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Though he was right, if this happened, neither of us should be under the influence of anything.
Not to mention, there was more to go over (so, so much more).
But still, I missed his taste, his smell, his noises, the way he looked when we made love and him being buried inside me, and it was a dirty trick to remind me I did before he was going to just…leave.
“I’ll toss your wine and clean the glass before I go. And since I brought the key this time, I’ll lock up,” he finished.
“You aren’t pouring out that wine. It’s a full glass. I’m not certain I’ve even taken a sip. I’ll pour it back into the bottle.”
A shadow drifted over his face, and he said, “It’s just a glass of wine, Wyn.”
“And I’m not so tipsy I can’t pour it back into the bottle.”
“Is it a special bottle?”
“A special bottle?”
“Special. Or expensive?”
“Not particularly. I actually don’t even remember where I got it. I think it’s from one of my wine clubs.”
“Wyn.”
I started paying attention, close attention, because the way he said that, the pain in my name, it came unexpected but it packed one hell of a punch.
“What?” I whispered.
“You can throw away a glass of wine.”
“But I can also keep it.”
“When you cry like that, you get tired. Do you want to get up and pour a glass of wine in the bottle, or do you want me to take it away so you can just turn the lights out and get some sleep?”
Door number two.
However.
“Will you pour it back in the bottle?”
“Wyn.” That was sharp.
So my repeat of “What?” was too.
“You have Swarovski crystal chandeliers…in your bathroom.”
“Yes.”
“Your duvet cover cost over a thousand dollars.”
Of course, he recognized an Austin.
“And?”
“Are your pajamas polyester?”
Well!
“Of course not.” That was a snap.
He shook me gently. “Jesus, Wyn.”
“What?” That was a snap too.
“If you wanted Swarovski, I could have given it to you,” he said.
I blinked, rapidly, three times.
“Sorry?”
“Though, no way in fuck would I take my kids’ rooms to do it,” he went on. “We could have built on.”
“Remy, they’d moved out and Manon was—”
“You figured out Bea, what’s the rest, Wyn?”
I pulled out of his arms because…
Was he serious?
“Are you…is this some kind of…quiz?” I asked.
“He gave her everything. To keep her quiet. To keep her docile. To keep her from asking too many questions. To keep her from aiming her vitriol at him. Did my mentioning the Monkey Bar penetrate with you?”
Well, I thought it did, but apparently it did not.
I shook my head, “Remy, I’m not following.”
“Why did I want to give you everything?”
I stopped moving.
I stopped thinking.
I stopped everything and focused solely on him.
“She knew he fucked around on her. No way he could be gone as often as he was for so much time without getting himself some,” Remy carried on. “She knew. I was her little man. I was her perfect boy. I was her son, but I had to take up the fuckin’ slack when he was gone, for fuck’s sake. I was the one who was her stand-in to take out her rage that her husband turned to other women and was never home. And he kept that aimed at me by coming home with diamonds and furs.”
I reached out, put my hand on his chest, and although I knew now he was talking about his parents, I didn’t know why.
But what he was saying was scaring the hell out of me.
“Remy, go back and explain why you’re sharing this with me.”
“Because you are not her, Wyn, but I am him. I need to be him. For you. I didn’t take you to the Monkey Bar simply because it was a cool place to go. I took you to the Monkey Bar because I knew I was going to make you mine, and you needed to know how things were going to be. You needed to know who I was going to be for you. From our start until our end.”
And with that, he got up, nabbed the glass of wine, which was full, so it sloshed, but I did not care, and then he walked out.
I didn’t follow him.
But when time had passed, I did.
I checked the front door (locked).
I checked the kitchen.
And saw he’d thrown out the wine.
CHAPTER 12
Four Years Old
Remy
Remy was at his desk in his office the next morning when, with very bad timing, two things happened at once. Lisa, his assistant, walked in and his cell rang.
He glanced at her then he looked down at his phone.
It told him Wyn was calling.
Fuck.
Considering the fact she hadn’t phoned since he’d walked out on them three years ago (all their communication had been done through texts), he absolutely wanted to pick up.
But after the shit he’d pulled on her last night, he wanted to avoid her.
