“No, he left. He just told me I should check on you, something about you maybe getting a bit too drunk last night?” Jade eyes the half-empty bottle of wine, uncorked on my coffee table, and then stares pointedly at the empty bottles next to it.
“Ash must have told him. He called me last night,” I admit. I set down my half-eaten bagel, frustration welling up inside of me. Of course. I should have expected they’d share everything with each other.
“What did he have to say for himself?” Jade asks.
“I wasn’t exactly in a listening mood,” I say, pressing the palms of my hands to my eyes and rubbing furiously. “I can’t trust a goddamn thing he says. Anythinganyof them say.”
Because it wasn’t just Alec. They were all lying to me. Letting me make a fool of myself by falling for them without letting me glimpse even a fraction of their real lives.
We’re dangerous men, Sydney,the memory of Sebastian’s voice mocks me.
Jade glances up at the clock and groans. “I have to head downstairs and open the shop.” She frowns at me, taking in my disheveled and, I’m sure, pathetic appearance. “Why don’t you take the day off? I don’t think it’ll be too crazy today, and I doubt you’ll be much help today, anyway. Not in the state you’re in.”
She’s right. And even though my guilt immediately kicks in, I know better than to argue. “Thanks. I’m sorry I’m such a mess.”
“You’remymess. And you’ll be okay. You’re going to get through this,” Jade promises. “Make sure you eat every last bite of that bagel, okay?”
She gives me a long hug before she leaves.
After the door closes behind her, I fetch my cell phone and turn it back on, the screen immediately filling with missed calls and messages from Ash.
And one message from Alec.
I don’t bother reading it. I furiously swipe the message away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of lying to me again.
Tell it to your wife.
2
ONE WEEK LATER
SYDNEY
Ashton: Good morning, Babygirl!
I sighand swipe the notification from my phone screen. Not that it matters. The fact that I haven’t read or responded to any of Ashton’s messages since we last spoke hasn’t stopped him from messaging me multiple times every day.
Or—I’m reminded when I open my door—from sending megifts.
The moment I step out of my apartment, I stumble over the box of red roses sitting on my doorstep, accidentally trampling half of them in my effort to stay upright.
Shit.
This is the third time this week I’ve stepped on a present he’s left for me. Yesterday, I almost died tripping over a stuffed dog that meekly said “I WOOF you” before nearly sending me flying down the stairs. With a frustrated sigh, I kick the box of flowers over the threshold and into my apartment, vowing to deal with them later. I wish he would stop. Or at least slow down. I have enough roses filling my apartment now to open a flower shop, and I’m quickly running out of places to put them.
I slam the door to my apartment shut, crushing another rose blossom in the doorjamb, and head downstairs to work.
I hate that I miss him. Hate that, as furious as I am, a part of mewantsto message him back, wants to talk to him, wants to hear his side of things.
But I’m not ready for that. Not yet, at least.
The moment I round the corner to the Book Boutique and Bakery, I spot a massive stuffed bumblebee leaning against the entrance and groan.
If I thought today was going to be a flowers-only gift-barrage, I was apparently mistaken.
The two-foot bumblebee proudly wears a T-shirt saying “BEE mine”, and I don’t bother to collect this one as I unlock the door and speed past it into the café. I leave the gift outside, hoping someone else will pick it up and find some joy in it.
I know I won’t.
