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“I knew there’d be abut. Didn’t I tell you there’d be abut?” I said to Matthew.
“You did.” He patted my shoulder. “At least we tried, man.”
I went to close the laptop, feeling defeated. Feeling cheated.
My father’s hand blocked me.
I looked up, wondering what kind of game he was trying to play with me, with us. Was this a punishment over the winery deal?
“You didn’t let me finish,” he said, meeting my eyes. “I saidbut, not no. Because, well . . . ultimately, it’s really not up to me.”
Now I was thoroughly confused.
“Stephanie, I think you should take over from here.”
My head whipped around to her. “Oh, because he bought the land for you.” Now I was getting it.
“No, I didn’t buy the land for her,” my father said, confusing me even more.
“Jesus. I feel like I have whiplash from all this,” Matthew said. “Would someone please explain what’s going on?”
“I didn’t buy the land. I haven’t put one cent into it.”
“What?” we asked simultaneously.
“You heard correctly. I didn’t buy anything. Stephanie did.” He swept his arm toward his wife. “She is sole proprietor. I’m just the name behind it. Being the up-and-coming entrepreneur she is, she saw an opportunity and asked what I thought. I saw great potential. But, not having any experience—”
“And seeing that we’re married,” she interrupted, taking his hand in hers. “I asked your father to put the Blaire name on it. Your name, my money. A true union.”
“Seriously?” I asked.
“Seriously,” she said. “I don’t feel like I really have the name to put behind something this big. But I do have the money.” She smiled gleefully, then brought her hands together in a clap. “I bought it, but this is a partnership. We are partners.” She looked adoringly at my father.
He gave a satisfied nod. “So, you see, gentlemen, if you want to move on this, you’ll have to convince therealboss.”
“Holy shit,” I said. Every lie I’d told myself about my father seemed to unravel. And I found myself truly relieved. Happy. Actually happy, for once. I had a lot of shit to work through, but I finally felt like everything was falling into place. My only concern was that maybe this was all a dream. That I’d wake up and realize this had all been fabricated in my subconscious.Go with it, Blaire. You’ve been waiting for this your whole life.
After another hour of going over everything, we went out for a celebratory lunch. Stephanie was on board with our plans, and my father backed my brother and me up, telling us we had done a phenomenal job. He assured Stephanie that she was in good hands and we’d all be at her disposal throughout the entire process.
Matthew and I returned to my suite at the hotel—the one provided for me while I lived and worked in New York—and celebrated some more with shots and brotherly exuberance.
Hours later, I went to sleep, stupidly drunk. I was happy with how everything had worked out for us today. Happy that I finally felt some semblance of normalcy regarding my family. Happy that I would continue to make amends with my father and establish a real relationship with him. Happy that Stephanie made him happy. She was everything I didn’t expect her to be and was genuinely invested in him and his children.
As I slammed into my mattress, all this happiness was great, but I still had a hole in my heart and a knot in my stomach. None of this would matter if I didn’t have Siena.
Siena
Icouldn’t sleep. I tossedand turned all night. Again. It was the morning of day three. Two long, dreadful, and excruciating days had come and gone since I’d left Michael’s place. Two days, and not a peep from him. I was relieved he hadn’t chased after me that night. I’d been seeing red and was out for blood. When I’d gotten home, I went straight to my room and cried myself to sleep. I’d been foolish enough to think that things between us had changed for the better. But I was wrong. I had been right about MichaelfuckingBlaire all along.
How could he have let someone hurt Pops?
The next morning, after storming out of Michael’s trailer, eyes puffy, and my hair looking like a crazed lunatic, I wrapped myself up in my old college sweatshirt. The one with frayed cuffs, baggy sleeves, and a hole in both armpits. I didn’t care though. Who gave a shit what I looked like? I was still wearing Michael’s T-shirt. It smelled like him, and I couldn’t bring myself to take it off . . . not yet. I didn’t care that I looked like a hot mess. My heart was broken. Again.
I thought what I’d experienced after breaking up with Tim was horrible. But this thing with Michael? I was at a whole other level of brokenhearted. It all happened so fast. One minute I insisted we have no strings attached, and the next minute I’m letting him pull at my heartstrings so tightly that I honestly didn’t know if I could ever get him out of my system.
I’d plastered a fake smile into place. I didn’t want my grandparents to suspect anything, and I certainly didn’t want to add any stress to Pops. I knew I had to get some answers about this whole Walter thing, but I’d have to be especially delicate about asking them what had happened that fateful day.
Pops had been sitting at the table, a grumpy scowl on his face. Grams took one look at me and rushed right over. Instinctively, she knew something was wrong. I shamelessly broke down. I couldn’t help it. She’d let me sob on her shoulders, the way I had many times in my life—from wondering about my parents to nursing a skinned knee to fighting with one of my friends. Like every time before, she held on tight, whispering how much she loved me and how everything would be okay.
