Page 77 of My Grape Crush
Her eyes carry sadness as they skirt the villa like she’s trying to place the memories of us here—of what could have happened. My lungs start to burn until I realize I’m holding my breath.
And her breathing has changed as well, shallower now, almost hesitant before she asks, “Can I use your bathroom before I go?”
I’m stunned into a brief silence. Myla is out of my hair? It seems too good to be true.
“For what?” I ask because, well, with her, you never know. Maybe she’ll nest in the shower.
She rolls her eyes. “What do you think?”
Unless she plans to steal my toothbrush, what do I have to lose? And with momentum on my side, no time like the present to usher her out as fast as humanly possible.
“Go ahead. I’ll call you a taxi.”
She stands up slowly, wobbling on her ridiculous boots. I feel her expectation that I should say more, but what else is there to say?
The faintest quiver in her lips gives away the battle raging beneath her calmness before she says, “Such a gentleman,” with all the disgust she can muster.
She stalks off to the bedroom, and I rest a hand over my eyes in full-blown exhaustion.
Holy smokes.
I’m not made for this emotional turmoil.
I bolt to the kitchen island to check my messages on my phone. I’d snagged it out of the bedroom after Sawyer and Dani took off, charged it, and fired off two texts to Dani.
No reply.
I sag with the weight of my sinking heart. What did I expect? When a guy claims not to have a girlfriend, and his one sexual misstep materializes dressed like a Vegas showgirl…
It takes everything in me not to fire off a third text. Dani lives here. Eventually, she’ll return. But what garbage and family dirt is Sawyer feeding her at breakfast? Nothing that will put me in a good light, that’s for sure. I put in a call for another taxi, wondering if they might start blocking my number.
Pizzas. Condoms. European starlets.
What other items will I have them transport?
Thankfully, word hasn’t gotten out yet about the drama, and Dispatch cheerily informs me my ride will arrive shortly.
Thank Christ.
I hear the toilet flush, and Myla reappears with one of my towels bunched in her hand. “You mind if I borrow this?” she asks and quickly clarifies her request. “I might need to kill some time at the lake before my flight.”
“In Kelowna,” I repeat, to be clear.
“Yes, Rhys,” she says condescendingly. “In Kelowna.”
If I need to cover the cost of a hundred fluffy towels, fine. Take as many as you want.
“Sure. Okay.” I glance at my phone again. Nothing. “The taxi will pick you up at the tasting room,” I add distractedly.
Myla unzips her suitcase and angles herself, backside facing me, as she tries to jam the towel inside. But she has to force it in, her bag likely jammed full with a hundred bikinis and vape sticksin every flavor imaginable.
Task complete, she touches up her hair. Her eyes are brittle when they find mine.
“Dmitri offered me money to sleep with you. He was under the impression you like men. I only proved him wrong, so don’t think you’re all that.”
I bite my tongue. Do not take the bait. I’ve heard those rumors more than once. Maybe Dmitri has his doubts, but no need for him to fly Myla here to substantiate the rumors a second time.
If she needs to save face, so be it.
