"Stop it. I know you hired investigators to find the perfect spot," I countered, unable to hide my smirk. "Just pick the destination, it’s my gift to you. But who is this mystery guest? You aren't getting yourself into another adventure like the one with the neighbor’s nanny, are you?"
"No, nothing like that. We’re going out with Vanessa,"Sarki replied."Do you think Milan will be too crowded? Elisa always loves an excuse to head back to Italy."
"Wait, what do you mean you're hanging out with Vanessa and then cutting it short for Milan? Have you been taking drugs?" I joked, genuinely surprised by the pivot.
"We're just getting to know each other, okay?"Sarki insisted."And I thought I’d invite her for New Year’s. No big deal."
"Oh, it’s a big deal. It’s a huge deal, with bells and whistles, the whole nine yards," I teased. "Confirm with her, and I’ll e-mail the tickets. Pick the hotel and use the card I gave you."
"Honestly, Megan,"Sarki added with a chuckle,"I think you should have started sleeping with Kelsey a long time ago."
"I think so too," I agreed with a smile. "I'm just pulling up to the museum now."
"Talk to you later. Love you!" Sarki replied before hanging up.
I tucked my phone away as the SUV came to a smooth halt. I thanked the driver for the ride and stepped out into the crisp air. Walking through the corridors of the Van Gogh Museum, I found myself captivated not just by the masterpieces, but by the people—the way they posed for selfies and the hushed reverence of the crowd.
The clock on my phone read 3:00 p.m. when I finally took a seat on a bench to study The Potato Eaters. The stark, earthy contrasts of the piece held my gaze for a long time, its raw honesty pulling me in.
Eventually, I moved on, stopping before one of my personal favorites: The Sower. I leaned in to observe the meticulous details—the bold direction of the brushstrokes and the vibrant energy of the scene. It was absolutely stunning.
Before leaving, I made a stop at the gift shop. I picked up ten pairs of socks printed with Van Gogh’s most famous works, and, as a special tribute to Kelsey’s sense of humor, a pair featuring the painter's face.
I also spotted one of those popular designer dolls I thought she might like and added it to my haul.
As soon as I stepped out of the museum and into the brisk afternoon air, my phone began to ring. Assuming it was Kelsey, I answered without even glancing at the screen.
The deep, masculine voice on the other end made me freeze in my tracks.
"Hi, honey. Having fun in Holland?"
I was blindsided by the sound of Peter’s voice, and it took a long, heavy beat for me to regain my composure.
“Hi, Peter. I’d imagine Jacksonville is far more interesting,” I countered, my voice dripping with boredom. “What do you want?”
“I heard your debut at the gala as the new D.C. judge was sensational,”he drawled, his tone oozing fake charm.“Are you already sucking up to Donald? Or have you moved on to some senator’s wife?”
“I’m going to ask you one more time before I hang up on you,” I stated, my tone turning ice-cold. “What. Do. You. Want?”
“I need you to be by my beautiful, important wife’s side during the campaign,”he replied, his voice shifting into that familiar, manipulative purr.“It's only right.”
“I want you to fuck off. Get married again.”
“My love, you are my only wife. So, what I’m about to tell you is only fair. I’ll get straight to the point.”Peter’s voice was like oil over gravel. I could hear him breathing, and the urge to reach through the phone and smash another glass over his head was nearly overwhelming.“I have proof of your... perversions.”
“What kind of 'perversions' are you talking about, Peter?” I asked, my voice tight and clinical.
“There are many, my little angel,”he crooned. I felt a wave of nausea hit me.“But there's one in particular that could keep you from sitting in that chair you want so badly. I have proof that you’ve been involved with women.”
“You don't have a damn thing. I’ve never been involved with women. Have you lost your mind, Peter?” I countered instantly. My only instinct was to deny everything; I knew him well enough to know he was likely recording the call.
"I’m not saying another word,"he stated, his tone shifting back to that smug, political cadence."I’ll expect you by mid-January when I announce my candidacy. You’ll be the perfect, supportive wife and pose right next to your hubby."
"We’ll talk more about this later," I snapped. "Especially since the divorce papers are already signed. But make no mistake—we won’t be together. I don’t cave to blackmail."
I hung up, my hands trembling. I looked around the square, a sudden wave of despair crashing over me. My chest inflated and deflated in uneven, jagged hitches. I tried Sarki's number. Voicemail. I tried Kelsey and then Vanessa. Nothing.
I stopped in the middle of the square and took a deep breath, clutching my diaphragm. The world began to spin. I needed to vomit. I spotted a sunflower-shaped trash can nearby and stumbled toward it, expelling every trace of Peter’s poisonous voice from my system.
