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Genevieve pursed her lips, watching her friend pour herself yet another glass of wine.
Siena’s hands were surprisingly steady—yet when she leaned back into her chair, half the wine flew out of the glass, seeping into her dress.
“Oh shit!”
Siena tried cleaning the stain with her bare hand—which was unnecessary, as her dress was the same colour as the wine.
Apparently, she realised that as well, as she muttered, “Well, at least it’s not noticeable.”
Then, she took a sip from her drink.
Genevieve did the same, still watching her quietly. She had spent many fun evenings with Siena in the past, so this was certainly not the drunkest she had ever seen her. Though, she also knew that Siena was always more drunk than she seemed. Perhaps it was her vocal control, which helped her not to slur her words; or her posture, which kept her balanced; or her ability as a perform to always play a role, even when she felt like shit. Or maybe, it was just in her nature—hiding vulnerability at all cost.
Yet Genevieve had known that girl for many years. And she had been sharing many drinks with her over the course of that time. She would be vulnerable eventually. And she was undoubtedly drunker than she seemed. Because they had opened the first bottle less than an hour ago. The one Siena had just filled her glass with was already bottle number two. And Genevieve had not helped much with it.
“What’s going on with you?” she asked Siena then.
“What?”
“We’ve just opened the second bottle—and I’d argue you’ve drowned most of the first one by yourself. Have you even eaten anything today?” she added. She did not wish to sound like her mother. They were barely ten years apart in age. But it was a necessary question.
“Breakfast, I think,” Siena muttered, taking another sip. “I’m just exhausted from work.”
Genevieve eyed her curiously. Perhaps her drunken state might allow her to be more honest this time, if she persisted with her questions.
Therefore, she said carefully, “Now, I will say something that might make you mad, but I have to ask: does this have anything to do with the Viscount’s engagement to Miss Edwina Sharma?”
“What? No!” Siena protested immediately, staring at her in shock and confusion. Perhaps she was not drunk enough after all.
Genevieve just raised her brows, waiting for Siena to take another sip from her glass. Then, her friend sighed, adding, “I just wish people would stop talking about him. It’s tiring.”
“Is that all?” Genevieve continued asking. But Siena did not reply anything to that. “You know, at least I’m quite certain he’s not in love with her.”
“That only makes it worse.”
“How?” Genevieve asked surprised—and quite curious.
Siena shook her head, staring down at the glass in her hand. “Everything I said to him that evening … I … I did want to hurt him, but I didn’t…” She trailed off as a sigh left her lips. “He deserves to be happy.”
She looked back up at her, a forced smile on her face.
Now that did make sense. Well, Genevieve would prefer it if Siena was merely cursing him to hell instead of wishing him happiness. But although Siena might never admit it, Genevieve knew quite well that she had been in love with him. She could not comprehend why—but that hardly mattered.
“You regret being too harsh with him?” Genevieve asked then.
Again, Siena just shook her head. “I had to be harsh. He would’ve never walked away otherwise. But … I still wonder…” She sighed again, taking another sip from her wine. “Maybe I should’ve just gone to the ball with him.”
Genevieve’s eyes widened as she stared at Siena in shock. Siena, however, did not seem to notice it. She was staring down at her glass again, seemingly lost in thought.
“Wait—did we just go from regretting that you might’ve been too harsh to regretting that you didn’t stay with him?” she asked bewildered, prompting Siena to look up at her again. “That was a good thing, Siena! And you know it.”
“Yes, I do, I…” She trailed off as her eyes fluttered in confusion. “But still … What if that could’ve been me now?” she asked, looking at her helplessly.
“You wanted to become Viscountess?” Genevieve asked, quite sceptical that this was truly what her friend wished for.
“No, no … I just … I don’t know…” She took a deep breath then, seemingly as confused as Genevieve was right now. “A part of me hates him. But … there’s another part as well. A part that doesn’t. A part that might even … might even love him still.”
And there it was. A love confession. She might be even drunker than Genevieve had realised.
Again, Siena was staring down at the glass in her hand. Genevieve almost regretted asking all those questions. She had not planned for her friend to feel miserable.
But then again, she had only asked, because she had been certain that Siena was still struggling in some ways. Not talking about certain matters did not mean that they were no burden.
“That’s not a bad thing,” Genevieve told her gently, leaning towards her to brush along her arm. “You rarely ever talk about it. You didn’t want me to mention his name after he threw you out; never wished to speak of that night he showed up here, in front of my door step, and you let him enter. Then, one morning, you told me about the ball—and afterwards pretended like he had never existed. Perhaps talking is good.”
Siena shook her head. “I just … I just wish I hated him.”
She took another sip from her drink as Genevieve gave her a smile. “See it this way: walking away from someone you despise is easy. But walking away from someone you love? Now that takes courage. You did a good thing; a brave thing. Perhaps you merely need to find someone new.”
“I have someone new.”
“Maybe someone you didn’t meet while everything with the Viscount was still going on,” Genevieve replied as Siena stared up at her in surprise. “Someone truly new—someone exciting; someone you can fall in love with.”
But Siena merely shook her head again. “I’m glad where I am right now. I can’t risk anything.”
Genevieve hated hearing her talk like that.
“Well, the Siena I met all those years ago was very much willing to risk it all for her freedom. Always careful and calculated, yes. But never timid or complacent.”
“Well, I’m not that woman anymore.”
Siena was not looking at her. Yet Genevieve could hear the truth behind her words nonetheless.
“It’s alright to be scared,” Genevieve told her softly and Siena stared back up at her with raised brows. “You spent all your time with the Viscount, believing to know the future ahead of you. And it all changed in the brink of a second. You need time to adjust. But you can’t be afraid forever. Otherwise, you will never be able to truly move forward.”
Siena stared at her, biting her lips—apparently uncertain whether to take her words to heart or not.
Then, Siena took another sip from her drink. If she continued like that, she would probably not remember a single word from this conversation tomorrow morning. Genevieve could not risk that.
She emptied her own glass, stood up and said, “Now, let’s get you to bed.”
“What? I’m not finished yet!” Siena protested.
“You’re one drink away from hurling all over the floor,” Genevieve retorted. “And I’m not going to clean that up.”
It seemed like Siena wanted to retort something. But then, she sighed. She put the glass down, standing up as well. She swayed slightly, but Genevieve caught her and led her to the guestroom.
After ensuring Siena would stay inside the bed, Genevieve returned to the living room and poured herself another glass of wine.
Siena would be fine, she knew that. Yet her heart still ached for her. If it were not for sweet Edwina, Genevieve would wish the Viscount the worst marriage of all time.
But eventually, Siena would forget all about that man. The only thing Genevieve feared was that her friend might make decisions that were not in her favour, just to play it safe. He had broken a part of her spirit—not enough for it to be irreparable, but enough for it to be dangerous.
Yet at the same time, she knew Siena quite well. In the end, she was too stubborn and proud to allow a man to harm her future in any way.