“What are you talking about?”
“We’re not good together, Sean. Maybe we were at first, although it’s hard to remember anymore. But we certainly aren’t now.”
“Sure, we are. What’s the problem?”
“Why do you want to marry me?”
“Because…” He paused, his mouth slightly open, like he’d intended to say more, but realized he didn’t have an answer.
I raised my eyebrows.
“Because this is what you do,” he said, finally. “We’ve been together for a long time. We live together. Shouldn’t we just get married?”
“No,” I said with a slow shake of my head. “We shouldn’t. We’re not in love with each other. We’re barely even friends.”
Resting his hands on his hips, he shook his head. “This is fucked up, Penelope.”
“I’m sorry. If I’d realized what you were planning, I wouldn’t have let it happen.”
“Well, you did, didn’t you? Made a fool out of me in front of an entire restaurant full of people.”
“That isn’t my fault.”
“You know what? Fine. If this is what you want—if you want to be single again—great. Good fucking luck out there.” He pointed a finger at me. “But you’re going to realize, sooner rather than later, that you just made the biggest mistake of your life. Because no one else is going to want you.”
That arrow struck a bullseye. My eyes filled with tears, and I furiously bit the inside of my lip to keep them from spilling.
He shook his head again, as if he’d reached the point of being more disappointed than angry, and started to walk away.
“Wait,” I called after him. “Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“You left the ring in there. We didn’t pay.”
“I’ll deal with it later.”
He kept walking, and I wondered if he expected me to run after him. “Sean.”
“What?” he snapped and paused to look at me over his shoulder.
“Are you leaving me here?”
“You just left me. Find your own damn ride.”
I gaped at him as he kept walking and got in his truck. He couldn’t seriously be leaving me on the side of the road at night in a town thirty minutes from home.
Home? I didn’t have a home. Not anymore.
My mouth hung open as I watched his truck roar to life. Music blared, and with a squeal of tires and a whiff of burning rubber, he left.
“Excuse me, ma’am?”
Still half dazed, I turned toward the host standing in the partially open door of the restaurant. “You were watching all that, weren’t you?”
He stepped outside. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to make sure things didn’t escalate.”
“Thank you.” My voice sounded far away, and I gazed past him, not really focusing on anything. “He didn’t pay. Do you need me to—”
