I slow nearly to a stop when the house comes into view. There are four shiny black cars in the circular drive. My heart sinks. I had thought Tag would try once more to tell me that he loves me, that he made mistakes where we are concerned, but I suppose he really is getting the only thing he wanted now. Those cars look like they belong to businessmen, men like my father and Michael and their lawyers. All the ingredients to settle up a matter such as this, when all Tag had to do was sign the papers.
Dread floods the back of my throat like bile, and I swallow hard. Whatever lies ahead, this will all be over soon and I’ll be on my way to a new state, a new home and a new life. One day, all this will be a vague, unpleasant memory.
That’s what I tell myself as I pull to a stop, as I shift into park, as I get out of my car and again as I mount the steps. I take a deep breath and reach for the door handle, ready to face the inevitable, but it swings open before I can, startling me.
Tag is standing just on the other side of the opening, his gray eyes unreadable. My heart lurches in my chest when his lips curve into a polite smile. Polite. He’s not even going to pretend that there was more to us than this.
“Come in,” he says, holding the door as though this isn’t still my home.
An unbearable sadness drips through my veins like slow-moving cold water. I return his polite smile and step inside, my stomach turning over miserably when he holds out an arm directing me toward the dining room. I’m not surprised to see a few people, businessmen, who I don’t know. I am, however, surprised to see my father here. His expression is carefully blank when his eyes meet mine.
I frown at him as if to ask why he’s here. He merely shakes his head in one small, short gesture. I’m even more apprehensive now. This was supposed to be an easy transaction. Not . . . this.
I feel Tag’s hand at my lower back and I jerk involuntarily. Not because he scared me or because I’m repulsed by this touch. Quite the opposite, in fact. It feels like electricity. Like heaven. Like home. Like no touch for the rest of my life will ever compare to it.
If I were a lesser woman, I might dissolve into a puddle of tears, but instead, I square my shoulders and meet every curious eye in the room, nodding to each of the gentlemen as I go.
“Gentlemen, this is Weatherly O’Neal Barton. Weatherly, this is Tom Geffen, my lawyer. To his left is Gerald, the head of the Randolph Consolidated legal department. Beside him is Fritz Montgomery, the largest shareholder at Randolph Consolidated besides myself, as well as a board member.”
“Gentlemen, it’s a pleasure,” I say demurely, my insides a jittering mass of jelly contained only by the clenched muscles of my abdomen. I can do this part. I was bred for this part—to face men like this.
“I’ll leave you to finish up. There’s something I need to discuss with Weatherly.”
With the pressure of his hand guiding me, Tag urges me on through the dining room and into the kitchen, toward the back door. He opens it for me as well. I walk through without question. Although I’m curious as to what he has to say and why he needs privacy to say it, I’m happy that our business doesn’t involve all those men. Somehow that was very upsetting. Very impersonal, as though we hadn’t spent countless hours wrapped in each other’s sweaty, naked arms. At least this way, that is somewhat preserved. Even though it’s a painfully poignant reminder of what I lost. What I actually never had.
Tag leads me wordlessly through the grass, along the path that fronts the oldest field of grapevines. He continues on and we walk for several minutes, always in complete silence. Then my stomach starts to tighten in a different way. I realize that he’s heading toward the unfinished cabin, the one that’s little more than four walls and a roof. The one that we spent so many wonderful hours inside, making love and talking.
My throat burns and tears sting my eyes. I didn’t expect him to bring me here. I wasn’t prepared. I wasn’t prepared for any of this.
It takes us about ten minutes to reach the cabin. When we do, I’m surprised to see that there are windows installed and a door in place. I want to ask questions, but I don’t. He’s obviously been busy, having people finish what he had married into.
I gulp when he stops at the bottom of the steps and turns toward me. He says nothing, just stares down into my face, his gray eyes shining like silver smoke in the dazzling sun, shining with what I now recognize as love. Bright, beautiful love. Gently, he takes my hand and leads me up to the door. He twists the knob and pushes it open, gesturing for me to precede him, so I do.
The interior of the cabin is finished as well. It’s furnished sparingly, the biggest additions being a wall that separates the living space from the bedroom and a big, four-poster bed that faces the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the lower vineyard.