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I couldn’t protect him from the financial fallout breaking off my engagement would cause, but I could take on some of the blame.
After all, I was the one who had asked Merrick to sleep with me in the first place. I had set this all into motion.
I was a big girl, I could take the consequences too.
The day Osian was due back in the States, I sat in the kitchen, every other light in the house turned down low. I wanted to call Candice, but she still wasn’t speaking to me. Earlier I’d gotten a text from her with an extremely Candice-like message:
I love you, but you’re such a dick for keeping this from me. I need time to cool off.
I told her I loved her too and that I was sorry. The whole incident made me feel like a jerk so I went and poured myself a glass of pity wine. That glass became another.
And another.
I wasn’t drunk, but it impaired me enough I couldn’t drive. At some point in the evening, I decided I needed to see Osian, even though he’d just gotten back that morning.
I knew because he’d texted me he wanted to see me and I’d ignored it.
It was past time to break this off. I was going to be a grown up instead of relying on Merrick to convey the message. Osian deserved to hear it from me.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Hello,” he said crisply. “You never returned my text.”
He sounded like he was in a horrible mood. My mouth was dry. He had to know, it was probably the first thing he’d heard when he stepped off the plane.
“Sorry, I was busy. Could you come over so we can talk?” I squeaked.
“Right now?”
“Yeah,” I said. “It’s just me at the house. We can have some wine and talk.”
There was a short silence and he cleared his throat. “Okay. I’ll be over in thirty minutes.”
He hung up the phone without saying goodbye. I pulled myself off the kitchen stool and padded down to my bedroom. Breaking off our future engagement was going to be a horrible experience so I might as well pull myself together so he didn’t see me crying in my sweatpants.
I did my hair and makeup and put on a lacy tank top and jeans. By the time I was done, I could see his headlights coming up the drive.
I let him in, shrinking under his gaze. He flipped his keys once over his hand and caught them.
“You smell like a fucking winery,” he said.
I stared after him as he walked down the hall toward the kitchen, completely shocked. It took me almost thirty seconds to gather myself and shut the door, locking it. I hurried down the hall and found him standing by the table.
“What do you want to talk about?” he said.
“I…um…do you want some wine?”
“Sure.”
I poured him a glass, but he didn’t touch it. He was just standing there, looking at me like I was something he’d scraped off his shoe. My chest tightened and ice formed in the pit of my stomach.
He had to know.
“How was your trip?” I asked, my voice brittle.
He rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
“Okay,” I said, taking a deep breath. “I think we should just go ahead and talk then.”
