“Oh shit,” Ivy said.
“That motherfucker!” I screeched.
“Yes, Chris is his son’s name. Oh!” Ms. Frankel said, eyes widening in shock. “You’re the girl he married. My word.”
“We’re getting a divorce,” I said darkly.
“You should wait until that inheritance comes through,” Ms. Frankel said, taking off her spectacles. “Then clean him out. I have a wonderful divorce attorney. I’ll have him call you.”
“He used me.” I started sobbing.
“Men are whores,” Ms. Frankel declared, patting me on the shoulder. “There, there. Have a corgi.”
She picked up one of the pudgy dogs and set him in my lap.
“He never loved me. He just wanted the money. He sat there and lied to me about wanting to spend the rest of his life with me,” I sobbed.
“Like father, like son,” Ms. Frankel said drolly. “It seems I am unfortunately out of a fiancé.”
“But the inheritance,” I choked out.
“Chris has the Svenssons as his lawyers,” she said. “I bet they draw this thing out in court for the next decade with that much money on the line. Lord have mercy. No, I will not be tied to a homeless man, no matter how good he is with his mouth. Alas, ladies, it seems I am back on the market. Hopefully I shall be back soon with a new fiancé!”
I sat there, stunned, as Ms. Frankel collected her corgis and was shown to the elevator by Ivy.
“How could he?” I said quietly.
“Chris is a liar,” Elsie reminded me. “He lied from day one, and he is pathologically obsessed with money.”
“It’s some sort of sick compulsion,” Amy added. “Sociopathic.”
“There is pizza on the way,” Ivy said soothingly. “No more meetings.”
But not even pizza could calm my rage.
“He humiliated me. Over and over. None of it was real. God, the annulment!” I shrieked, realization hitting me. “He screwed me over! We could have had an annulment, but he was trying to get his inheritance! That bastard.”
“Sophie,” Ivy said in concern, “the chocolate cake?”
“On it.”
“And I’ll pick up some more wine,” Brea said, grabbing her purse.
“I’m going to ruin him!” I raged.
“Let’s not do anything rash…” Ivy said delicately.
“I’m not,” I said, scowling. “I have an article to write because I will get that publishing contract.”
“Yes, let’s channel all that anger into positive creative pursuits,” my friend said, pushing me in my chair and draping a blanket around my shoulders. “We will all be back soon with good things to eat. You’ll feel much better!”
But this pursuit wasn’t positive—at least not to Chris. I sat and wrote and wrote. I wrote about the shitty first date, I wrote about the lies, I wrote about the inheritance, I wrote about the fake wedding, I wrote about how much I despised him, and I wrote about how stupid I had felt after I realized the truth.
I proofed it quickly, added several photos, and then emailed it to Victoria.
“There’s your viral article,” I muttered, shutting down my laptop.
All my dirty laundry was out there, but I didn’t care. Because Chris was going to have his comeuppance.
