“Go to sleep, Olivia.” I grab the remote and click the ‘off’ button. “We’ll talk more in the morning.”
A few minutes later, she rolls over and the faint sound of her steady breathing signals that she’s out for the night. A sliver of moonlight slips between the curtains that cover the window, painting her in a soft, ethereal glow.
It’s the craziest thing in the world, but I wish so badly that she were mine.
If I’m lucky, she won’t bring this up in the morning. We’ll grab breakfast, hit the road, and focus on getting her back to the hotel so she can gather her things and spend time with her family. I’m hoping my reasons for being at the hotel are the least of her worries by then because my reasons are … my reasons.
And they make sense only to me.
Chapter 5
Olivia
“How could you do this to me?” Dorian asks, his voice a stern but hushed whisper on the other side of the phone Sunday morning.
While Gabriel showered, I decided to use the hotel phone to check in with my mother … who happened to be in the presence of my former fiancé … who then happened to ask to speak to me.
“I beg your pardon?” I ask. “I believe you were the one who did this to us.”
“I’m not talking about that,” he spits back at me.
“That being the fact that you cheated on me with one of my best friends?” I ask.
“I’m talking about your little lover boy objecting at our wedding in front of hundreds of our closest friends and family. Do you have any idea how humiliating that was for me? Standing there like some jilted groom in front of all those people?” he asks.
I yawn. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”
“This isn’t the time, Olivia,” he says to me, speaking to me as though I’m a child in need of scolding. “How long have you been screwing him?”
I cough. “What? Who?”
“The guy,” he says. “The guy who objected.”
“I slept with him last night, if that’s what you’re asking,” I say, biting away a smile he can’t see.
It’s just semantics. He can infer whatever he wants to infer …
“Un-fucking-real,” he says. I’ve never heard him so agitated, and the number of times I’ve heard him swear in all our years together I could probably count on one hand. “You’re going to regret this someday, Olivia. I can promise you that.”
“Nah. I don’t think I’ll ever regret the fact that I narrowly avoided becoming some rich asshole’s starter wife,” I say, my tone bored and bland. “Are you done now?”
“Done?” He chuffs. “Hardly. Come back here immediately so we can have this conversation in person. Privately.”
I imagine my mother standing there, mouth agape, eyes averted. She’s never seen this side of Dorian before, and I’m sure she’s still in shock from yesterday’s events.
“I’m afraid there’s nothing more to discuss,” I tell him with a sigh.
The bathroom door pops open and Gabriel steps out in a cloud of soap-scented steam, a white towel wrapped low on his hips.
My heart nearly leaps up my throat at the sight, and a million tiny butterflies swarm my insides.
“Olivia …” Dorian’s voice fills the earpiece of the phone. “Olivia, are you still there? Are you ignoring me?”
“Yes,” I say when I come to. “I am. I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. Anyway, good talk. And best of luck to you.”
“Don’t you dare hang—”
I return the receiver to the phone cradle and hope to God I never have to talk to that man again.
“Everything okay?” Dorian asks.
“Peachy.” I say with a smile, thinking of yesterday afternoon when he stood outside the ladies’ room to make sure I was all right. And this time I mean it. There’s no facetiousness.
“Shower’s all yours,” he says. “As soon as you’re ready, we’ll head back.”
I grab my Target sack of clothes and toiletries and head into the bathroom and start getting ready. My dress drops haphazardly from the hook on the back of the door, sad and pathetic. A symbol of a life that will never happen. I have half a mind to throw it out the window on the way home, but then I think of the woman at the dress shop who told me it took her seamstresses over a hundred hours to sew on all that tulle and all those intricate crystals, so out of respect for the fine craftsmanship, I won’t toss the dress out like yesterday’s trash.
When I emerge a half hour later, as ready as I’ll ever be to take on this day, I see he’s ordered room service for us: a standard breakfast of eggs, bacon, orange juice, coffee, and French toast.
I take a seat at the little table-for-two that happens to reside halfway between the heart-shaped bed and the jacuzzi.