Compliments galore.
But it’s the way he looks at me that should’ve tipped me off. That deep-seated magnetism that I don’t recall ever having again with Bobby, the second time I believed we were meeting.
Bobby looked at me, don’t get me wrong. His boyish good looks and charm got him places, and I wrapped around his finger with hopes of the future and our plans. I didn’t pay much attention to the logistics. I was definitely nervous meeting him again, and Bobby did have pretty words waiting for me.
But, if everything Bronte said is true—that we met first—he had me from the start.
And that scares the shit out of me.
Something’s wrong.
There has to be.
I don’t know how I managed to go through two years and not pick up what seemed like tiny things, but are huge now. How both of them, even though they look exactly the same—except for the slightly different eye and hair color—are different.
The contrasts are black and white.
It’sbeenblack and white.
I’ve just been all rainbows and painting color on everything to mask what’s in front of me.
And, now, I don’t know where I manage to go or do moving forward from here.
I’m married to the man I met once? Am I really and truly married to a guy who made me feel the prettiest I’ve ever felt, subtly dropped interest, then went MIA?
When I asked Bobby about our alleged second encounter, where he went that day because he never did show up to ask about that dinner date, he stated something had come up, but he was glad I found him anyway.
If I had to look for him in the first place, not the other way around, that should’ve beenmyred flag. Nettie’s might be his lack of available time, but mine should have been that he didn’t throw the time in initially.
If he were that interested in me, Bobby would’ve dropped in my DMs.
I wish I had never asked around and searched him up on social media. I love Bobby…or did I? Doubt has been my only companion for the last hour, and I feel like the biggest dumbass alive.
How in the world did I not realize something was off? Was I so delusional that I was blinded to the things that didn’t align right?Bobby flirted, more than Bronte did—ifeverything he said was true—but he didn’t have a swagger about it that hit like the first time. I didn’t hate it. That should’ve been my first indication right there, but how the hell did I not piece it together?
I don’t understand.
Because you met the guy for twenty-five minutes? How did you know there were two of them?
I slept with him.
My eyes bulge out of my head as my wedding night comes barreling full force into my brain.
White roses.
The note.
The intimate wedding with only a priest.
Then he fucked me against the brick wall.
Then on the plane.
Where’s Bobby?
I haven’t opened my cell phone since Bronte gave it to me because I’m scared of what’s on the other side.
I know Bobby’s there, and I betrayed him. I slept with someone behind his back. I should have known the difference. When Bobby sleeps with me, for the most part, it’s slow and sweet. He takes his time with me, exploring and whispering how much he’s missed our time spent together.
