Page 83 of My Real Love Affair

Standing on Melody’s doorstep with Cleo glaring at me like she wanted to commit murder was possibly not my finest moment. I was pretty sure she had threatened me. The size of the hole required to hide my body was a pretty clear indication she was thinking about burying me. The hostile energy radiating from the purple-haired woman beside Melody was intense.

Melody looked tired. Beautiful, always beautiful, but tired. Her eyes were slightly red, like she’d been crying. Her hair was in a messy bun. She wore oversized sweats and no makeup, and she looked more real than I’d ever seen her.

And I had done this to her.

“We don’t have an agreement anymore.” Her arms crossed over her chest. “You made sure of that.”

“I know.” I ran a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. “But if I’m going to break your rules, better to do it now, right? When there’s nothing left to lose?”

Cleo made a disgusted sound. “Oh, that’s charming. Really.”

I ignored her, keeping my focus on Melody. “I was an ass last night. A complete and total ass. It’s probably in my DNA at this point—being a disappointment runs in the Bancroft blood.”I was rambling now, grasping at straws. “But I’m trying to be better. I am. I just—fuck, I’m not good at this.”

“At what?” Melody asked quietly.

“Apologizing. Genuinely apologizing.” When was the last time I had done this? When was the last time I’d genuinely tried to make something right instead of just throwing money at the problem or cutting my losses? “I can’t remember the last time I actually said sorry and meant it.”

The admission made me feel exposed. Vulnerable. Like I was standing naked in front of them.

This was a terrible idea. I should leave. Should cut my losses before I made this worse.

“Oh my god,” Cleo’s voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. “Is this you?”

She’d pulled out her phone and was now showing me the screen, a wicked grin spreading across her face.

It was that Instagram account. @AustinBancroftWorstMoments. And she was scrolling through what appeared to be my greatest hits of awful paparazzi photos.

“Oh, this one’s my favorite,” Cleo said, zooming in on a particularly unflattering shot of me with my mouth hanging open. “You look like you’re catching flies.”

Despite everything, I had to hand it to her. She was a good friend. A loyal friend. The kind who would create an entire Instagram account dedicated to making her best friend’s ex look like an idiot.

A bit of a savage too.

I was pretty sure she was behind the account. I didn’t know before, but seeing the venom she was spewing at me, I suspected she had come up with a way to get me that wasn’t illegal.

Smart.

I looked at the image she was showing me. My hand reached out and I snatched her phone, studying the photo more closely. “That’s not even me.”

“Yes it is,” Cleo said matter-of-factly.

“No, I’ve never worn that jacket. And that’s not my car.”

“Details.” She snatched her phone back. “It looks like you. Close enough.”

“Did you make this account?” I asked.

Her smile was all teeth. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Melody sighed. “Cleo.”

“What? I’m just scrolling through my phone. Appreciating art. The art of terrible photography.”

I looked at the account again and all the effort that had gone into collecting my worst moments. “You really don’t like me.”

“I really don’t,” Cleo agreed cheerfully. “You hurt my best friend. So yeah, I’m going to make an Instagram account about how you look like a confused seal in most candid photos. It wasn’t hard to find your best moments.”

“Cleo, did you really do this?” Melody asked.