The Bourbon Kings
Page 66
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“That has nothing to do with—”
“It was a good surprise. I had no idea that y’all were waiting for me. I walked into my house—surprise! All those people cheering, and I looked for you—”
She threw her hands up. “That was five years ago, Samuel! It was—”
“Actually, it’s been the whole story of our relationship, Gin. I looked for you—I went through the crowd, searching for—”
“It didn’t matter! They don’t matter—”
“—you because, like you said, I’m a sap, and you were the only person I truly wanted there. And I found you, all right. Fucking that Argentinean polo player who was a guest of Edward’s on my bed.”
“Samuel—”
“On my bed!” he thundered, slamming his fist into the dashboard. “My fucking bed, Gin!”
“Fine, and what did you do?” She jerked forward on her hips and jabbed her finger at him. “What did you do then? You took my college roommate and her sister and had sex with them in the pool—”
He cursed out loud. “What was I supposed to do? Let you walk all over me? I’m a man, not one of your pathetic little fuck buddies! I’m not going to—”
“I was with the polo player because the week before you went out of your way to sleep with Catherine! I’ve been friends with her since I was two, Samuel. I had to sit through her going on and on about how you’d given her the orgasms of her life in the back of this very car. After you’d been with me the night before! So don’t talk about how you were the one who was—”
“Stop.” Abruptly, he pushed a hand through his hair. “Stop it, stop all of—we’re not going to do this anymore, Gin. We’re fighting over the same dynamic we had when we were teenagers—”
“We fight because we care and we’re too proud to admit it.” As he fell silent again, she had a bourgeoning hope that he was thinking things over. “Samuel, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. And I’m the same for you. That’s just the way it is. If we need to stop anything, it’s the fighting and the hurting. We’re both too proud and stubborn for our own good.”
There was a long silence. “Why now, Gin.”
“It’s just … it’s time.”
“All because you were strip searched at ten a.m. this morning?”
“Must you.”
Samuel T. shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not, but that is not my problem. Allow me to be perfectly clear—”
“Samuel,” she broke in. “I love you.”
And she meant it. Meant it down to her soul: The terrifying conviction that things were going to go badly for her family had taken root and spread, bringing with it a kind of clarity that she had never had before.
Or maybe that was more … a courage she had been lacking. For all their years together, she had never told him how she truly felt. It had been all about posturing and one-upping. Well, and his daughter’s birth—not that he knew about that yet.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“No.” He dropped his head and squeezed that wheel as if looking for some kind of strength inside of himself. “No … you can’t do this, Gin. Not with me. Don’t try to take the pretend down this deep. It’s not healthy for you … and I don’t think I’ll survive it, okay? I need to function—my family needs me. I won’t let you fuck with my head this much—”
“Samuel—”
“No!” he shouted.
Then he looked over at her, and his pale eyes were cold and narrow, as if he were staring down an enemy. “First of all, I don’t believe you, okay? I think you’re lying to manipulate me. And secondly? I will not ever allow a wife of mine to disrespect me the way you will your husband. You are constitutionally incapable of monogamy, and more to the point, you’re too bored to value a sustainable relationship. You and I can have a roll or two from time to time, but I will never honor a whore like you with my last name. You disparage waitresses? That’s fine. But I would so much rather someone like that have my ring on her finger than a spoiled, disloyal brat like you.”
He started the engine, the sweet smell of oil and gasoline briefly flaring on the hot breeze. “I’ll see you the next time I have an itch I can’t scratch myself. Until then, have fun with the rest of the population.”
Gin had to put both hands over her mouth as he backed up and took off, the old-fashioned car disappearing along the long drive down the hill.
In his wake, tears fell from her eyes, melting her mascara off—and for once she didn’t care.
She had taken her one shot with him.
And failed.
It was her worst nightmare come true.
TWENTY-THREE
“Oh, Lisa?”
As soon as Lizzie heard the Southern drawl percolate through the conservatory, she froze—which was awkward because she was breaking down the bouquet-making tables, and had one balanced on its side.
“Lisa?”
Looking over, she found Lane’s wife standing in the doorway like she was posing for a camera, one hand on her hip, the other pushing her hair back. She was wearing pink silk Mary Tyler Moore pants from the Laura Petrie era and a low-cut loose blouse that was sunset orange. The shoes were pointed hard in front and had little tiny heels, and topping it off? A dramatic, filmy scarf in acid yellow and green that was wrapped around her shoulders and tied over her perfect breasts.
“It was a good surprise. I had no idea that y’all were waiting for me. I walked into my house—surprise! All those people cheering, and I looked for you—”
She threw her hands up. “That was five years ago, Samuel! It was—”
“Actually, it’s been the whole story of our relationship, Gin. I looked for you—I went through the crowd, searching for—”
“It didn’t matter! They don’t matter—”
“—you because, like you said, I’m a sap, and you were the only person I truly wanted there. And I found you, all right. Fucking that Argentinean polo player who was a guest of Edward’s on my bed.”
“Samuel—”
“On my bed!” he thundered, slamming his fist into the dashboard. “My fucking bed, Gin!”
“Fine, and what did you do?” She jerked forward on her hips and jabbed her finger at him. “What did you do then? You took my college roommate and her sister and had sex with them in the pool—”
He cursed out loud. “What was I supposed to do? Let you walk all over me? I’m a man, not one of your pathetic little fuck buddies! I’m not going to—”
“I was with the polo player because the week before you went out of your way to sleep with Catherine! I’ve been friends with her since I was two, Samuel. I had to sit through her going on and on about how you’d given her the orgasms of her life in the back of this very car. After you’d been with me the night before! So don’t talk about how you were the one who was—”
“Stop.” Abruptly, he pushed a hand through his hair. “Stop it, stop all of—we’re not going to do this anymore, Gin. We’re fighting over the same dynamic we had when we were teenagers—”
“We fight because we care and we’re too proud to admit it.” As he fell silent again, she had a bourgeoning hope that he was thinking things over. “Samuel, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. And I’m the same for you. That’s just the way it is. If we need to stop anything, it’s the fighting and the hurting. We’re both too proud and stubborn for our own good.”
There was a long silence. “Why now, Gin.”
“It’s just … it’s time.”
“All because you were strip searched at ten a.m. this morning?”
“Must you.”
Samuel T. shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re serious or not, but that is not my problem. Allow me to be perfectly clear—”
“Samuel,” she broke in. “I love you.”
And she meant it. Meant it down to her soul: The terrifying conviction that things were going to go badly for her family had taken root and spread, bringing with it a kind of clarity that she had never had before.
Or maybe that was more … a courage she had been lacking. For all their years together, she had never told him how she truly felt. It had been all about posturing and one-upping. Well, and his daughter’s birth—not that he knew about that yet.
“I love you,” she whispered.
“No.” He dropped his head and squeezed that wheel as if looking for some kind of strength inside of himself. “No … you can’t do this, Gin. Not with me. Don’t try to take the pretend down this deep. It’s not healthy for you … and I don’t think I’ll survive it, okay? I need to function—my family needs me. I won’t let you fuck with my head this much—”
“Samuel—”
“No!” he shouted.
Then he looked over at her, and his pale eyes were cold and narrow, as if he were staring down an enemy. “First of all, I don’t believe you, okay? I think you’re lying to manipulate me. And secondly? I will not ever allow a wife of mine to disrespect me the way you will your husband. You are constitutionally incapable of monogamy, and more to the point, you’re too bored to value a sustainable relationship. You and I can have a roll or two from time to time, but I will never honor a whore like you with my last name. You disparage waitresses? That’s fine. But I would so much rather someone like that have my ring on her finger than a spoiled, disloyal brat like you.”
He started the engine, the sweet smell of oil and gasoline briefly flaring on the hot breeze. “I’ll see you the next time I have an itch I can’t scratch myself. Until then, have fun with the rest of the population.”
Gin had to put both hands over her mouth as he backed up and took off, the old-fashioned car disappearing along the long drive down the hill.
In his wake, tears fell from her eyes, melting her mascara off—and for once she didn’t care.
She had taken her one shot with him.
And failed.
It was her worst nightmare come true.
TWENTY-THREE
“Oh, Lisa?”
As soon as Lizzie heard the Southern drawl percolate through the conservatory, she froze—which was awkward because she was breaking down the bouquet-making tables, and had one balanced on its side.
“Lisa?”
Looking over, she found Lane’s wife standing in the doorway like she was posing for a camera, one hand on her hip, the other pushing her hair back. She was wearing pink silk Mary Tyler Moore pants from the Laura Petrie era and a low-cut loose blouse that was sunset orange. The shoes were pointed hard in front and had little tiny heels, and topping it off? A dramatic, filmy scarf in acid yellow and green that was wrapped around her shoulders and tied over her perfect breasts.
