Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,111

let her because of my pride.

“Fuck,” I whispered.

My phone rang, pulling me from the mess in front of me.

“Archer,” I greeted.

“Nicholas. I just saw the papers.”

“Yeah, I got them today,” I said, looking down at the stacks strewn across my dining room table.

“So, does this mean we’re keeping Mariano Shipping for ourselves?”

I flipped through the pages, looking for the added notes about selling the company in relation to Vera. When I saw they were still there, my brows scrunched in confusion. “What? The clauses about the sale are still here. Why would you assume it wasn’t going to Vera?”

“Because she filed for divorce. You said you got the papers.”

Like a needle to a balloon, it started small, the air seeping out as realization hit. Then it hit like a knife, popping my hope like a gunshot to the chest.

Divorce.

Divorce.

She didn’t even talk to me.

She didn’t even give me a chance.

Did she even care to know why? Did she even care at all? Her laughing. Her moaning. Her scowling. Her gloating. All of it like snapshots firing in my brain. All of it vanishing.

She didn’t even give me a chance.

How dare she make this decision without even giving me. A. Chance.

I clenched the phone tight, the edges digging into my palm.

I realized then that the thought that I’d be okay with her walking away was a lie. I’d had hope that once she heard me out, she’d understand—she’d forgive me, and we’d figure it out together. And if she hadn’t, then I would have fought tooth and nail to win her back because I knew she cared—I’d hoped she’d cared as much as I did for her. I’d hoped my love was enough.

But with divorce, I lost that. I lost the ability to fight to keep her. She would already walk away.

“You there?” Archer asked, sounding far off.

“I meant the contract,” I ground out through clenched teeth.

“Ohh,” he said slowly. “I thought you knew.”

“I assure you, I didn’t. And nothing changes.”

I hung up and looked down at the splayed papers.

Oh, no. She could file for whatever she wanted, but she’d listen first.

A warning whispered in the back of my mind as I grabbed my keys and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. Maybe going to her now, with the rioting flood of emotions raging through me, wasn’t the best idea, but I was a hurricane—an unstoppable force.

Fuck Raelynn’s plan. Fuck her timeline.

I was done with waiting.

It was time I went to visit my wife.

Thirty-Six

Vera

“Should I be buying stock in Talenti? I mean, it has to be going up with how much you’re plowing through it this week.”

I rolled my eyes at Raelynn, looking down at my slouched position on the couch. “Don’t act like you don’t have a spoon in your back pocket, ready to join me.”

She cocked her hip but quickly dropped the fake attitude. “You’re right,” she sighed, grabbing her spoon and falling down next to me. “Gimme.”

I obliged, holding the container out.

“Oh, god,” she moaned after the first bite. “Salted caramel. My favorite. Do you think I could get them to sponsor me on Instagram? I’m not an influencer, but I could become one for free ice cream.”

“It’s worth a shot.”

We both dug in, watching the episode of Friends playing quietly in the background. I held my breath, waiting for her to bring up the day.

“Soooo…how’d it go?”

I shrugged and stuffed another bite in.

“It’s a cute outfit. Looking like a badass bitch has to help.”

“It definitely doesn’t.”

I’d thought wearing a black power suit would help me feel stronger than I was. I’d wanted to meet with the lawyer in sweatpants and no bra, unshowered, and slouching. Instead, I’d put on my red-soled shoes and cigarette pants. I’d walked in with my head held high—but trembling.

My heart and brain warred for dominance. My brain pushing my limbs forward to sever myself from the man who stole from me—from my family—and used me in the process. My heart tried to hold me back, screaming that this was a mistake.

In the end, I’d signed the papers. Then I’d gone back out to my car and burst into tears, barely making it home.

That was five hours ago, and I hadn’t moved since except to get the ice cream. As a cruel twist, Friends popped up on TV, bringing forth the image of a sick Nico in bed, getting caught up on the show.

Everything in me ached. I just couldn’t tell if it was from being so mad at him I wanted