Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol 1) - Page 101

“First, I got mad and drunk all over again. Then, I thought about what she’d said. Not just when I went to her, but before when she’d advised me against the deal. I’d begrudgingly admitted that she’d been right. And if I didn’t believe that, then I wouldn’t have had to lie to her about it. The deal had been a shit move—the kind of move I didn’t want for our company, and I was avoiding having her make me face that truth—make me look in the mirror to find the kind of man who swindled back door deals for extra money. So, I’d lied to her, compounding the issue. Once I faced that truth, I set about fixing it.”

“How?” I almost begged.

“I undid it. I set aside my greed and need to win and chose my wife. She didn’t want to be married to a man who lied to win, and I loved her enough to not want it for her either. I sure as hell wasn’t going to let her go to find someone else, so I changed me. I went back and pulled out of the deal, giving it back to the company I stole it from, and the next time I went to your grandma, I went with humility and the contract to prove I’d be the man she wanted. I swore to never lie again, and only then did she finally forgive me.”

“I can’t give the company back to Lorenzo,” I stated. “He was running it into the ground, and frankly, the way he treated Vera makes me even less inclined to undo it. I was going to give her the company, but I never got a chance to tell her.”

“Sometimes, chances aren’t given to us—we have to take them.”

“What if she still leaves me. What if she can’t forgive me, takes the company and runs.”

“Ahh, Nicholas,” he sighed. “Doing the right thing doesn’t come with a guarantee, but you do it because you want it more for her than you want it for yourself.”

Dropping my head, I rubbed a hand along the back of my neck, not pleased with my options. Of course, I wanted her to be happy. I just wanted to be happy with her. I wanted to enjoy a life of making her happy every day—one where I go to wake up to her fresh-faced freckles and dimples.

“Do you love her?”

Not bothering to look up, I nodded.

“What happened to barely liking each other?”

This time I did look up with a deadpanned stare. I heard the I told you so in his voice. “You want me to tell you that you were right?”

“It never hurts to hear.”

I groaned, and he leaned forward to pat my shoulder.

“I saw it the moment you told me about her. I saw it in you both when I watched you say your vows, but you two were a stubborn match, and I knew it would be a hard trip. I just hoped you brought your own humility and maybe realized you loved her more than your revenge before it was too late.”

“Obviously, you have too much faith in me.”

“Do I? I think you’ll figure it out.”

“How?”

“Oh, Nicholas,” he said, laughing. “Thirty-five years old and still coming to me for answers—even with a half-assed brain.”

“You’re still the smartest man I know.”

Pain stopped his smile from reaching his eyes, knowing each day he lost more and more. “Either way, there are some things we need to answer ourselves. That’s how we truly learn and don’t make the same mistake again.”

“Grandpa…”

“You’re the smartest man I know. You’ll figure it out.”

I wanted to press more, but James came and let me know time was up. My grandpa had therapy and dinner.

“Stop thinking about you, Nicholas. Put yourself in her shoes and figure out what you can do for her in spite of yourself. Put your pride aside and be vulnerable enough to let her hurt you. Otherwise, you’ll never know.”

His final words followed me the whole way home. I thought about it all night, another bottle of bourbon for company. For the hell of it, I even grabbed my phone and sent the message I’d typed and deleted a thousand times.

Me: I’m sorry.I typed at least ten more.

I miss you.

I fucked up.

Call me.

Can I call you?

I miss your body.

Stop being so stubborn.

I love you.

All of them deleted. Especially the last one. If Vera ever let me speak to her again, I’d be sure to say it to her face, make sure she heard me. I even considered calling my driver, going to her right then, and telling her, but I did as my grandpa suggested and put myself in her shoes.

She’d assume I was lying again, and I couldn’t blame her.

But it didn’t mean I couldn’t start a plan to make it better. Unfortunately, I had to admit that I didn’t know my wife as well as I wanted to, and maybe some outside assistance would help.

Tags: Fiona Cole Blame it on the Alcohol Romance
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