If he hadn’t wanted to hurt me, he had a funny way of proving it. I would not let him know how his words had caused a pit to open in my heart. I barely wanted to acknowledge it myself. “Please just go,” I said, my voice unwavering. “I don’t want you. I don’t want you at all.”
He ran his hand through his hair, seeming to be deliberating something, looking as if I was the one hurting him. But then he swayed slightly on his feet, catching himself and letting out a sharp breath. He swore softly, turned and walked out of my room, closing the door softly behind him.
If they weren’t staying here, I would leave for the sanctuary of my cottage. I had planned on sleeping with Grayson tonight. And now, sleeping in a room in the same house as him felt unbearable.
I collapsed on my pillow, hugging myself and refusing to cry.
* * *
If I had thought the dawn of a new day would have the Dragon flapping into my room and begging for forgiveness, I would have been sorely disappointed. In fact, I barely saw him at all over the next few days. Evidently, he had escaped to the winemaking facility, installing new equipment and ensuring everything was in working order. Or at least, that’s what I learned from Shane, who seemed nearly as frustrated as I was that Grayson was ignoring all of us. Clearly Grayson didn’t even care if our marriage appeared to be a sham.
“I’ll just stick around and put myself in his face whenever possible,” Shane said. “Eventually I’ll wear him down.” He gave me a wink, although his expression said he wasn’t particularly convinced by his own statement.
I, however, wasn’t willing to do the same. In fact, my MO had always been to run from hurtful situations, and that was my instinct now. But I had a party to plan and the clock was ticking on that. What had I been thinking to give myself such a short window in which to do it? I could barely remember now. All the same, invitations had gone out and people were expecting an event, one which my absent husband surely wasn’t going to put on. It was up to me, even though, at this particular point, it was difficult to remember why it even mattered at all.
I spent the first part of the week cleaning up Grayson’s office and trying to make some sense out of the financial files. Walter helped me where he could, since he’d been the one keeping the books updated as much as possible, although he didn’t know the programs as well as I did.
“Walter,” I asked, as he went through the accounts payable with me, “do you think I could see some of the financials going a few years back? I don’t want to overstep my bounds, but I want to get a better idea of where things started going downhill for the winery.” I thought if I understood why things had crumbled—literally and figuratively—so quickly once Ford Hawthorn had become ill, I would better be able to help manage the vineyard accounts, maybe even offer some advice to Grayson—not that he deserved it. I should probably watch in glee as he failed to fulfill his vow. But I couldn’t do that. My heart wasn’t in it, and I wanted to see Gram’s money go to good use as well.
Walter cleared his throat, and I thought he looked vaguely uncomfortable at my request. “The records weren’t well kept back then. Everything was neglected once Mr. Hawthorn became ill.”
“But surely there’s something? If I could just take a quick look at whatever there is, I think it might help. I don’t know how effective I can be now if I don’t understand what happened in the past.”
Walter was quiet for so long, I didn’t know if he’d heard me. But when I looked up, he was staring at me intently. I blinked. I’d never seen a look that was anything other than impassive on Walter’s face. “I’ll see what I can find,” he finally said, turning away.
Well, that was weird. “Thanks, Walter,” I mumbled.
But despite his seeming hesitance, later that day, when Walter brought me a number of thumb drives, he looked me pointedly in the eye and said, “These are the accounting records going back five years.”
“Okay, great,” I said, stepping closer to him to take the backed-up files. “Thanks so much.”
I put my hands on them, but he held them as he said, “Like you said, it’s easier to help in the present if you understand the past. I hope these are useful.”
I frowned. “Me too.”
Walter let go of the stack, giving me a nod and walking stiffly away. What had that been about?
I didn’t have time to begin going through the discs until I had the current files updated, so I put my effort into that. I also sought out Vanessa in the kitchen and asked if she was willing to help me with the party preparations. We’d already received a handful of RSVPs, enough to make me slightly nervous—people were going to show up; we’d better be ready. And I could use some assistance. I explained the theme to Vanessa and showed the lists I’d made so far.
“Oh my goodness, of course. I’d love to,” she said. “What an incredible idea.”
“What’s an incredible idea?” I heard in a deep dragon timbre from behind me. We both whirled around to watch Grayson as he strode to the refrigerator and took out several bottles of water, Sugar Pie trailing behind him. My gaze raked over Grayson. I hadn’t seen him in days and it felt like my eyes had been starved. He was sweaty and gorgeously flushed. I looked away, feeling pained by my reaction to him. In general but also because he was clearly completely unaffected by me now that Vanessa was around.
“Kira’s party idea,” Vanessa said. “Did she tell you? It’s a fairy-tale masquerade—”
“She told me,” Grayson said, opening a bottle of water and taking a long drink. I watched as his throat muscles worked, swallowing the water, and when I looked up at his face, his eyes were zeroed in on me. I looked away again, pretending to concentrate on my list. I felt my cheeks flush with the excitement of his perusal and wanted to kick myself. How pathetic. He hasn’t spoken to you in days and you fall to pieces when he shoots you a glance?
Vanessa grinned. “My very favorite fairy-tale character is Tinker Bell.” She laughed. “Is that silly?”
I smiled at her. “Not at all. As long as you can convince Shane to dress up as Peter Pan.”
She laughed again, the sound as musical a sound as I’d ever heard. She’d be the perfect Tinker Bell. She’d be the perfect anything. I looked at her standing there in her long coral-and-white-striped halter dress, her hair sleek, golden, and straight to her shoulders. She was perfect. I hated her. No, I didn’t. I liked her—I hated that I liked her. She was nice and genuine. Why couldn’t she have been a total bitch? “I’ll make sure he’s a masculine-looking Peter. With just enough boyish-ness. Just like him.”
“What?” I asked distractedly. I shook my head, forcing myself back to the conversation. “Oh…Shane…Peter Pan, right.”
I glanced up at Grayson who was slowly screwing the cap back on the water bottle, his expression hard, a small tick working in his jaw.
Sugar Pie tentatively sniffed Vanessa’s feet and Vanessa leaned down, her hand petting her head quickly and then drawing back. “I feel like I’ll hurt her every time I go to touch her,” she said, her voice filled with sympathy.