There’s simply an illegible swirl where a name should be, as though Tag’s father signed this as a business memo. I can’t even imagine receiving a bomb such as this. A letter out of nowhere, changing my entire history. And, likely, my entire future.
My heart is torn, part of it feeling great sadness and empathy for Tag, the other part feeling even more betrayed than I did a few minutes ago. His deception runs deeper than I thought and it’s even worse than my father suspected. The man I know as Tag is the person behind all of my current misery. He’s the face behind the company that’s threatening my world. He’s the reason for . . . everything. He’s the reason I was being coerced to marry Michael. He’s the reason my father closed my trust fund. He’s the reason my family stands to lose everything Dad worked so hard for. He’s the reason my soul is shattered.
On the flip side, he’s also the reason I found hope, the reason I fell in love, and the reason I want to go back to bed and never wake up. For a split second, he was everything good. And now, he’s everything bad. How could this be? How could I be so blind?
A crushing sensation settles over my chest, as though Tag physically kicked me right in the vicinity of my heart. With heavy limbs, I replace the envelopes, taking great care to put the key where I found it and roll the dust cover back into place.
Numbly, I make my way out of the cabin and back to the main house. When I get back to my room, I pull out my other suitcase and start filling it with the remainder of my belongings. I never unpacked from our honeymoon, so there isn’t that much to gather. I stop at the small desk that sits in one corner of my room and I scribble a note for Tag.
I want a divorce.
Clear. Simple. Honest.
I leave it on the bed and carry first one bag and then the other down to the garage, stowing them in the backseat of my car. My chin trembles as I start the engine and back out into the circular drive. As far as I know, I might never see Tag Barton again. He has what he wants. Or at least he thinks he does. He might let me go and never even try to find me and explain.
I close my eyes against the pain.
He’s taken so much from me, even if he never manages to get Chiara legally. He still stole it from me. It was a place of such peace and refuge for me, a place where I could come to remember better days, but now it will never be the same. He might as well have burned it to the ground and left only the ash.
Because of that, part of me is dying as I shift out of reverse and into drive. To make my way forward. Forward, away from the vineyard. Forward, away from Tag. Forward, away from all the hope and possibility that was just within my grasp, but then so cruelly ripped from it.
I begin the drive back to Atlanta, scanning the lush vineyard through watering eyes as I say a silent good-bye to Chiara and all the false happiness I found here. Despite the cold, hard facts, I know that I will never be the same after the last couple of months. I’m leaving a big piece of my heart on this mountain. A big piece that’s been crushed into tiny slivers left to mingle with the dirt and die in the warm night.
When my front tires hit the main road, I dial my father’s number. His gruff voice is anything but comforting and I almost hate to give him the satisfaction of being oh-so-right. But he’s more equipped to deal with treachery of this magnitude. He’s lived and breathed this kind of business for as long as I can remember.
“Look into Jameson Randolph’s son, Dad. I think you’ll find a trail that leads back to Tag. I’ll call you in a few days.”
I hang up before he can ask questions. I hang up before he can hear me fall apart. I turn off my phone so that I can grieve in peace. And I do. All the way back to Atlanta.
TWENTY-SIX
Tag
Even before I see the raised garage door and empty bay where Weatherly’s car was parked, I know that something is wrong. I can feel it, almost smell it in the air like a storm is coming.
I park at the top of the circle and take the front steps as well as the inside steps two at a time. I know before I enter the bedroom what I’ll find. Weatherly is gone.
After I check the bathroom and find that, indeed, all her toiletries are gone as well, I see the note lying on the bed. It’s short, to the point and bothersome as hell.
I told her I was falling in love with her last night. Why would she leave? I thought she’d like hearing that. She told me she loved me on our wedding day, for God’s sake. I would’ve thought she’d be pleased to hear that I have feelings for her, too. Feelings far beyond just the physical.
Now I know without a doubt that I should’ve told her sooner. But because I didn’t, because I didn’t tell her everything, I never felt right about telling her how I really felt about her either. Knowing what I knew. Knowing what I was keeping from her. On some level, maybe I was trying to save her from falling for me when she didn’t know the ugliest parts. Maybe I was afraid she’d stop loving me if she found out. Maybe I’m not the man I thought I was, the man I hoped I was. Whatever the reason, my inability to confess my full feelings for her might well have cost me her.