Page 33 of A Vintage of Regret
“Thanks.” Lifting her glass, Riley took a sip, silently dismissing Monica.
Monica shifted her weight and folded her arms, doing her best to draw more attention to her breasts.
Bryson didn’t take the bait.
“I can’t believe you’re not coming to the party,” Monica said. “It’s going to be bigger than last year. Anyone who’s anybody in this town is coming. And of course, I’m only serving wines from your vineyard. Your 2019 Pinot is still my favorite.”
“You should try expanding your palate. We live in wine country. There are other good ones out there,” Bryson said flatly just as Oliva returned with her order. “Here you go. Have a nice day.”
Monica batted her fake eyelashes. “You know, we should really catch up. Maybe we could have dinner one night this week.”
He cocked a brow. “What happened to what’s his name?”
Monica tapped her long, polished nails on the counter. “Oh, that ended a while ago. Anyway, I was really hoping you could be my escort to my party—which I asked you about in my note.” She leaned over the bar and curled her fingers around his biceps.
Her touch sent a wave of disgust through him. Monica had never understood boundaries, had never accepted that he wasn't interested. And having this happen in front of Riley—the woman he'd actually loved, the one he'd lost partly because of Monica's interference—made his stomach turn. He could only imagine what Riley was thinking. He pulled back from Monica's grip.
“You don’t have to be so cold. I was just being friendly,” Monica said in a sing-song voice, which she thought was seductive and inviting.
It was annoying.
“You always are when you’re between boyfriends,” he said. “But you’re not getting another round with me. Not now. Not ever. I don’t know how else to make that clear to you.”
Monica laughed lightly, but the sound rang hollow. “You always say that, and yet, you always come back.”
“That’s not?—”
“I’ll see you soon,” Monica said, cutting him off. She turned and headed toward the door, then hesitated, glancing back toward Riley. “Well. Best of luck.” Her voice dripped with sugar-covered venom. “It can’t be easy for you, being second choice, knowing he’ll always come back to me.”
Riley stiffened but said nothing.
Bryson closed his eyes for a long moment. Exhaling sharply, he dragged a hand through his hair as he lifted his gaze. “She’s full of shit.”
Riley was already gathering her bag. “You know, I shouldn’t be mad, and maybe I wouldn’t be if it weren’t for the day I’ve had. But really? Now, she’s your go-to when you get bored and want a little action? You can do so much better.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake. I haven’t been with Monica sincebeforeour divorce.”
“Yeah. Sure.” Riley stood. “And you didn’t kiss her before I lost… never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“Riley—”
“You said she was in the past.”
“She is.”
“Then why does she still talk to you like you’re hers? Why does she think she can come in here and throw jabs at me like I was just some passing fling?”
“Because she’s insecure as hell, and you were a ghost in our marriage,” Bryson snapped. “She’s desperate. And jealous. And I only speak to her when I’m forced.”
“But she still thinks she has a shot. That says more than you want to admit.”
Bryson braced his hands against the bar. “You think I’d let you walk back into my life if I were still hung up on Monica? You think I’d?—”
“A kiss to heal old wounds doesn’t mean I’m in your life,” Riley said, her voice cracking. “Everything about this town feels like it’s closing in around me. And then she walks in like a shadow from the worst part of our past?—”
“I’m not the same guy I was back then.”
“And I’m not the same girl,” she whispered. “But I don’t make the same mistakes either.”
