He held her gaze for a long beat and resisted the urge to roll his eyes. As if they would’ve ever made it twenty years. No need to let such a fine drink go to waste waiting for such an improbable date. For a moment, he considered dropping the ruse—but he’d already laid such beautiful groundwork—so he forged ahead, intent on a confession.
“I was hoping maybe it would bring us closer, having a little throwback to our wedding night. I really feel like we’ve been drifting apart these last few weeks. Do you not feel the same?”
Bea took a quick swallow of her drink, her nails clicking sharply against the glass as she resumed her tapping. “I hadn’t realized.”
“We don’t even snuggle anymore. How about we go up now and just watch a movie? I don’t mind if you fall asleep.”
“Actually . . . I have a bit of marketing to catch up on.”
“I thought you said you did that last week, the night I left with Eliana for the workshop?”
“Well, I planned to, but something came up.”
“What came up?”
Bea didn’t answer—the tap, tap, tap, growing louder and faster with each beat of silence.
“Or,” Milo continued, “maybe the better question iswho?”
Bea blinked repeatedly, her eyes comically wide, before she met Milo’s waiting stare, and her face paled. The tapping stopped.
“You know,” she whispered.
“Maybe,” he hedged, dropping the smile. “But I’d like for you to say it.”
“I–I have nothing to confess. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“What do I have wrong?”
“I’m not cheating.” She rushed to say, glancing around like she expected a camera crew to leap from the shadows.
Milo’s expression tightened as he held her stare. “I do notneedyou to confess,” he said, turning his phone around to show Bea the same clip that he’d shown Eliana a day past. “This speaks for itself quite well. My wanting to hear you say it is purely that . . . awanton my part.”
As the video played, Bea’s face lost all remaining color so quickly that Milo was surprised she remained upright.
“You have me on camera?”
“Of course I do. You’re not really putting much effort into hiding it. You wanted to go to abeekeeping conference?” Milo rolled his eyes, remembering the depth of his confusion when she’d brought up the idea so many months ago. “Come on. I’ll be honest, I thought it was for appearances at the time, but a sexcation makes a lot more sense in hindsight.”
“What are you going to do?”
Milo scoffed. “I think the better question is, what areyougoing to do? I’ve already initiated divorce proceedings, and given that the prenup has clearly been violated, the only thing you have a right to is the store. The house, the furniture, the bees, even your phone—they will all remain with me. But you can keep the necklace. It’s worth a decent penny, though . . . I do hope you continue to wear it.” He paused, enjoying the bewilderment in her eyes. Then he sat forward, delivering the final blow with tactile precision. “I will give you four hours to pack up and get the fuck out of my house.”
“But–I–Milo, you can’t just?—”
“I tell you what—I’ll let you have six hours and I’ll keep your phone on through the end of the month if you take accountability and tell me the truth right now.” Milo offered, still wanting to hear the words. It was theleastof what she owed him.
“Tomorrow is the end of the month.” Bea pointed out.
“Huh . . . will you look at that.”
“You know what? Fuck you, Milo. Where am I supposed to go? What am I supposed to do?” Her voice turned desperate as she pleaded, “The shop doesn’t make any sense without the bees.”
Milo shrugged, one lone brow silently communicating the sardonic distaste he felt in her presence. “That sounds like ayouproblem, Beatrice. And as of today, you are no longermyproblem.”
22
TICKET
