A Winter Wedding(48)

“No.” She offered him a sad smile. “He admitted to the affair.”

Shocked, Kyle straightened. “I thought you said he’d never admit it.”

“I never dreamed he would.”

How had she gotten it out of him? He opened his mouth to ask, but she didn’t give him the chance. Slipping back into her room, she closed the door softly.

*

The following morning Kyle didn’t see Lourdes until it was almost time to leave for his parents’ house. And then she stumbled out, gripping her head as if she had a hangover, even though he didn’t think she’d been drinking last night. They were out of wine. The only alcohol in the house was some hard liquor pushed to the back of his cupboards; it hadn’t been used since Halloween, when he’d hosted the party he and his friends always had.

“You have a headache?” he guessed, muting his football game as she reached the kitchen.

She found her purse on the counter and began digging through it. “I think it’s a migraine.”

“Do you normally get migraines?”

“No. But it feels like my head’s about to explode, so it’s worse than the usual headache.” After swallowing some pills, she shuffled back down the hall.

He got up to go after her and knocked on the door she’d closed. “Can I make you some breakfast?” he called through the panel. “Maybe if you eat, you’ll feel better.”

“No, thanks,” she said. “I just need to sleep.”

He wondered if he should push her a little harder. Eating some healthy food would probably help. “You shouldn’t take painkiller on an empty stomach.”

When she didn’t respond, he went to the kitchen, scrambled some eggs and brought them, along with a piece of toast, to her door. “Lourdes?” he said as he knocked again.

Nothing.

“I’m coming in. Be prepared.”

She didn’t say he couldn’t, so he opened the door to find the room dark and smelling slightly of her perfume. She had the blinds down to keep out the sun, and all of her, except a bit of her hair, was buried beneath the blankets.

He carried the plate to her bedside. “Will you eat this?” he asked.

“Don’t try to help me,” she replied dully. “And don’t expect me to be too friendly. I need a couple of days to feel sorry for myself.”

“Feel sorry for yourself all you want. But do you have to starve while you do it? How’s deprivation going to improve things?”

Her phone started to buzz. He looked down at where it was lying on the nightstand, but she didn’t even stir. The caller was identified as “Asshole.”

“That must be Derrick,” he said.

“I don’t want to talk to him.”

After several more buzzes, the call transferred to voice mail.

“I have to go,” Kyle said. “I’ve got that dinner at my parents’, remember?”

“Have fun.”

He pushed her phone to one side so he could put the plate down, and sat on the edge of her bed. “Listen, I’m sorry about Derrick.”

“Better to find out now than later,” she said. At least, that was what he thought she said. Her response was muffled by the blankets.

“There you go. Fortunately, you haven’t married him yet—and you don’t have any kids.”

“Don’t say that,” she muttered. “Don’t mention kids.”

He’d meant to encourage her, without minimizing the situation. “Maybe that’s being too practical, but it’s true.”

Suddenly, she threw back the covers and looked at him. “What am I going to do?”

“You’re going to get up and dust yourself off,” he said.

“How?”

“You could start by eating.” He slid her breakfast closer. “What do you say? As far as first steps go, it’s not a hard one, is it?”

Glumly, she took the fork and stuck a bite of egg in her mouth. “Two years ago I was in Paris for Christmas. Derrick had four dozen long-stem red roses delivered to our penthouse suite and a box of the best chocolates I’ve ever tasted.”

Kyle grinned. “I can bring home some flowers and chocolates, if that’s all it’ll take to cheer you up.”

She huffed as she dropped her fork. “I’m not hinting for flowers and chocolates. The point is...I was riding high. I was hitting the top of the country music charts. Do you understand how few people—how few women—get that far? I won CMA’s Best New Artist Award that year. I was the only female nominated.”

“That’s incredible.”

“And this is how it ends? I come tumbling from my lofty perch to land on my ass—without even my manager to give me a hand up?”

“What went wrong with your career?”

“I insisted on releasing a pop album, and I left my label to do it—over Derrick’s objections, by the way, which of course makes it worse. He wanted me to play it safe, while I insisted it was time to take a risk. And, bottom line, that risk didn’t pan out. Most people in the music industry thought the album was good, but it wasn’t embraced by my fans. I saw how quickly the people who claimed to love me and my work could turn into my toughest critics.”