“Sure. Just give me a moment to snap a quick photo of this gorgeous lobby.”
“Would you like me to be your photographer?” The bellboy is already reaching for my phone.
“Oh no. No thanks.” I grip my phone tightly. “I don’t like to take photos of myself.”
He nods politely and pretends not to watch as I snap a quick shot of my champagne in one hand and the chandelier dripping with crystals that hangs in the center of the lobby in the background. An elegant fountain bubbles beneath it, a statue of two cherubs midflight, reaching out as if they’re trying to touch the crystals above their curly heads. It radiates the illusion of wealth and elegance. Now I’ll just need to come up with a clever caption that doesn’t reveal where exactly I am. If Dean really iswatching my account, I can’t have him aware that I’m now in the same city he is. Heck, he probably wanted a break from LA—a break from me—and now, here I am.
Setting goals and chasing dreams, just like Mia Starr would do.
Chapter Ten
#blessed
Smiling to myself, I hit submit on a series of candid shots. I know I shouldn’t feel blessed, and the truth is, I don’t. I’ve just lost my husband and my dog. I feel like shit, but I’m sick of all the wallowing that’s been happening on my Instagram feed lately, so I’m testing the waters with a gratitude post. My life is great, and I’m determined to put one foot in front of the other and cultivate the life I want. It’s what Mia would do. She wouldn’t lose herself in the pain and heartache. She would bounce back with her head held high. It’s been weird, splitting myself between two different personalities, so I’ve decided not to do it anymore.
I’ve decided to embrace Mia’s presence in my life. I always have; it’s one of the things Dean used to complain about—that I was too wrapped up in Mia to live my life. But what life do I have to live? Mia’s persona has given me so much. Why would I dial back Mia to find Shae again? Shae is boring and sad, the opposite of Mia’s wild and beautiful existence.
The notifications on my latest post of the champagne in the lobby and the skyline from my suite are already starting to pingmy phone. I ignore them, pour more of the bubbly into my glass and then swipe to the camera lens on my phone. I hold it up to the window, trying to focus my eyes on the golden-lit windows of the buildings in my direct line of sight. I’ve done my best to triangulate the location of Dean and Jesika’s new place based on the single photo she posted. I know they’re north of Millennium Park and maybe a little to the west—as far as I can tell, they’re right here somewhere. I’ve even tried to compare details of the brickwork in her photo to the buildings in this area. Most in this area—known as the Loop by locals—is a mix of residential brownstones and historic buildings and warehouses that have been remodeled into apartments.
I know I shouldn’t fixate like this. Mia Starr would definitely be too busy to fixate on her ex, but Mia would also have friends in every city around the world. Awareness crushes my enthusiasm when I realize if I hadn’t started this ruse with Jesika, the model representing Mia Starr online, I could both reach out to my followers and have a get-together here tonight in Chicago. And maybe, just maybe, my husband wouldn’t have left me for a slightly younger and hotter me.
Revenge coils in my stomach like a snake about to strike before I push that thought out of my head and refocus on what’s in front of me.
Dean and Jesika’s new life is somewhere out there, within a few blocks of me if I had to bet. I vow then that I will stop at nothing to track them down. I just need a glimpse. I need to see what Dean thinks he’s been missing. I need to know why walking away from an entire life is worth it.
My gaze scans the tiny lit windows as I watch for a familiar face among strangers. Would I recognize Jesika in person? I only know her from her various posed and candid photos that we purchased for the brand, first existing photos and then from the commissioned photo shoot later. I imagine what Dean musthave thought when he first met her in real life—did she remind him of me? How could she not? He picked her out because he said we had the same high cheekbones and long white-gold hair. It hurts that he’s effectively replaced me, but I won’t let it hurt for long. I’ll bring his new fiancée down a few pegs—I’m still his wife after all. At least on paper.
And then I choke on my next breath when a familiar sheet of shiny blond hair catches my eye. A woman is standing with her back to the window, her only striking feature the wave of platinum that falls down her back. Even from this angle, it’s obvious she’s gorgeous. I try to zoom in on my camera, but the view only gets grainier.
It’s her.I’m positive of it.
My suspicion is confirmed when my good-for-nothing, cheating ex-husband comes into view and wraps his arms around her small waist. He dips his head, snuggles into her neck, and then she wraps her arms around his body and melts into him. I remember that feeling, the sense of safety his warm embrace brings. A shiver runs through me now as I struggle to remember the last time I felt that feeling—his body against mine, murmuring that everything will be okay. It’s been months. And then it hits me that one of my favorite things—Dean’s hugs—have been absent from my life for far longer than I realized. How is it that I could let one of my favorite things fall away so easily? When did it happen? Was there a deciding event that pushed us apart? A fight or miscommunication or words misspoken? When did I move from the wife to the villain role in his life?
I watch, transfixed on the loving couple in the building across from me. Tears burn my eyelids as I realize I’ve followed them here, only to prolong my own heartache. I’m practically a masochist, torturing myself with their love.
And then the very worst happens.
Jesika turns to face the window, and with Dean’s arms around her waist, I imagine she feels like she’s on top of the world. I swallow the painful ball lodged in my throat and watch through tears as their bodies begin to move in a familiar rhythm.
They’re making love, right in front of the window.
Right in front of me.
A fresh wave of revenge consumes me as I watch them, his hands on her waist holding her against him as her palms splay against the floor-to-ceiling windows. Dean is rough when he makes love, frenzied and aggressive and practically insatiable. I loved his hands in my hair. Sometimes a quick spanking on my ass would send a thrill of need through me. I wonder if she likes it like I did, the way he makes love to her. Or maybe he’s different with her, maybe she brings out the tender side of his love.
Without thinking, I smack my hand against the cold window, and it hurts—my fingertips tingling with pain adding to the tears that are filling my eyes.
And then my heart stops.
Jesika’s eyes look up, as if something has caught her attention. Or someone. It’s as if she’s looking right at me, her gaze focusing on mine while my husband fucks her. I drop my phone and back away from the window, suddenly feeling like I’ve been caught. A sense of shame bubbles up in my veins. If I’m going to really do this, I’ll need to be much more careful. If Dean catches me, he’ll without a doubt blow up my life and rework the divorce agreement to ensure I get absolutely nothing.
I groan, stripping out of the hotel bathrobe and taking my bottle of champagne to the bathroom. Within minutes, I’m slipping into a relaxing bubble bath, my mind swirling with visions of Dean fucking my Mia.
I hate him. I hate him so much I could kill him.
Chapter Eleven
Morning sunshine melts the condensation off the Michigan Avenue sign as I pass. I walk by a Starbucks on the corner of Lake, and the line at this time of morning nearly wraps the block. I can’t imagine being so addicted to caffeine that I’d wait in line for thirty minutes every day. I overhear a conversation between two women as I pass. One is talking about dropping their daughter off at preschool before nearly missing her hot yoga class.
