After Robert, there was a guy in college who I thought I had great chemistry with, especially after we had sex. Turned out that he had too many mommy issues for me, though. And as good as the sex was, I never imagined it could be like this. I never dreamed I could come alive for someone this way. Tag is just different. With him, I’m different. I’m someone I’ve always wanted to be. And he’s like someone I’ve always wanted to be with, even when the idea of him was almost too taboo to even consider. For an O’Neal anyway.
But here we are.
Together.
And we’re going to get married.
I smile. I can’t seem to help myself.
I carry that smile with me all through the day. And the next ones, too. Despite my father’s glaring and despite Michael’s openly disapproving looks, I smile, basking in what’s happening between Tag and me.
We spend our days together, in the fields, in the cabin, in the woods. Or in my room. The grapes are getting closer and closer to readiness, and I feel like I’m ripening right along with them. All my life, I’ve never really felt like I’m flourishing until now. Until Chiara. Until Tag.
Tag and I breakfast by ourselves and take packed lunches wherever we go. We talk and laugh and make out like high school kids who can’t keep their hands off each other. We share long looks and sometimes short naps like we don’t have a care in the world. And for the moment, it feels as though we don’t. It’s as if trouble has been suspended, disallowed entry into our happy little bubble, and I for one am going to enjoy every damn second of it.
At dinner, Tag does a great job of keeping conversation focused on Chiara, and when it’s not, we talk softly among ourselves, leaving my father and Michael to do the same. They don’t, though. Mostly, they just glower at us.
And then there are the nights. God, just thinking about them causes my sex to shudder hungrily. Sometimes I think I could lie next to him 24/7 and never get tired of the feel of his touch, of his kiss, of his body working magic within mine. And when he’s not around, like now, it’s as though I can’t quite get comfortable with life until I see him again.
I jump when my phone rings. Surprisingly, I’d almost forgotten it was in my pocket. I grabbed it out of habit after dressing, before I headed down here to the lanai. It hasn’t made a peep in days and I haven’t checked it in just as long. It’s a tie to the outside world (and the problems therein) that I really would rather forget about. The fact that it’s my assistant’s number rather than my mother’s tells me that my father hasn’t told her about Tag yet, which gives me a nice little reprieve.
I stare at the number. I feel the weight of my trust-held-hostage bearing down on me as I move my finger over the green TALK button. As much as I’d like to stay in my happy bubble of oblivion, I can’t ignore my biggest responsibility, so I answer the phone.
“Hi, Deana,” I answer politely, coming to my feet to walk to the edge of the water.
“Hey, Weatherly, sorry to bother you, but I have some news I thought you’d be interested in.”
I can clearly picture Deana’s dark brown eyes sparkling in the rounded contours of her pretty face. Her cheeks are youthfully chubby, even for her twenty-six years, which gives her a perpetually mischievous look, like a chipmunk up to no good.
“What’s that?”
“We got an anonymous donation to Safe Passage.”
I’m not sure what makes that noteworthy. We do very well with donations, but it would take ten times the number of them to keep us moving in the direction that I’ve been planning toward. The direction that would be a breeze if I could get my trust.
For the first time since all this talk of engagements and marriages, the reality of my situation hits me. If I marry Tag, I’m dooming all the kids that I planned to help. Yes, Safe Passage could still do great work, but it would be a greater, broader, more massive effort if it had a few million dollars more.
Guilt and indecision strike. And they strike hard.
“Let me call you right back, Deana,” I tell her quickly, hanging up and stumbling back to drop down onto the end of the chaise I just vacated.
I can’t marry Tag. My father is right. That would be the most irresponsible thing in the world. Not just for my family in light of the Randolph takeover, but for the kids as well. I can’t put my happiness before the needs of starving children. Ultimately, my mother was right. I’m not a selfish person. At least not selfish enough to throw away millions of dollars that could feed thousands and thousands of hungry kids for years to come.
Why do I feel like crying? This was all basically a ruse from the very beginning. It’s not like I’m losing the love of my life.