“Wow! Mia Murphy, you are a lush!” I joke.
“And… so what if I am?” she asks with her hands on her hips and an adorable, face-brightening smile.
“I can’t take advantage of a drunk woman.”
“A: I’m not drunk. And, B: you can if she gave you permission before she started drinking.”
Who the fuck am I to argue with that? “Perfect. Love it! Let’s find a way outta here.” I pull her by the hand, starting for the other direction.
“No!” She protests. “We’re just getting to the good stuff. I want more wine.”
“I think you’ve had enough for one day, don’t you?”
“Barely. Come on, they’re moving again.”
Her enthusiasm forces me to concede, half-willingly.
We walk, arm-in-arm, following the rest of the herd. We stop at another section and get another lesson in grapes. Believe it or not, it’s not the tour that’s boring the life out of me. The tour guide is nice enough—she even has a sense of humor that’s brightened up the dullness of our crowd, but that damn Barbie is so irritating. I don’t even know what it is. She just rubs me the wrong way.
And here she comes… great! I try to look interested in our surroundings by fingering one of the vines and making a concerned face, but she’s in between me and Mia before I can finagle an intelligent-sounding assessment of the fruit before me.
“My gosh, how does one choose? I think I’m gonna have Daddy ship home a barrel of each!”
I scrunch my nose in disgust—her voice is like nails on a damn chalkboard. But when she starts to speak again, I snap back to attention. That’s it! Now, I know why she looks familiar! Cheryl Hines from Curb Your Enthusiasm! She’s a dead ringer… only Larry David would have cut her up in to little pieces—and even found a way out of it—if she were anything like this chick.
“Hey, anyone ever tell you that you look like—” Before I can finish making my accusation, Big Daddy’s calling for his bride.
“Samantha! Come back here, baby. Why do you keep running off?”
Mia’s face turns white and tears pool in her eyes. Her hands drop to her side, balling into tight-knuckled fists. I can’t help but see the hurt radiating off her—she’s paralyzed by it, unable to move or speak. I want to reach out to her and erase whatever it is she’s feeling, but I can’t imagine what the hell’s got her so worked up. Did I do something? Did I say something? And then it hits me—of all the fucking names in the world this irritating bimbo has to have the same name as the woman who nearly cost me my marriage? “Oh shit!” I groan, rushing to Mia’s side.
She shoves me away, already stalking off.
“Mia! Wait! Stop!” I never imagined something like this would trigger her. It has to be the alcohol, the heat—I don’t fucking know! Why does that bimbo’s name have to be Samantha?
Why does her name have to be Samantha?
I’ve been fine—content even—just going about my business, following Declan’s vacation rules and then, BAM! Instant reminder of all the ghosts that just won’t stop haunting me!
My pulse quickens, my cheeks heat up as if they’re on fire, and the latest sample of wine creeps up into my throat, pooling there as if getting ready to erupt like an angry volcano. I’m gonna be sick. Right here. Wonderful.
Memories of that night at Declan’s Christmas party come back in sharp, vivid flashes. I was mortified finding out about his infidelity the way I did—where I did. Being humiliated in public and having to deal with the crippling feelings while trying not to make a fool out of yourself—yeah, impossible. And that’s exactly how I feel right now.
Declan calls out to me as I run off, but I don’t even look back. I’m not dealing with these emotions in front of all these strangers. I knew they were bound to escape me some time, and that’s why I’d begged Declan to have a talk while we were alone, but—damn him!
“Mia!” His calls are getting closer and I can hear his footsteps reaching me. I still don’t turn around, afraid to see that everyone’s staring at me and wondering what my outburst is about. How flipping embarrassing.
His hand grips my shoulder and I shrug it off. “Leave me alone for a minute, Declan. I’ll be fine.” It’s a blatant understatement, but if we’re to get on with this tour and the rest of this day, I’ll have to push it all down for just a little while longer. I can’t let Samantha bring out the ugly.
“Please. Mia. Please just look at me. I’m sorry.” His voice drips with remorse. It’s heartbreaking.