Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,108

don’t know. Ease any of this weight pressing in on me. Maybe it would have made it easier to manage—to understand and accept. Instead, I still wanted to rage and make it all go away. I was still pissed he was fading from me, slipping through my fingers like sand.

Maybe that was the theme of my life. I had people long enough just to make me love them, and then they slipped away.

“Thanks, James,” I said, pushing the melancholy aside. My grandpa had already beaten himself up enough; he didn’t need me going in with disappointed stares.

“Hey Grandpa,” I said, walking into the room.

“Hey…Um…Dammit.”

“Ni—”

“Nicholas. There it is. Always on the tip of my tongue.”

“I do the same thing all the time,” I said, but we both knew I rarely struggled with recalling names. My mind was sharp—just like his used to be.

He laughed awkwardly before taking me in. His head tipped to the side, and his white brows pinched together. “What’s wrong, Nicholas?”

Plopping down in the chair across from his couch, I blew out a long breath, sagging back like a deflating balloon. “I bought Mariano Shipping last week.”

Just as I predicted, a spark of pride flashed before his lips flattened, and he shook his head. He opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, I admitted it all—ripping the Band-Aid off.

“And Vera found out the night we got back—from her father confronting us in the lobby. She hasn’t spoken to me since she stormed out.”

His eyes slid closed, and he shook his head slowly. It reminded me of the night I crashed the car when I’d only been fifteen. I’d wanted to be yelled at. I wanted anything other than his disappointment. Just like then, I hung my head and stared at my closed palms and twirling thumbs.

“Have you tried to talk to her?”

My eyes flicked up and down, wincing, thinking about the single message I sent asking to talk—the one she didn’t respond to. “No.”

He laughed softly, and I winced again. Silence stretched, and I cowardly kept my head down. Nicholas Knightly Rush, CEO of K. Rush Shipping, alpha male who dominated the shipping industry, no longer sat on the couch. No, Nico, the rebellious teenager, sat there feeling ashamed.

“You know your grandma played a bigger role in the company than anyone realized. She may not have actually worked there, but she was my own board of directors. I went to her with almost everything, and she knew the ins and outs just from being my wife and picking up things as she grew up in the world. But it wasn’t always that way.”

I couldn’t imagine it not being that way. That woman had worn pearls and stood tall, her confidence in herself like an aura that followed her everywhere, making people take notice. She’d raised my mother to have the same attributes. My father had been an equally strong man, but I’d emulated my strength from the two women who raised me.

“Man,” he started, laughing. “I made a business decision that she’d advised against. The deal had been too good to not take, even if it screwed some people in the process. That was business. But, Diana? Whew, boy. She told me not to do it, but I did it anyway. I told myself that I knew better—that she didn’t need to know. Except then she asked me directly, and I couldn’t say any of those things to her face, so I lied. Nicholas, when your grandmother found out, she didn’t even fight. We’d been married barely a year, and she calmly let me know, a marriage of lies was no marriage at all, packed her bags, and left.”

“She left you?” My brows shot to my hairline. I’d witnessed my grandparents bicker more than enough—I’d also witnessed them forgiving each other, but I’d never seen my grandma truly mad. I’d never seen anything but love between them.

“Yup. My macho pride held me back from chasing her for three whole days, but it was all a façade for how scared I was she’d never come back. Times were different then, and I reasoned that if she wanted me, she’d come to me. Then I reasoned that if she wasn’t coming to me, then she must have been too mad to talk, and she’d come around. On day three, my façade crumbled, and I went to her. She’d opened the door with her chin high like a regal queen. I’d apologized, and she asked for what. Let me