I nod, because I know if I say anything my voice will give away the sheer heartache that’s spinning through my head right now.
Vaughn rolls his eyes and storms to the front door.
When he’s out of view, Matteo touches a hand to my elbow. “Claire, are you okay?”
I slowly bring my gaze up to meet his, “No, but I will be, as long as it’s okay if you do drive me home.”
“That’s not a problem, Claire. I’ll get you home safely,” he says. His expression looks deeply concerned.
“Thank you, Matteo,” I whisper. “I’m going to get dressed.”
I gather up my clothes and coat, bringing them all into the bathroom to change and freshen up. I don’t bother looking in the mirror, I don’t want to see my mother looking back at me. I pull on my clothes and splash some warm water over my face without taking even a small glimpse of my reflection. I end up sobbing into my hands.
Vaughn lied to me about everything. He manipulated my feelings, took advantage of my fears and vulnerability and took what he wanted. I never want to see another Montgomery for as long as I live. They’ve taken everything they could from me, and now the only thing I can think about doing is getting home, packing a bag, and starting over somewhere far away from all of this.
I’ve never felt more used or dirty in all my life.
None of us speak as we climb into Matteo’s truck. It’s so high off the ground I have to pull up on a bar to reach the footrail. Neither men offer me any help.
The drive down the mountain is slow and treacherous. It takes three hours, when it only took me a little less than an hour to get there in the first place.
Vaughn spends the entire ride on his phone, making call after call, talking with friends and making dates and plans with numerous women. His conversations get sexually explicit on more than one call, and I sit in silence letting each sickening exchange wash over me like rain. I feel badly for every woman he speaks with; none of them know the monster he truly is deep inside. They just see the Montgomery name and the price tag attached to him.
Matteo spends the entire drive with his attention bouncing between the snowy roads ahead of us and looking at me through the rearview mirror. Every time I lift my gaze forward, I can feel him watching me through the small rectangular reflection, and when our gazes meet his face pales like he’s seeing a ghost.
Maybe I am one.
Some empty dead spirit that walks among the rich living people.
I’ll have to rectify that soon. I’ll make sure no Montgomery will ever be able to find me again.
When we get to the base of the mountain, the snow on the ground is thinner, less dangerous to drive in. Matteo asks for directions to my house and we speak quietly back and forth, while Vaughn talks about the killer blowjob he would like a repeat performance of the next time he sees—I believe her name is Genevieve.
I’m sick to my stomach by the time Matteo pulls up to the front of my apartment. My stomach a tight knot of pain.
Matteo clears his throat as I open the car door. “It was…uh…good to see you again, Claire,” he says.
I don’t say anything, I just look at him quickly and nod.
Vaughn cuts his phone conversation short and leans his head back against the front seat to look at me dead in the eyes. “Yeah, that was a pretty decent lay. Thanks for the easy wet hole.”
My eyes immediately well up.
A sound like a whimper escapes past my lips. I’m mortified, but I know he could have said something worse—he could have offered me money.
I climb out of the car and my boots instantly sink into the snow. I close the car door just as Vaughn rolls down his window.
He’s about to say something else to me and I refuse to let him have the last word. “Montgomery, get out of the car and walk me to the door,” I growl.
“I don’t think so, I’m sure you could—”
“Now, Montgomery, or I will call TMZ and your mother and tell her everything. And believe me, I will embellish a shit-ton,” I grunt under my breath. I’m trying not to let Matteo hear me, but I doubt I’ve accomplished that goal.
Vaughn groans, annoyed, and climbs out of the car. He stomps his way ahead of me and waits at my front door, looking angry as hell.
I follow after him, wondering how he even knew which row house I lived in, if he was so busy having phone sex with other women while I told Matteo my address. Before I jam my key into the door or gouge his eyes out with it, I turn to him with a leveled glare. “So, I was right all along? You’re just like your father?” I seethe.
He doesn’t look away. “Yeah, guess you were right. So?”
