But all I feel isloss.
Deep-seated loss.
I’ve lost Joseph.
I’ve lost my home.
I’ve lost my precious Yorkipoo, Princess Sophia.
And more than anything…
I’ve lost my dignity.
Gradually, with the weight of the world on my shoulders, I step up to the counter and watch as Mary-Ann tilts her head to the side while taking me in. “Oh, Dee, what’s wrong?”
I sniff, wiping my cheeks with the back of my hand, then remember I’m supposed to be refined, well-bred, and a lady. “Joseph broke up with me!” I sniff a few more times before continuing, “Then he kicked me out. Can I have the penthouse tonight?”
Mary-Ann has worked at the Rutherford Regent for years. Actually, for as long as I can remember. Daddy used to bring me here when he had meetings, and Mary-Ann would let me sit behind the desk while she took care of me for the afternoon because Mummy would be off with her high society friends for lunch or book club.
“Oh, Dee, that’s terrible, honey. The penthouse is occupied, but the suite next to it is available. Will that be okay?”
I nod, and she smiles supportively as she hands me the keycard for the room.
“Thanks, Mary-Ann. Please don’t tell Daddy. I want to be alone for a while.”
“Okay, honey. But if you need anything, I’m here until four in the morning. Call reception, and I’ll come right up,” she says, with that look of sympathy that can only be described as feigned.
Where is the concierge?I think, but I have no energy to ask.
My care factor is now in the negative, so I take the keycard and drag myself, with heavy feet, toward the elevator.
Once I reach the floor, I walk toward my room.
The noise from the penthouse is obnoxiously loud, and I sigh out a long breath when I let myself into the room, which is beautiful and modern with an air of sophistication. The floor-to-ceiling windows show the vista of a lit-up city, so I leave the curtains open, pull my luggage over the plush carpet, and place it at the end of a massive king-sized bed. Loud music is blaringfrom the penthouse suite, and the walls do nothing to drown it out.
I shake my head, letting out an obnoxious huff.
After changing into my cute Peter Alexander pink and white-striped pajamas, I lie down and bring my knees up to my chest on the large bed, all alone with a raging headache that won’t subside.
And that’s when reality hits…
I cry myself into oblivion, only stopping long enough to call Boozeline so they can deliver some much-needed vodka. Usually, I’m an expensive wine girl, but this kind of heartache calls for the hard stuff.
Turning on the flat screen, I tune in to watch a few gloomy movies. When you watch a heartwrenching movie, devour a tub of ice cream from room service, and drink the vodka you ordered, let’s just say it’s a messy night.
The night fades into the dark hours of the early morning, and eventually, the noise from the penthouse subsides. By this time, a whole tub of Ben and Jerry’s and three-quarters of a bottle of vodka have been consumed, and I’m in no fit state for anything. The credits roll at the end ofBeaches, the movie starring Bette Midler, and another wave of gut-wrenching, almost heaving hysteria takes over my body.
Daddy is going to be so disappointed.
And how can I blame him? I’m obviously not good enough to be on Joseph’s arm.
I feel so empty.
How could Joseph do this to me?
BANG.
BANG.
