Tears of sadness sting my nose. Logically I understand there’s no point in playingwhat-if. But my heart wants to think about it, to go through the full catalog of regrets.
I let out a long breath, trying to steady myself. “Don’t look back,” I tell myself. “Just forward. Always move forward.”
After all, reliving my past hasn’t been good for me emotionally. Thinking about how my own parents discarded me when I was just a newborn hurts until I can’t stop tearing up. My first set of adoptive parents throwing me away like trash because they got pregnant is salt over an old wound that refuses to heal. If they didn’t want me enough to keep me no matter what, they shouldn’t have adopted me in the first place. Their actions taught me that only some kids are loved.And that fear of not being lovable stayed with me with the Obermans when I learned they didn’t love me for me, but for resembling their beloved, perfect Finley.
I’m always terrified of not being perfect, but also exhausted and resentful of the need to be flawless, lest I be cast aside again. I bask in the affection people give me because I’m perfect, but also despair I won’t be loved if people found out how flawed I really am.
I don’t know what I’m supposed to be anymore because I don’t think I can maintain my façade for much longer. Choosing Bryce at the wedding probably already destroyed whatever illusions Sherry and the family’s acquaintances had about me. If I had even a hundredth of the confidence and self-assurance Bryce has—
Stop thinking about what you love the most about him.
I shake myself mentally and take my phone out. Notifications have exploded in the last few hours. More than a hundred texts from Jude calling me names. “Bitch cunt whore” is one of the nicer ones. But then, he always had the worst names for me. He used them with relish, loved the way I bit my tongue and faux-fawned over him, while people around us looked at us like we were circus freaks. He thought they admired him for being able to do whatever he wanted and still keep a nice girl by his side. He never saw the pity, disgust and disdain in their eyes.
Aaron has also sent me a bazillion texts. His names are slightly more literate, like “ungrateful little bitch,” along with ranting about how I plan to pay the money. The loan sharks need their money, and I’m being selfish and thoughtless by leaving Jude. How is he supposed to deal with my irresponsible behavior?
He’s obviously forgotten who was irresponsible enough to borrow money from loan sharks to begin with!
But yelling at him won’t solve anything.
Nothing from Sherry. That’s a little surprising—and deflating. I didn’t expect her to applaud my decision yesterday, but I thought she’d at least ask if I was okay. If I were her real daughter, she’d definitely show more concern.
I press a hand over the ache in my heart. I should be used to this. Sherry’s only worry is to get good karma for Finley’s reincarnation. Shetold me Finley died too young, before she could accumulate enough good karma, so she has to do it. I shoot her a quick text:
–Me: In case you’re wondering, I’m okay. I hope you’re okay, too. Please let me know if you need anything.
I stare at the screen for a while. Nothing. Not even three dots.
Okay.I put the phone down and do the dishes—including Bryce’s mug—and look out the window facing the backyard. There isn’t a single succulent to be seen. Instead, the massive garden is full of shrub roses blooming in stunning carmine—a little surprising, because they don’t seem like something Bryce would pick. I thought he’d prefer something more masculine and less high-maintenance. A field of agaves or black dahlias, maybe.
I stare at the gorgeous red flowers and think about my immediate plans. Zachary’s death and Aaron’s mess have derailed my life. It’s time to put it back on track.
First, a job. Then a place of my own—a small studio apartment. Then a decent used car, since I had to sell mine in Wisconsin when I was forced to marry Jude.
My fucktoy phase will end within two years. Bryce was insatiable before, and he’s even more sexual now. He’ll burn through the three hundred—no, two hundred and ninety-nine—pretty fast.
Also—as soon as the clothes arrive, I need to get on birth control. Condoms will still be mandatory. But I need reassurance that soon this will be all a distant memory without any permanent baggage.
Chapter Fourteen
Bryce
Booming music throbs, the rapid beats pounding through me. A sea of people below jump and sway to the vibrant tune, lost in the music, alcohol and drugs.
The VIP lounge on the upper level isn’t as crowded. Z serves the best liquor and has the hottest chicks. I need a little break and distance after what happened this morning.
Josh’s already got a couple of girls with him. Probably going to take one to a hotel nearby if he “feels the necessary chemistry.” I, on the other hand, feel nothing as I survey the women gyrating around the club.
Damn it. I run a hand over my face roughly. I told Fiona to wear something sexy tonight. What will it be? Something so hot it makes my blood boil? Something so plain and boring that I might just laugh at her defiance? Or maybe nothing at all just because I ordered her to wear something.
Even as my body tightens with anticipation, I stay put. I’m not confident I won’t lose control. And control is everything when you’re dealing with somebody as treacherous and beautiful as Fiona Oberman.
A redhead next to me places a hand on my thigh, pressing her tits against my arm. The low cut of her tight black dress leaves almostnothing to the imagination. Not at all like the practically nun-like outfit Fiona wore when she came to beg for money.
Then there were the garter belt and stockings from yesterday…
And my old shirt this morning. Damn it, it was supposed to look like a worn-out sack of potatoes over her with holes. Instead, it was so thin I could see the outlines of her nipples.
I could almost hear her panting and moaning my name.“Bryce, please. Please, I need more.”
