“The Crossbow twins bought Hevister Manor and the entire estate around it. They’re opening the doors for the engagement party. They’re inviting half the city, and the wealthy are buying up rooms in the manor. Supposedly, the party will last a few nights, and all the proceeds will go into repairing the Tavala District where their mother was from. Isn’t that sweet?”
I don’t cry as much anymore. I’ve learned to regulate my emotions a little better. The death of my ex helped. But that doesn’t mean that my heart isn’t breaking. It beats in my chest so hard, it’s pounding in my ears. In the mirror, I see how flushed I am. Since I’m wearing a red pin-up dress, I look like a darned strawberry.
“I thought you knew,” Harriet says.
“No idea.” I shake my head.
Joselin covers her mouth. “Oh, Dina, I also thought you knew.” She makes a face as if she swallowed a lemon. “The fiancée is probably some toothless hooker from Couldermouth.”
I turn on my hairdryer, and the rest of my day is spent in a daze. Joselin was right. I did have at least six bookings for the Crossbow engagement party. I feared to ask which twin was getting engaged since I speculated it wasn’t Connor. I just can’t see him in a committed relationship.
But Declan? He wants commitment. He asked me to marry him, asked for a committed relationship with me. I held off for a while, but it was inevitable that one of my beautiful, young customers would confirm my fears: Declan Crossbow is getting engaged tonight.
Serves me right for telling him no.
Chapter 42
I’m not crying. You are
Dina
My salon has four chairs, and since I’m the only hairdresser, the other three are used by women getting ready to go out while they wait for the customer I’m working on. It’s Saturday night, so I stay open late, making sure everyone looks beautiful for tonight’s party.
It’s funny how young women talk about Connor and how they salivate over him. Personally, I don’t think any of the ladies I met tonight could handle him long-term, but people aren’t looking for commitment anymore. Only Declan. He looked and found me, the only woman in a city of over a million people who couldn’t marry him when he needed her to.
My fault. I dropped the ball, and I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life. I only wish he hadn’t come to Selnoa for his engagement. Maybe that’s exactly why he came. To rub it in my face. Nah, he’s not thinking about me while marrying another woman. He’s not here to rub anything in. He forgot about me.
I hold back the tears as I lock up the shop and turn to go up the stairs to my apartment. But I think better of it. It’s a long weekend, and, which means I get to watch TV and rest.
Trouble is, the only thing that’s going to air on TV is the Crossbow engagement. I could watch a romantic movie, but it would be too tempting to turn the channel and see Declan on the screen with his toothless fiancée.
Jokes aside, she’s probably beautiful and young and will bless him with many children. I’m angry at myself more than I am with him. By choosing myself, I lost a relationship with Declan.
I guess in life, something must give.
We can’t have our cake and eat it too.
By the time I get back from the grocery store, it’s almost ten thirty. I park my car and use the stairs, wishing for the millionth time that my building had an elevator so I wouldn’t have to drag two grocery bags full of ice cream and bottles of wine all the way to the top floor.
When I make it up there, I drop the bags to unlock the door (because I lock the door now), then pick the bags back up and carry them into the apartment.
I flip the switch, slide off my sandals, and proceed to the kitchen.
Declan Crossbow is standing in my living room.
I almost drop my bags. I open my mouth to ask him what he’s doing here, but I just gape like a fish out of water.
He’s wearing a tuxedo, and his hair has grown a little longer so that he styles it to the left. He’s a dirty blond. I forgot how handsome this man is.
“She’s a very lucky woman,” I tell him, then go to the kitchen to drop off my bags. I yank the refrigerator door open and pitch the ice cream into it.
“Ice cream goes in the freezer,” he says.
God, his voice. Deep and masculine. I WANT HIM BACK.
“Excuse me?” I say, sounding bitter and scorned yet again.
“You put the ice cream in the fridge.”
