Page 56 of A Vintage of Regret
“I will not,” she said with a laugh.
“Wonderful.” Bryson lifted the glass, swirled, sniffed, and took a sip. “Jesus. It’s warm. I’ve told her a million times to chill it slightly before letting it breathe. She’s the only person I know who manages to ruin my wine.”
“Don’t let that destroy your night. The wine still tastes delicious.”
“Sorry. I’ll work on adjusting my attitude.”
Monica floated up to them, looking like a perfume ad, glass of white in one hand—with a fucking ice cube in it—her smile tight as piano wire. “Well,” she said. “This is bold, brazen, and brave.”
“Not sure what you mean by that.” Riley said, cool and composed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Brea leaning against the bar. She raised her glass and winked.
God, Brea was such an amazing woman. Strong, confident, and even though she sometimes permitted others to get under her skin, she never allowed it to show.
“I wasn’t expecting you—with him, since he was supposed to be my date.” Monica’s eyes dragged over her like a scanner.
Bryson shifted, but Riley gave him a small squeeze—as if to say, “Don’t engage.”
“Not sure what gave you the idea that Bryson would be your date, because he asked me before I came back to town.” Riley smiled sweetly at Monica, and it was clear Monica wanted to claw out her eyes. But Riley kept smiling that fake-ass, sugary smile. “He called me while I was in Patagonia to catch up, and when I told him I was coming home, he insisted I attend with him. Isn’t that just the sweetest?”
Holy crap. Riley had never been one to lie. She’d also never been very good at it, but right now, she sounded a bit like his mother when she wanted to get under someone's skin.
Monica’s lips parted in what looked like shock. Sadly, it only lasted a split second. “Wherever did you find that dress? Or did Brea donate it to the cause? She’s got a closet full of thingsshe doesn’t wear because they're either not designer, or so last season. They hang on her rack until she decides where she’s going to donate it.”
“Oh, this one was meant just for me,” Riley replied. “Something about it being from her special collection.”
Oh boy, did that dig land exactly where it was intended. Bryson bit the inside of his cheek to hide his grin.
Clearly stunned, Monica blinked, tilted her head, her smile weak. “Well, I hope you enjoy the party. There’s an auction starting. Try not to accidentally outbid anyone.” She showed her teeth in what might have been a smile—or maybe it was meant to be a threat. “Wouldn’t want Bryson here to have to play hero since you don’t have the money.”
“At least the money I have wasn’t from a divorce settlement,” Riley said smoothly. “And I will enjoy the wine. It’s from Stone Bridge Winery, after all.”
Monica’s lips parted. She blinked. Once. Then twice. Then it was like rapid-fire blinking for a good half a minute before she cleared her throat and closed her mouth. “Enjoy your evening.” Monica spun on her heel and disappeared into the crowd.
Riley exhaled, laughing a little. “I can’t believe I just did that.”
“I can’t believe I kept my mouth shut through that entire exchange.”
“I’m just glad she didn’t pour wine on your mother’s dress. This thing must be worth a fortune.” Riley leaned into Bryson.
“My mother never lent anything to Monica. No dresses. No jewelry. Not even a sweatshirt when we were sitting around the fire pit at night.”
“Brea did mention something about that when she offered to let me borrow this one.”
The band began to play a slow, familiar melody—something from their high school years. He remembered how he'd steppedon Riley's feet when they’d danced and how she'd laughed and tried to teach him to follow the rhythm.
"Dance with me?" he asked, extending his hand.
She laughed. "Do you remember prom? How you kept apologizing every time you stepped on my dress?"
“It’s not the memory that I enjoy thinking about the most.” He winked, taking her hand.”
She smiled and let him lead her to the dance floor. This time was different—he spun her around smoothly, dipped her once, and twirled her back into his arms with practiced confidence.
Having her this close again felt like coming home and losing his mind all at once. The familiar scent of her hair, the way she fit perfectly against him—it was dangerous territory, but he couldn't bring himself to care.
"Oh my. Where’d you learn to do that?" she asked, gripping his shoulders and looking up at him with surprise.
He grimaced, embarrassed by the admission he knew was coming. "You don't want to know."
