Jason flares his nostrils, sniffing the air like there’s an old fish or something rotting behind the register. He lifts his chin in that arrogant way that makes me want to see how hard I have to punch him to crack that weak jawline. “Next month.”
“Wow,” I breathe, hiding my cringe because I sound exactly like Owen Wilson. “Why the rush?”
But even as I ask the question, I guess the answer. “We’re expecting.”
No shit.
I curl my lips around my teeth and rock back on the heels of my Doc Martens. Suddenly, I’m every bit the mountain mud girl all over again, the one who was orphaned at seven and who was so poor, I slept on my grandmother’s couch. I’d have had my own room, maybe even a cot or something, but her shack over on St. Crowe Lake is a teeny one-bedroom and she needs to sleep on one of those in-home medical beds. There was simply no space, so we made do.
But I shake off the sensation and remember I’m not the sad and lonely little girl anymore. I’ve come a long way from those days. Who cares if Wembley money lifted me out of poverty? I made the most of the opportunity. That’s what matters.
Running my palms down the skirt of my pink sundress, I nod thoughtfully before saying, “How awesome. Congrats on this joyous news as well.” I offer him the most bullshit smile I have ever smiled in the history of smiles. “I’m happy for you and Lisa. Truly.”
My toes are crossed inside my shoes.
I wish thebabywell.
Jason and Lisa can go fuck themselves.
Perhaps I’d be more charitable toward them if Jason didn’t use every opportunity to publicly bad-mouth me. We’ve been apart for a year. I keep to my quiet corner of Harley Cove while he struts around town, spreading lies about me to anyone who will listen. How I was a nagging wife who was terrible in bed.What a jerkoff, living his dream life while I’m made out to be the villain in his perfectly constructed story.
Did I expect it to play differently?
Not really.
Jason Wembley is Harley Cove’s golden boy. I’m its former troubled child who married above my station. This whole town probably rejoiced when Jason finally shed me like a bad habit. He and Lisa are better suited for each other. They fit. She’s the ideal trophy wife, a former Miss Harley Cove. The woman is tall, platinum-blonde, and has sparkling blue eyes. A living doll with a thin body tailor-made for designer clothes and a flawless face.
I’m the anti-Lisa. Five-four on a tall day. Brown curls. Green eyes. My body type is best described as ‘I’m eating that slice of cake.’ My sense of style is the nineties, thank you very much. I don’t see myself as beautiful, but others do, and I’m grateful for their compliments because getting cheated on for six years was a mind fuck of monumental proportions.
“Thank you.” Jason’s voice was the one thing I never did like about him. It’s not…masculine. Not deep enough. Not gravelly. There’s zero baritone. I’ve always liked something…smoky. Something rich. Not something slightly nasal and a tad too high. But, hey, he’s not mine anymore. I don’t have to suffer his annoying ass anymore, thank God. He’s Lisa’s problem now—until death do they part (or he finds a newer, younger, and prettier model). “You’re… Um, that is to say…” He licks his lips, and I’m flabbergasted that the unflappable Jason Wembley is, in fact, flapped. “Lisa and I… My mother, as well… It’s best if you…”
I nail my hands to my hips and blow out an exasperated sigh. I know what he’s stammering about, and if I want to, I can make this easy on him. “Yes? What is it, Jason? I don’t understand.”
Given the current situation, I’m not feeling overly charitable.
“You won’t be invited, of course.” God forbid Jason shoves his hands, with their manicured nails, into the pockets of his pristine navy suit. “We feel it will be best if you don’t make a case out of it.”
I want to laugh, I really do. The giggle is there, sitting on the tip of my tongue, threatening to burst forth. Why in the world would Ieverwant to attend my ex-husband’s wedding? More precisely, why would I want to attend his wedding to the woman he was cheating on me with?
Hisshotgunwedding to the woman he was cheating on me with.
He’s wildly delusional and god-awfully full of himself.
But also, the thing about the Wembleys is that they value saving face above everything else. When we got married, only his parents knew I was pregnant. Everyone else saw us as impatient sweethearts eager to kick-start our lives together. We remained married because—God forbid—the Wembleys had a divorce in their family. Hell no. Those people stay married no matter what. Through cheating, abuse, whatever. Everything but love binds them, and when Jason and I formally announced we were going our separate ways, I darkened their good name in a way that can never be forgiven or forgotten.
Even now, if I see a Wembley around town, I either get a dirty look, or they pretend I don’t exist.
I prefer the latter.
However, we collectively play the Everything Is Awesome game, to the outside world. No one beyond his family knows Jason cheated on me. Public perception is that wetragicallygrew apart…as sometimes happens with adolescent love. We pretend we’re the dearest of friends, despite the nonchalant way he besmirches me to anyone with fucking ears. But look at us, how sweet, getting along.
Aw!
Except we can’t be in the same room for longer than three minutes without wanting to murder each other.
“No worries, babe. The last thing in the world I want to do is watch you marry her. But I thank you for taking the time out of your obviously busy day to come here to tell me the news personally.” With a little spin, I gesture at the fresh delivery of boxes that arrived this morning. “I’m sure webothhave things we’d rather be doing than this.” I motion from him, then to myself. “So…”
Jason, who has never stepped a single foot inside The Scorched Page, sweeps his critical gaze around my cozy bookshop. At the inviting coffee station near the huge front window, where bold, vintage black lettering spells out the shop’s name. He takes a quick stroll. Drags his fingers along the spines of a row of books that I lovingly curated and carefully placed on the walnut shelves lining the wood-paneled walls. In a small town that already has a general bookstore, I wanted something different. A place dedicated to romance, where not only sweet once upon a times and happily ever afters are found, but also the darkest of taboos. Those love stories deserve space as well.
