Page 66 of Wild Night
I have some amazing pieces that Lucian bought me when he was trying to win me over. I also have some really great work outfits that I was able to buy with my clothing allowance at the winery.
Maybe I should sell all the things Lucian paid for. I don’t want any reminders of him, but at the same time, if he hadn’t done what he did to me, if he hadn’t used me, lied to me, disappeared, and then come back, I wouldn’t have ever met Justin. I wouldn’t have fallen in love. I wouldn’t have found this whole world that I didn’t even know existed. I wouldn’t have come to Dakota.
Dakota.
Honestly, that’s what I need to focus on today. A long conversation needs to be had, and in that conversation, I need to apologize for what I did to her. Even though I didn’t actually do anything, I was using her to hide away, and that could have been detrimental to her family.
It wasn’t right, and it wasn’t nice.
I tug on a summer sundress and panties, then slip on a pair of sandals I packed and walk into the bathroom with my makeup bag in hand. It doesn’t take me long to apply a thin coat of makeup, a little blush, and a dab of eyeshadow, along with some mascara and tinted lip balm.
After brushing my hair, I leave it down and then decide that it’s time. I walk over to my phone and wince at the hour. It’s well past one in the afternoon. I should have contacted her sooner. Ishould have done a lot of things, but hopefully, I can apologize for them and she will forgive me.
Instead of texting her, I find her name in my phone and call her.
“Is everything okay?” Dakota demands.
“Can we talk?” I ask. “In person?”
“When and where?”
And there you go. Family. I just hope I can be worthy of the titleauntfrom here on out.
CHAPTER THIRTY
POSEY
The momentI hang up with Dakota, I feel a sense of relief. Granted, we haven’t talked about anything yet, but just the fact that she picked up and is coming right over makes me feel like maybe, just maybe, I haven’t completely fucked all this shit up.
Maybe.
With a renewed sense of worth, I make my way into the kitchen and go in search of something to eat. Nothing too spicy or heavy. I need something to fill me up that’s bland and won’t make me want to throw up again. I don’t like that at all.
Moving around the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water from the filtered pitcher in the fridge, then I refill it with water and watch it pass through the filter before I go in search of food. Real sustenance.
Nothing jumps out at me in the fridge. Just the thought of eggs makes me want to gag immediately. So instead, I move toward the pantry, and that’s when my eyes land on the oatmeal. I don’t know why, but oatmeal sounds amazing right now.
A few moments later, I have my pot of boiling water, my oats, and I even found some ground flaxseed to add in for extra fiber. I don’t know why, but the whole thing sounds like heaven. Continuing to search for things, I find cinnamon, local honey, and raspberries.
When the oatmeal and flaxseed are cooked, I pour them into a bowl before I add the cinnamon, honey, and raspberries, then grab a spoon along with my water and head over to the table.
I dip my spoon into the warm, gooey oatmeal, lift it to my lips, and wrap them around the spoon, swallowing and moaning at the same time. It’s freaking amazing. I don’t know why it’s so damn good. I don’t even like oatmeal, but this is the best thing I’ve ever eaten.
A few moments later, there is a knock on the front door. Standing, I pick up my bowl to carry it with me to the door. Instead of just whipping it open, I look through the peephole, and that’s where I see Dakota standing.
I wrench the door open, then nervously stand in front of her. She tilts her head to the side, her eyes and her lips curved up in a smile. She’s got her baby in her arms and a huge smile on her face.
How did I get so lucky in this life? I feel like I’ve been given a second chance, that maybe, just maybe, this is what was supposed to happen all along. I hope it is. “Dakota,” I exhale.
She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip and moves into the house. Closing the door behind her, she flicks her gaze down at my bowl of oatmeal, then shifts it up to meet mine, wrinkling her nose.
“Oatmeal?”
Shrugging, I tilt my head to the side. “Don’t knock it. Ivy had fresh honey.”
She shakes her head. “Jesus,” she mutters. “Did he knock you up or something?”
I freeze, my spoon midair, standing in the foyer, my eyes wide and my lips parted in awe that she guessed. Dakota starts to move past me and into the living room, but then she stops and slowly turns toward me. Her eyes find mine, and she sucks in a deep breath.
