Chapter 23

“I’ll be fine,” I tell Cynthia.

Cynthia doesn’t seem particularly worried about leaving me alone with Amber. She knows I can hold my own. She’s more annoyed, I think, by the interruption.

“We will be talking later,” Cynthia says as she stands. Yeah, that’s a threat.

She doesn’t say a word to Amber on the way out, just steps around her and disappears out into the field.

“How can I help you, Amber?” I ask, attempting diplomacy, as my father taught me. I harbor no ill will toward Amber, and I don’t believe I’ve done anything to warrant her ire. It seems silly for us to fight.

“You can stay away from Miles,” Amber snaps.

Oh. That’s what this is about.

As far as I know, Miles and Amber are not dating. If they were, Miles would have introduced her as more than ‘childhood friend’. Perhaps the issue is that Amber wants more but either Miles doesn’t or Amber is simply too cowardly to pursue him properly.

I feel sympathy for her either way. My own feelings about Miles are a constant turmoil, and I’ve only known him a handful of days. To have grown up with him while harboring a secret crush feels like it’s own kind of agony.

It’s still not enough for us to hate each other. After I set the record straight, Amber will understand that I’m not the enemy she wants me to be.

“He’s nice to everyone, young and old women,” Amber says. “You shouldn’t read too much into it.”

I shut my mouth, not at all liking the way her glare took on an extra sharpness as she looked at me and said the word, old.

She continues on while I’m still trying to recover from that insult.

“You can’t think you have a chance with him anyway. Even if you weren’t married, though with how often your husband steps out on you, you might as well not be. Miles is an actual congressman. Despite who your father is, you choose to work at a country club.”

Insult after insult slice into me. How does she know so much about Garnar? Yes, she’s a journalist so likely has her ear out for this kind of thing, but has he really been making his affairs so obvious? And for how long?

And then to knock me down for my job?

“I suppose a job here is better than being unemployed. Though – you were a housewife, weren’t you? Some of the older journalists talk about your family sometime. They sometimes leave out when they mention you. She’s just the housewife, they’d say.”

God, if I don’t do something to stop this, Amber might actually kill me with how barbed these words are. Does she truly hate me so much? Just for being rescued by Miles?

Or is she just this crass to start with?

“All of these things aside,” Amber continues. “Your marriage, or whatever it is. Your lack of career. Your inability to live up to your father’s name. None of this matters compare to the most glaring issue you possess. The one you cannot rectify no matter how hard you try.”

I lift my chin, feeling defiant in the face of her onslaught of insults. “And what’s that?”

Amber crosses her arms. “Your age,” she says with a kind of sneer that takes all of my considerable willpower not to smack off her smug pretty face.

Amber has a perfect twenty-something body, thin and fit, with no gray hairs and not a wrinkle to be seen. I bet she can get out of bed on a cold morning without a single creak in her joins. When she falls down, she likely can jump right back up like nothing happened.

Just wait until she hits 30 and her hips widen out, as if her body is saying, Hey! I’m ready to have babies! Wait until her metabolism slows and the weight gets harder and harder to keep off. Wait until laugh and frown lines become wrinkles. Or until she has to dye out all the gray hair.

But the point, I suppose, is that she does have to wait for all of that to happen. Whereas for me, that is my present reality.

“As a mature woman,” Amber continues, “you should know better than to think you actually stand a chance of tempting Miles. You’d never be able to satisfy him.”

He was well satisfied the night we’d been together. But I will take that to the grave before I ever share it with Amber.

Maybe it’s because I am a little bit older, I have a bit more experience watching these things, but the more I look at Amber in her tirade, the more I see a scared and jealous young woman who’s clawing desperately at something she wants to keep.

Something she might be losing.

At one point in my life, maybe I would have acted like this to keep Garnar. Back before he proved to me that his love for me was only ever a lie for clout.

Amber takes a breath, like she intends to continue.

God help my heart, I don’t think I can hear anymore.

“Amber,” I say sharply, cutting her off. Looking annoyed, she opens her mouth again. I speak quickly before she can, “I have no intention of pursing Miles, romantically or otherwise.”

Amber stares at me a moment, mouth agape. Then she asks, “You don’t?”

“No.” I shake my head for good measure. “Miles has only ever been a friend to me. And a recent one at that. For him to rescue me today speaks of his character. It has no reflection on any perceived feelings we share.”

Amber narrows her eyes a little. “He seemed protective of you. The way he was holding you…”

“He simply wanted to make sure that I did not fall off of the horse. I am injured, as you can see.” I wave my hand down to my tired and tattered body. Amber takes in the sight of the bandages. “If I’d have fallen off the horse, I’d be in even worse shape.”

“He is chivalrous…” Amber says. “To a fault.”

“I clearly don’t need to remind you that I’m married,” I say. “And though my marriage might be in a state – though I ask you to keep from looking too deeply into that – Garnar and I are still together. I would not and could not move on with someone else until that were to change.”

“He’s moved on.”

I suspect that Garnar has been stepping out of the marriage from the start, regardless of whatever he claims. Once a cheater, always a cheater. The only difference now is that my sister has her own power, enough for Garnar to chance losing me.

None of that I can admit to a journalist, though she already seems to know more than I would have thought. She might just be guessing, though. I can’t confirm or deny and give her a story.

“That’s all I have to say,” I tell Amber, and hope that will be the end of it.

Blessedly, as she considers me, I can see the wheels turning in her head. She’s thinking hard, but not speaking. That has to be a good sign.

After a long moment, Amber finally says, “See that you don’t change your mind. Miles will never want you. I can guarantee it.”

Amber swivels on her heel and walks out of the medical tent.

I watch her, admiring her ferocity, even if she used it against me. She’s probably a decent journalist with that kind of dogged attitude. Ever chasing a story. Never giving up.

In a way, maybe she is the true perfect match for Miles. That drive would push him forward, not hold him back as I would do.

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I don’t understand the hurt that continues to linger in my chest, even after the thoughts are gone.