by Rachel Green
Sarah Fielding swirled the glass of wine, hoping for answers in the crimson depths. “It’s not that I don’t love him,” she said, her eyes reflecting the candles, “I do. Passionately. It’s just that I know he loves someone else.”
A tear ran down her cheek, leaving a snail-trail of mascara, and splashed onto her hand. She pun down the glass and wiped it away. “If only he loved me with such passion,” she said. “I could endure anything if he looked at me the way he does her.”
“There will be other men.” Robert’s hand brushed away the trail. “You’ll find the right one for you soon and then this whole business with Peter will be a fond memory. It’ll hold no more power over you than a bad dream.”
“Do you think so?”
“I know so.” Robert smiled and picked up her wine glass. “Here. Drink a glass of sun-ripened berries and think of summer. You’ll have no more worries, I promise.”
Sarah smiled for the first time and took the wine, clinking her glass against Robert’s and noticing for the first time how his eyes sparkled in the light.
“Bottoms up,” he said and she drained the glass.
She coughed, thumping at her chest. “Bitter,” she said. “I’m more of a sweet white kind of girl.” She struggled to breathe, suddenly beyond words.
“Red’s good for the heart,” he said, relieving her of the glass before she dropped it. “And Belladonna is so red it’s black.”