…if a potential partner states he is not seeking marriage, only sex, but youfeellike he’s falling for you, do not give him your heart.
Monty made it plain from the beginning. He is not seeking marriage. He can’t, because of whatever is going on with his family. The secrets he won’t tell me.
I, on the other hand,amseeking marriage. We’ve both known it all along.
I watch the city streets of Jasper roll past the window of our cab, the sounds of horse hooves on cobblestones drowning out the crash of my sinking, crumbling heart. The heart that didn’t heed Monty’s warning.
The heart I already gave to him, whether he wants it or not.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
DAPHNE
My heart hurts but bacon makes it better. It makes everything better.
I slouch at one of the tables in Fletcher-Wilson’s break room, a strip of bacon in one hand and a telegram in the other. The plate of bacon is one of six batches I cooked up earlier this week to take to work with me, while the telegram is from Patrick Wright and was delivered to my desk this morning. It seems he’s planning on making good on his intentions to call on me this weekend and has even set a time and place for us to go on a date. That, of course, only reminds me of my last conversation with Monty. The pain of his subtle rejection.
I crumple the telegram in my fist and shift my attention to Araminta’s non-stop chatter. She leans against the long break room counter in seelie form, her lilac hair hidden beneath a silk scarf. Her eyes are obscured by spectacles with tinted lenses while her figure is adorned in her signature ruffly black mourning wear. “You really missed out on so much,” she says, catching her breath after a lengthy run-on sentence. “You should be honored I took the time out of my busy schedule to come visit you at work.”
“So honored,” I say in a monotone, then shove another strip of bacon in my mouth. I may not show it, but I truly am glad Ari is here. When I returned home after my extended weekend, I expected her to have wreaked havoc in my apartment the entire time I was gone, but there was no sign of her. It wasn’t until today, Wednesday, that I finally saw her. Apparently, she really did have a busy weekend. Her modeling career has gotten off to such a successful start that she’s managed to secure her own apartment in town. She also relayed that she’s gotten back together and broken up with David about four times. One would think I was gone a month, not a handful of days.
“Hey, aren’t you eating a little too much bacon?” she asks.
I bristle, teeth bared to warn her away in case she’s considering taking my plate from me. “There’s no such thing.”
“Are you sure? Because that’s a lot of bacon. It looks more like a whole pig.”
I defiantly shove a whole strip in my mouth, delighting in the crunchy richness that melts over my tongue. “Are you bacon-shaming me?”
She shrugs. “I suppose I have no reason to. You’re not the one who has to watch her figure, unlike me. I’m practically famous, you know. This body belongs to several respected brands.” She says the last part a touch too loud, her eyes darting around to the break room’s other occupants. None of the three figures glance our way, as two are locked in jovial conversation and the third has just finished up her meal and exits without a backward glance. With a huff, she removes the scarf from her hair and the spectacles from her face. She settles into one of the chairs at my table and pushes a paper across the surface to me.
My heart pinches when I see it’s theCedar Hills Gazette. Monty’s paper.
She doesn’t allow me to dwell on that, flipping the pages before me to the advertisements. “Look at my newest advert,” she says, tapping a black-and-white photograph. I immediately recognize her, though she’s dressed down to her undergarments. When my eyes reach the text that overlays the photograph, I nearly choke on my bacon.
When pussy wants to play, use Intrepid.
I slam my chest to free my airways, then take a heavy swallow of tea.
Ari tilts her head in question.
“That’s some, uh, interesting choice of words,” I say.
“Why?”
I lean in close and lower my voice. “It sayspussy, right there on the ad.”
She gives me an innocent grin. “Yes, and I’m holding a kitten.”
I drop my face in my hands. For the love of the All of All, does she have any clue about the brands she models for? I lift my head and whisper, “Intrepid is a contraceptive and reproductive health tonic.”
She gives an excited nod. “I know! It tastes like cherries.”
So she does know what Intrepid is.
I take another piece of bacon off my plate. “I prefer the blackberry flavor.”
Araminta’s eyes go wide. “You use the tonic too? But…why? Your sex life is soooo boring.”
