The Plaza’s façade sparkled under the city lights. The moment the car came to a halt, the valet opened my door and extended his hand. I thanked him and headed toward the bar without a word to Kelsey; we had already agreed she would maintain a strategic distance at first.
I ordered a shot of gin on the rocks with a twist of lemon. Just as the glass touched the marble counter, Peter appeared. He was impeccably dressed in a pinstriped suit, clutching a thick manila envelope.
He took the seat across from me, partially obstructing my view of the room. Two tables away, Kelsey was sipping whiskey with her bodyguard, her gaze fixed on me with an intensity that felt like a physical weight.
"Hi, honey," he said, signaling to the waiter with a smug air of belonging.
"Cut the small talk, Peter. Let’s see the proof. What do you have in there?" I snapped, not bothering to hide my disdain.
"Can't we have dinner first?"
"I have no appetite when I’m with you. Eat if you must, but I want to know what’s in that envelope."
I reached out to grab it, but he was faster, snapping it away with a sudden movement that made me recoil. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kelsey’s posture stiffen; she was visibly struggling to remain in her seat.
"At least let my whiskey arrive first," he insisted.
Once his drink was served, he finally slid the envelope toward me. I tore it open and pulled out a series of surveillance photos. There were two of me at the spa with Vanessa, one with her and my friends at Christmas, and one of me with Kelsey, her back to the camera, as we were leaving Central Park.
"There's nothing here," I snorted, tossing the photos back at him like they were trash. "It’s just me and a friend at the spa, a Christmas gathering, and me on a date with some guy."
"The private investigator told me it’s a woman," he countered, narrowing his eyes.
"In a tuxedo and a wool overcoat?" I rolled my eyes, internally mocking his reliance on stereotypes. He was so blinded by his own narrow worldview that he couldn't even fathom the truth.
"And who is he, then?"
"None of your business. Is that all you have?" I asked, my voice dripping with bored impatience.
I stood up, making a show of leaving, but he lunged forward and grabbed my arm with bruising force. I threw a sharp, stay-down look at Kelsey, signaling her not to intervene just yet.
"Sit down," he commanded.
He shoved me back into the chair with a deceptively gentle push, and I reclaimed my seat, my skin crawling at his touch.
"I have evidence that you tampered with several judicial files. I truly didn't want to use this, my love, but you’ve left me no choice," he said, his voice dropping to a manipulative whisper."I need you by my side at the party convention. As my wife. We’re going to convince everyone that we’re reconciling."
"Oh, fuck you, Peter."
"I'm dead serious. Look at this."
He hit play on a video and slid his phone across the table. It was me and Kelsey. Unmistakably. In the hotel dressing room. You couldn't see her face, but mine... the expression on it was painfully clear.
"That must have been a good day," he commented, taking a smug sip of his drink. "You don't even look frigid there."
"It was a great day," I retorted dismissively, offering a thin, dangerous smile. "What exactly do you think you’re going to achieve with this?"
"I’ve already told you what I want. And you’re going to give it to me. Unless you want me to find out exactly who this woman is… the one who has you acting like a stray in a locker room."
"Fuck you." I saw his jaw clench in a flash of genuine rage. I stood up again, and as his hand shot out to grab me, I recoiledand pointed a finger directly at his chest. "If you try to blackmail me with this cheap garbage one more time, I’ll make sure the entire county hears enough juicy gossip about you to ruin three lifetimes. Even if I have to invent it."
"Think about it, Meg. We have a month until the convention. Let's talk," he said, his tone turning oily again. I fought the urge to flip him off; the room was too crowded, and a public outburst would play right into his narrative of the hysterical ex-wife."And do yourself a favor: stay out of locker rooms with sluts."
The information Giorgia had handed me was the only thing giving me the restraint not to send him straight to hell, or find a bus to throw him under, like Mean Girls and Skins style.
#39
"Do teu lado eu me sinto tranquila. Às vezes me assusta esse amor avassalador" - Luisa Sonza
