Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol)

by Fiona Cole

  I went to work the next day, barely focusing on the new project that Vera should have been heading under Domenic, hunting through every bit of knowledge I had to come up with what I would say this weekend. When Ryan delivered the thick file holding the official contract for Mariano Shipping Inc for me to sign, I couldn’t even bring myself to open it.

  I took it home and finally opened it up for review when the twinkling stars of the night were my only company shining through the large windows Vera had loved so much.

  Mariano Shipping had been hurting for longer than I’d assumed. Lorenzo had run the company to the brink of destruction all on his own. The clauses in the contract outlining their traditional views had been the only thing that had almost saved him. But it’d only been a matter of time before he lost it all on his own.

  Maybe if Vera saw this, she’d be more understanding. She’d see her father had ruined it all before I stole it.

  Yeah, show her how her family company was on the brink of destruction—the thing she’d worked so hard for and loved, if only for the connection to her mother. That’d go awesome.

  I shook my head and growled at nothing.

  A vision of Vera lounging topless on the deck, smiling as she told me about her mom and how much she’d loved the company but loved the traditions more. She’d admitted she wanted them both to feel the connection to her mom and hated that her father cut her out without even trying.

  And I’d stolen it—the last part of her mom—and never made a bigger effort to let her know she could have it. She’d probably spent the week mourning the last piece of her mom she had left—and I’d let her because of my pride.

  “Fuck,” I whispered.

  My phone rang, pulling me from the mess in front of me.

  “Archer,” I greeted.

  “Nicholas. I just saw the papers.”

  “Yeah, I got them today,” I said, looking down at the stacks strewn across my dining room table.

  “So, does this mean we’re keeping Mariano Shipping for ourselves?”

  I flipped through the pages, looking for the added notes about selling the company in relation to Vera. When I saw they were still there, my brows scrunched in confusion. “What? The clauses about the sale are still here. Why would you assume it wasn’t going to Vera?”

  “Because she filed for divorce. You said you got the papers.”

  Like a needle to a balloon, it started small, the air seeping out as realization hit. Then it hit like a knife, popping my hope like a gunshot to the chest.

  Divorce.

  Divorce.

  She didn’t even talk to me.

  She didn’t even give me a chance.

  Did she even care to know why? Did she even care at all? Her laughing. Her moaning. Her scowling. Her gloating. All of it like snapshots firing in my brain. All of it vanishing.

  She didn’t even give me a chance.

  How dare she make this decision without even giving me. A. Chance.

  I clenched the phone tight, the edges digging into my palm.

  I realized then that the thought that I’d be okay with her walking away was a lie. I’d had hope that once she heard me out, she’d understand—she’d forgive me, and we’d figure it out together. And if she hadn’t, then I would have fought tooth and nail to win her back because I knew she cared—I’d hoped she’d cared as much as I did for her. I’d hoped my love was enough.

  But with divorce, I lost that. I lost the ability to fight to keep her. She would already walk away.

  “You there?” Archer asked, sounding far off.

  “I meant the contract,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

  “Ohh,” he said slowly. “I thought you knew.”

  “I assure you, I didn’t. And nothing changes.”

  I hung up and looked down at the splayed papers.

  Oh, no. She could file for whatever she wanted, but she’d listen first.

  A warning whispered in the back of my mind as I grabbed my keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. Maybe going to her now, with the rioting flood of emotions raging through me, wasn’t the best idea, but I was a hurricane—an unstoppable force.

  Fuck Raelynn’s plan. Fuck her timeline.

  I was done with waiting.

  It was time I went to visit my wife.

  Thirty-Six

  Vera

  “Should I be buying stock in Talenti? I mean, it has to be going up with how much you’re plowing through it this week.”

  I rolled my eyes at Raelynn, looking down at my slouched position on the couch. “Don’t act like you don’t have a spoon in your back pocket, ready to join me.”

  She cocked her hip but quickly dropped the fake attitude. “You’re right,” she sighed, grabbing her spoon and falling down next to me. “Gimme.”

  I obliged, holding the container out.

  “Oh, god,” she moaned after the first bite. “Salted caramel. My favorite. Do you think I could get them to sponsor me on Instagram? I’m not an influencer, but I could become one for free ice cream.”

  “It’s worth a shot.”

  We both dug in, watching the episode of Friends playing quietly in the background. I held my breath, waiting for her to bring up the day.

  “Soooo…how’d it go?”

  I shrugged and stuffed another bite in.

  “It’s a cute outfit. Looking like a badass bitch has to help.”

  “It definitely doesn’t.”

  I’d thought wearing a black power suit would help me feel stronger than I was. I’d wanted to meet with the lawyer in sweatpants and no bra, unshowered, and slouching. Instead, I’d put on my red-soled shoes and cigarette pants. I’d walked in with my head held high—but trembling.

  My heart and brain warred for dominance. My brain pushing my limbs forward to sever myself from the man who stole from me—from my family—and used me in the process. My heart tried to hold me back, screaming that this was a mistake.

  In the end, I’d signed the papers. Then I’d gone back out to my car and burst into tears, barely making it home.

  That was five hours ago, and I hadn’t moved since except to get the ice cream. As a cruel twist, Friends popped up on TV, bringing forth the image of a sick Nico in bed, getting caught up on the show.

  Everything in me ached. I just couldn’t tell if it was from being so mad at him I wanted to shove as far away as I could or fighting off this need to go to him every second of the day.

  “Did you message him back?”

  “No.” Nico’s message came right before I fell asleep, and it had followed me into my dreams, reminding me of each precious moment of our honeymoon. The fear that they’d all been set up and fake held me back from going to him. “What would I say?”

  “That you miss him?”

  I scoffed. “What? Are you actually wanting me to talk to him?”

  “Listen, I may not want a relationship for myself, but I can see you’re hurting, and I hate it.”

  “I hate it too, but it doesn’t change what he did.”

  “Do you know why he did it? Have you talked to him?”

  “No,” I answered, pouting because I knew I was being a coward.

  “You know I will make that man’s balls into my own personal earrings for you, but Verana, maybe you should at least talk to him.”

  “Maybe he should have tried,” I snapped.

  “He’s a man. He will forever be waiting for you to tell him what to do, standing around with his dick in his hand until then, looking like a damn fool.”

  I choked on my bite of ice cream, laughing at her description, but quickly sobered. “It’s too late. I’ve already filed.”

  “So? Call him and tell him you want to talk first? Marry him again if you want to. Or just be together. Marriage is such a noose anyway. Just because you love someone doesn’t mean you have to get all dolled up and get the government involved.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, thankfully, I do.”

&
nbsp; I dropped my head back to the couch with a groan, not convinced.

  Both of us jumped, letting out the girliest shrieks when a hard knock shook the front door.

  Another loud knock made Raelynn jump up, facing the door like a prized fighter. “What the hell are you doing?” I whispered.

  “I don’t know. They sound pretty serious about getting through the door, and this place isn’t big enough to hide for long, so I figure I’ll at least look intimidating.”

  I blinked slowly, my eyebrows lifting with doubt as I looked her up and down in her red stilettos, ripped jeans, and cropped sweater.

  “Oh, shut up,” she scolded quietly. “It’s better than sitting there. What are you going to do? Throw your spoon at them?”

  “Maybe.”

  Another pounding knock.

  “Maybe it’s Nova again,” I suggested hopefully.

  Raelynn gave serious side-eye and crept closer to the door. Just as she was about to look out the peephole, a deep voice replaced the knocking.

  “Verana, I know you’re in there.”

  Our heads whipped to each other, and I knew my eyes were just as wide as hers.

  “What the fuck?” she mouthed, hands out for support.

  I just shook my head. To what? I didn’t know.

  To not knowing what to do.

  To not wanting to let him in.

  To not wanting to turn him away.

  To shake loose the rambling orchestra of chaotic thoughts fighting for dominance in my head.

  “Please.” He sounded like the Beast from Beauty and the Beast. Barely restrained anger and unused to the word—but trying because he cared.

  No. Nicholas Knightly Rush didn’t care about anyone but himself. It’d been a week and not a word beyond a request to talk until I finally made a decision.

  “I’m letting him in,” she mouthed, looking like a bull ready for a fight.

  I looked frantically around, maybe hoping for a hole to open up in the floor I could dive away into, never facing him again.

  My chest curled in on itself, squeezing too tight. My muscles seized in a battle to stand and face him or bolt the other way. Was there a fire escape here?

  But before I could make my decision, the door was open, and my husband’s dark, commanding presence, that had caught my eye from across a crowded restaurant and even from behind a mask, swallowed the room whole—sucking every bit of oxygen into himself.

  I jerked to my feet and had to clench my hands at my sides to hide their trembling.

  He scanned the room until he landed on me, his eyes darkening like the blackest obsidian. His scruff had grown to a full beard, but still, his lips were too full to be hidden, and I was able to watch the way they curled up like a feral growl.

  In my best imaginations, he begged and pleaded, told me he loved me, and he’d made a mistake. When I forced myself to face reality, I imagined indifference and maybe—maybe—a hint of regret. But never had I thought about his anger.

  Because what the hell did he have to be angry about?

  He got what he wanted. He won. He lied. I lost. I should be the one mad. Instead, I trembled like a leaf fighting off the urge to run into his arms.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he growled, taking a threatening step closer.

  “Hey, now,” Raelynn tried to cut in. She rested her palm on his arm, but he shook her off like she didn’t even register.

  His eyes locked on me and didn’t move an inch the closer he got. “We had a deal, Verana. Five fucking years. No backing out.”

  “What?” I screeched, my head jerking back like his words crossed the space and slapped me.

  “Did you think I would just sign the papers? You signed a contract.”

  “Are you fucking kidding me right now?” I looked to Raelynn for support, but she moved to the kitchen island and studied her nails. Her eyes flicked to mine but just as quickly jerked away. “Seriously, Raelynn?”

  She held up her hands, and if she had a white flag, she’d have waved it with pride.

  “Do I look like I’m kidding?” His voice went dangerously low, and he closed the space down to only a foot between us. “Because I’m dead fucking serious.”

  “How dare you, Nicholas mother-fucking Knightly Rush.” Shock at the entire situation and the flood of emotions I’d done my best to block out all week rendered me damn near speechless. I could hold my own in an argument, and there I stood, throwing his name at him like it was the best weapon I had. I might as well have thrown the spoon.

  “Yeah. Nicholas mother-fucking Knightly Rush. Also known as your goddamn husband, Mrs. Rush.”

  “You can’t hold me to that.”

  “I can, and I will.”

  His arrogance and the sheer certainty in his eyes had my steel walls sliding shut, blocking everything else out, making me stand taller behind my shield of armor.

  I pulled my shoulders back and lifted my chin, each move done with the clang of me locking down the hatches, prepared for battle. I leaned forward and curled my lip to match his. “No.”

  His only reaction to my calmly spoken word was a blink—a single blink, but it was enough to know I’d landed a blow. Unfortunately, I’d held too much confidence in my defenses and celebrated too soon. No amount of steel, no lock, no stubborn denial could keep Nico Rush out.

  “I’m done with this shit. You’re coming home.” With that declaration, he squatted low enough to wrap his arms around the back of my legs and tossed me over his shoulder.

  I let out a feral screech and pounded against his hard back. “Goddamnit, Nico. Put me the fuck down.”

  “No,” he answered calmly, throwing my word back in my face.

  “Raelynn,” I shouted, trying to support myself enough to look around for my friend.

  She stormed over, and I had faith that even in her red stiletto’s, she’d stop this man from taking me. She shoved a matching red nail into his chest.

  “We said this weekend.”

  “You never told me about a fucking divorce. It kind of moved things up.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” I screeched.

  Raelynn flicked her eyes to mine before returning her glare to Nico. “If you hurt her, I’ll fucking kill you. And not in a funny—ha-ha—way. I will legit utilize every crime show I’ve watched, and I’ll get away with it too.”

  “I would never hurt her,” he promised.

  He sounded so sincere, and it had rage burning its way through my chest. “You’re hurting me now,” I shouted, choking on the words. Seeing him—having his hands on me—for the first time was too much, and no matter how much I tried to escape him, I couldn’t.

  What if I never could—even when he wasn’t there.

  “I want messages every few hours,” Raelynn stated.

  Then, she went to the door and did the last thing I ever expected. She held the door open for him.

  “Raelynn, please,” I begged. “Please don’t let him take me. I ca—I can’t do this. Please.”

  Her face crumbled under my pain and fear of being alone with him. Not because he’d hurt me physically but because of what he’d do to my heart. I barely survived without facing him—how could I do it with him right in front of me. I was so scared I’d forgive all his lies and turn a blind eye when he did it again. I was scared of everything when it came to this man.

  “You’re one of the strongest women I know. And I’m not doing this for him. I’m doing it for you,” she said, her voice cracking over the last words. My body shook against his broad shoulder when he took the first step down. Raelynn’s eyes never left mine, even when she spoke to Nico.

  “Remember, Nico. I’ll kill you.”

  “Noted.”

  Thirty-Seven

  Nico

  Vera scowled out the window the entire ride home. Everything about her body turned away, arms crossed, and clenched jaw screamed that she didn’t want to be here.

  But I still caught the quick glances
my way like she was just as desperate to look at me as I was to look at her. We’d barely been together, yet I took my first full deep breath when I saw her standing there wide-eyed in the middle of the living room.

  It’d been a breath full of fire, but a breath that stretched my lungs past the crippling pressure that’d weighed on them since the lobby.

  “Will you walk upstairs, or am I carrying you?” I asked once we parked.

  “Fuck you, Nicholas.”

  I watched her fumble with the door handle before stumbling out in her high-heeled boots. Her words should have added fuel to the fire, but I was too happy to hear her say my name again that I didn’t care.

  Besides, I deserved her ire. I deserved it all.

  If she was going to leave me, it was damn well going to be after she heard me out.

  We walked up to our top floor apartment, and she slammed the door in my face, shaking the frame. I expected to hear the lock next, but the doorknob turned when I tried it. I pushed open the door in time to watch her brown hair fly behind her as she rounded the corner.

  Watching her run from me in our own home had me slamming the door, similar to how she did. Two could play this game of petulance.

  “Verana Rush,” I bellowed. “Get back here right now.”

  She appeared around the corner like a bull ready to charge. “I am not a child for you to order around.”

  “Then stop acting like one.”

  “And don’t call me that.”

  “Why?” I asked, stalking toward her into the living room. “It’s your name. Because you’re my wife.”

  “I am not your wife.”

  “Oh, I have the license and a contract that says otherwise. For five more years. A legally binding one at that.”

  Her ire grew, and I waited for the smoke to start pouring out of her ears.

  Her nostrils flared over her heavy breaths, jaw clenched just as tight as her fists, and her eyes doing their best to incinerate me.

  “I hate you,” she hissed.

  I flinched, the words a slap to the face. A reminder of all I’d done to deserve her anger and hitting right on the nerves of fear that I’d never get her back to the woman who promised me dinner by the fire in our home.