when she showed up.
In between sips of champagne to prevent me from being rude enough to yawn, I recall her being blonde, polished, and in PR. But I remember her laughing at something Bryce saidbefore offering, “Follow me. I’ll show you how we make the magic happen.”
He handed me his drink and pleaded, “Just a few minutes, babe. Then we’ll go home.”
I pressed a kiss onto his cheek and agreed.
Hearing Chelsea say something so similar sets off internal alarm bells. Now, looking back, I know exactly what emotions should have gone along with what happened that night—humiliation and anger while someone tried to reach for what’s supposedly yours.
Only this time, I have no claim on the man beside me.
Do I?
I subdue the thought and let the tug of his hand pull me back into step next to Troy as Chelsea begins her tour. She’s good at this—confident in her product. I know I should pay attention, but I’m too distracted by the way she leans into Troy. Every time she does, something sharp and ugly twists in my gut.
Then, she sends a lance through my heart as she guides us toward a sorting table where she propositions him right in front of me. “So, how long are you in the country? Perhaps we can arrange a private tasting before you head home?”
I twist my head to the side, collecting the pieces of the wall I’ve let Troy tumble over like toy blocks to me. Before I can gather more than just a handful, he responds. It’s smooth and riddled with charm, as expected. But it’s the words that stop me cold. “We appreciate the offer, Chelsea, but I promised my girlfriend a few days in London before we return home.”
All my anxiety and jealousy drain out of me so quickly, I feel dizzy. Chelsea offers me a tight smile. “Of course. My apologies. I didn’t mean to cause a detour in your schedule.”
“No need,” I murmur. “It’s been lovely touring your operation. It gives me a better appreciation ofTenuta delle Ombre.”
Her eyes flick back and forth between us, assessing. “I see. Let us proceed. Shall we?”
As Chelsea moves briskly forward, with a lot less sashaying, Troy hazards a glance at me. He murmurs low enough for only me to hear. “You okay,uvetta mia?”
I nod, because I will be. But tonight I think it’s time for me and Troy to have an overdue conversation about who we are to each other and where we go from here.
Once we’re nestled in a corner booth at a small pub, Troy brings up the topic we’ve shelved until now. “You were quiet during the tour.”
“Chelsea was doing enough talking for both of us.”
He rolls his eyes. “You mean the very married woman who kept trying to imply I could score a touchdown?”
“I think she had more class than that, Troy,” I admonish him.
“You do?” He’s shocked.
I wait until he’s taken a sip of his Old Speckled Hen. “She was just offering her very ripe fruit at a bargain basement price.”
He snorts his ale through his nose. Even as he’s mopping up the mess, he pins me in place with the directness of his gaze. “I noticed everything. Including how you withdrew. What happened?”
Instead of hiding it, I share with him the flashback that occurred. I conclude with, “I guess it just occurred to me how much I was disrespected right in front of my face. It didn’t occur behind my back.”
Troy tilts his head, studying me intently. “You’re not wrong. She was openly making a play.”
Suddenly, I wish I’d chosen to drink my dinner. I reach for my ale even as I ramble, “She’s charming. Beautiful. Successful?—”
