The Rivals - Vi Keeland Page 0,71
know another man sent them? Maybe they were from a woman friend?”
“Because I read the damn card, Sophia.”
I folded my arms across my chest, matching his stance. “Really? Didn’t you just tell me that would be an invasion of the sender’s privacy?”
“And if the roles were reversed? Can you honestly tell me if flowers came for me, you wouldn’t sneak a look at the card?”
I thought about it and shook my head. “I’m not sure.”
Weston gave me a curt nod. “You’re a better person than I am. It happened. Can we move on, please?”
I shook my head. “From the flowers, yes…after you apologize for invading my privacy and intercepting my delivery.”
He held my eyes for a few seconds before nodding. “Fine. I apologize for reading the card. The delivery I intercepted was the one I sent, so I had every right to do that.”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I accept your half-ass apology. But I have other questions, aside from the flowers.”
Weston mumbled under his breath, “Of course you do.”
“Why did you leave the other morning so abruptly?”
Weston shook his head and blew out a deep breath. “Our situation is complicated, Sophia. You know that.”
“Yes, I do. But we’d just had a really nice evening together. I thought we’d grown closer.”
“Bingo. That, in itself, is the complication.”
Everything about the two of us was complicated. Our relationship had been destined to be difficult before we were even born. But something inside told me that wasn’t what had spooked Weston the other morning.
“So…it bothered you that our families have been feuding fifty years, and we’re basically competitors?”
Weston looked away. “Yes, that’s part of it.”
I chuckled. “Just like you seem to be able to tell what I’m thinking, I can tell when you’re full of shit.”
Weston’s eyes slid back to meet mine.
“What was the other part of it?” I asked.
He dragged a hand through his hair and exhaled harshly. “What do you want me to say? That I’m an alcoholic who’s fucked up pretty much everything important in his life and you’re too good for me?”
“If that’s how you feel, yes.”
He shook his head. “Of course it is. I’m not an idiot.”
“Okay, well, at least if I know how you’re feeling, I won’t feel used.”
Weston’s face softened. “You felt used?”
I nodded.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“It’s fine. Obviously, we both have a tendency to jump to conclusions.”
Weston nodded, looking down.
“Was your trip to Florida planned? Did you know about it when you left my room the other day?”
He shook his head. “I needed to speak to my grandfather about a few things. My grandmother isn’t well, so he doesn’t travel unless it’s necessary.”
“I didn’t know. I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
We were quiet a long moment. We’d cleared the air, but some of what he’d said bothered me. I was probably just as hesitant as he was about getting involved. But none of the things that gave me pause had to do with him not being good enough, and I wanted him to know that.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
“What?”
“Do you have one person you look up to more than anyone?”
He nodded immediately. “Caroline. She never felt sorry for herself, complained, or stopped smiling.” He shook his head. “Hell, she spent more time listening to my problems and trying to cheer me up than bitching.”
I smiled. “I wish I’d gotten to know her better. She sounds very special.”
“She was.”
“The person I look up to more than anything is my mom. She was an alcoholic.”
“Really? I had no idea.”
I shrugged. “Most people don’t. God forbid anything real get out about the Sterling family. My father walked out on us without looking back, but he always made sure to cover my mother’s tracks. After all, her last name stayed Sterling even after they divorced.”
“Did she start drinking after they split up?”
I shook my head. “I wish I could say she did. It would give me something else to despise my father for. I had no idea she was an alcoholic until I was a teenager. After she found out she had cancer, I went to a bunch of doctors with her. A few suggested she go to rehab before she had her first surgery. Believe it or not, that confused me, even though I saw her drink every single day. My mom drank martinis out of expensive crystal glasses, so somehow it never dawned on me that she had a problem. Alcoholics swigged from the bottle, wore dirty clothes,