Page 20 of Her Wicked Husband (The Huxleys #2)
He raises his hands and makes squeezing motions, dropping his eyes meaningfully at my breasts and hips. “You haven’t changed much, Fiona, and I have an excellent memory.”
I pause. He still remembers my size from shopping in college? From the slight tightening of his jaw, I realize he’s also referring to the pain I caused. Bittersweetness knots my gut, and I blink to stop the tears from welling. “Thanks. That was…um…nice of you.”
His eyes narrow. “Necessary to make sure I get my money’s worth. Three hundred is really overpaying.” His gaze drops to my bare legs meaningfully.
That insufferable, rude, socially unacceptable jerk! “Two hundred and ninety-nine, now.”
He opens his mouth, but his phone pings. He glances at the screen, then starts to leave. “Whatever. Keep track. And wear something sexy tonight.”
My jaw slack, I stare at his retreating back. Hot, cold, hot, cold… What I wouldn’t give to be able to strangle him until he picks one or the other.
Inhaling deeply to control my temper, I pour a bowl of cereal and dump milk on it, which is also new and unopened.
Obviously, he got them yesterday, probably for me, since he hasn’t touched anything except the coffee as far as I can tell.
When we were in college, he only had coffee and maybe a bagel or a croissant for breakfast. I was the one who had cornflakes, and he always made sure to stock his place with some for me.
Tears of sadness sting my nose. Logically I understand there’s no point in playing what-if . But my heart wants to think about it, to go through the full catalog of regrets.
I let out a long breath, trying to steady myself. “Don’t look back,” I tell myself. “Just forward. Always move forward.”
After all, reliving my past hasn’t been good for me emotionally.
Thinking about how my own parents discarded me when I was just a newborn hurts until I can’t stop tearing up.
My first set of adoptive parents throwing me away like trash because they got pregnant is salt over an old wound that refuses to heal.
If they didn’t want me enough to keep me no matter what, they shouldn’t have adopted me in the first place.
Their actions taught me that only some kids are loved.
And that fear of not being lovable stayed with me with the Obermans when I learned they didn’t love me for me, but for resembling their beloved, perfect Finley.
I’m always terrified of not being perfect, but also exhausted and resentful of the need to be flawless, lest I be cast aside again. I bask in the affection people give me because I’m perfect, but also despair I won’t be loved if people found out how flawed I really am.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be anymore because I don’t think I can maintain my facade for much longer.
Choosing Bryce at the wedding probably already destroyed whatever illusions Sherry and the family’s acquaintances had about me.
If I had even a hundredth of the confidence and self-assurance Bryce has—
Stop thinking about what you love the most about him.
I shake myself mentally and take my phone out.
Notifications have exploded in the last few hours.
More than a hundred texts from Jude calling me names.
“Bitch cunt whore” is one of the nicer ones.
But then, he always had the worst names for me.
He used them with relish, loved the way I bit my tongue and faux-fawned over him, while people around us looked at us like we were circus freaks.
He thought they admired him for being able to do whatever he wanted and still keep a nice girl by his side.
He never saw the pity, disgust and disdain in their eyes.
Aaron has also sent me a bazillion texts.
His names are slightly more literate, like “ungrateful little bitch,” along with ranting about how I plan to pay the money.
The loan sharks need their money, and I’m being selfish and thoughtless by leaving Jude.
How is he supposed to deal with my irresponsible behavior?
He’s obviously forgotten who was irresponsible enough to borrow money from loan sharks to begin with!
But yelling at him won’t solve anything.
Nothing from Sherry. That’s a little surprising—and deflating. I didn’t expect her to applaud my decision yesterday, but I thought she’d at least ask if I was okay. If I were her real daughter, she’d definitely show more concern.
I press a hand over the ache in my heart. I should be used to this. Sherry’s only worry is to get good karma for Finley’s reincarnation. She told me Finley died too young, before she could accumulate enough good karma, so she has to do it. I shoot her a quick text:
–Me: In case you’re wondering, I’m okay. I hope you’re okay, too. Please let me know if you need anything.
I stare at the screen for a while. Nothing. Not even three dots.
Okay. I put the phone down and do the dishes—including Bryce’s mug—and look out the window facing the backyard.
There isn’t a single succulent to be seen.
Instead, the massive garden is full of shrub roses blooming in stunning carmine—a little surprising, because they don’t seem like something Bryce would pick.
I thought he’d prefer something more masculine and less high-maintenance.
A field of agaves or black dahlias, maybe.
I stare at the gorgeous red flowers and think about my immediate plans. Zachary’s death and Aaron’s mess have derailed my life. It’s time to put it back on track.
First, a job. Then a place of my own—a small studio apartment. Then a decent used car, since I had to sell mine in Wisconsin when I was forced to marry Jude.
My fucktoy phase will end within two years. Bryce was insatiable before, and he’s even more sexual now. He’ll burn through the three hundred—no, two hundred and ninety-nine—pretty fast.
Also—as soon as the clothes arrive, I need to get on birth control. Condoms will still be mandatory. But I need reassurance that soon this will be all a distant memory without any permanent baggage.