AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Me neither,” I say. “But I can’t say it surprised me. I didn’t predict it, but it’s the kind of low trick he would pull.”
She nods in agreement. “But you won.”
“Yeah. I did.”
Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. “Good. I’m glad to hear it.”
She presses her hands against mine. Then her smile fades, to be replaced by a frown.
“And where has Sophie been? I know I’ve been out of it, but I don’t remember her coming in to visit me. Is she all right?”
I pull my hand away, running my fingers through my hair self-consciously. “Right… about that.”
“Declan,” my grandmother says, a wary tone in her voice.
“We broke up,” I admit, glancing down. “There was so much going on, between your health and Dynasty and the takeover… and there just wasn’t room for a relationship with her. I thought I could juggle everything, and I was wrong.”
I don’t know what response I’m expecting from my grandmother, but when I hear her sigh, I look up. Her lips are pursed, her gaze grim.
“You’re a fool, Declan,” she tells me. “You didn’t win against your father.”
I frown and start to protest, but she holds up a bony hand.
“You may have held off the takeover, but you let all of that bullshit lose you the love of your life.” Anger flashes across her face. “That’s what Johnathan wants. He wants to make you like him. And if you let him, then you’ve lost.”
I rock back, stunned by her words. Her disappointment is always difficult to handle, but there’s something else in her expression that’s even worse—pity. She feels sorry for me.
“You were always so strong,” she says. “You didn’t turn out like him—you weren’t a cruel man like him. But you let everything he did affect you so much.”
“I don’t know what else I was supposed to do,” I argue, defensive. “If he’s going to come after what I’ve got, then I have to—”
“There are other ways to prove your father wrong. You don’t have to spend your life fending him off, beating him back with a stick. You can find happiness. You can embrace love.” She shifts under her blankets. “Are you happy, Declan?”
I start to answer, then stop myself. Instinctively, I was going to tell her that yes, of course I’m happy. Why wouldn’t I be? I’ve built this world for myself. I have everything I could ever want, and anything I could ever need.
But it doesn’t feel right.
It feels like lying—like a deep-seated lie, one I’m telling not for her benefit, but for my own.
I stare at her, unable to find the words to reply. She pats my hand, that pitying look still in her eyes.
* * *
The ice in my glass clinks as I swirl it absent-mindedly, watching the cubes float in the amber liquid.
I’ve had this one with Sophie. It’s a Scotch, barrel-aged, with rich notes of oak and smoke. I bought it for the first time to share with her, and we drank it as we talked and laughed together.
At the time, I remember it being delicious. I remember the way she described it to me, bright-eyed, her words accentuating the smooth taste in my mouth. I made a note of the distillery. It was one of the best I’d ever had.
Now, all of the deep, flavorful elements are gone. It tastes bitter, almost sour on my tongue.
Did it always? Or is it only now, without Sophie to share it with, that the complex medley of flavors has given way to harsh, unpleasant sharpness?
Bad as it is, I’ve still made my way through two glasses in the past half hour. This one, recently poured, is the third.
I set the glass down on the coffee table and pick up my phone, staring at the screen—at Sophie’s contact, the little picture of her above her name and number.
My grandmother’s words flash through my head. Are you happy, Declan?
