“Of course I do.” He’s getting irritated now. The closest he ever gets to anger. That stillness he gets when I’ve annoyed him, the way the light seems to fade in his eyes as irritation inevitably gives way to indifference.That’sthe Alex I know.
“My apologies for not being clear,” I say, drippingsarcasm. “I know you care about yourwork. I meant you don’t care aboutme.”
“And that’s not true either,” he tells me, voice imperious, like I’m being foolish. The words are there; the sentiment, as always, entirely absent.
How did it take me so long to see it?
“If you care, you’ll leave.” I throw it in his face, testing him.
“You don’t mean that.” It’s the ultimate bind, but he doesn’t even blink. Just dismisses it. Dismissesme.
“This may come as a shock to you, but I mean exactly what I say. I’m done playing wife for you. You know when I gave you back the ring? That’s what that means.” I know my voice is cold. That I could have wastedso muchtime with a man like this, and not seen him for what he is? It’s like I’m channelinghisdispassion. Beneath it, I’m furious. Not even at him, but at myself.
No, at him too. How the hell does he expect me to get over him if he keeps invading my space with his stupidly attractive face, annoying knack for dressing well, and the sheer arrogance to think I'll idly accept him back into my life after months of neglect?
He’s not going to let me go quietly. I realize that now. And I’m damn sure not going back into that meaningless relationship, not after I’ve finally found the courage to walk away. I need to be strong, be prepared that he’s going to try again and again until he finally gives up.
Won’tthatbe fun.
His expression clears. “Just checking… can you dance?”
“Pardon?” It’s so unexpected it takes me a moment. “What?”
“Dance. Ballroom, specifically.”
“Of course I can,” I say flatly. “I’ve been having secret foxtrot lessons on the side for some time now.”
“Hmm.” His mouth twists. In disapproval, not amusement. “We should practice. The social is a dance.”
I genuinely don’t know how this moment could get any more surreal.
And then he turns, walking toward the side of the room. It takes me a moment to realize his destination: Carol’s Bluetooth speaker resting on the sideboard.
He’s powered it on before I can find my words and his phone’s in his hand, ready to sync.
“What the actualfuckare you doing?”
“Choosing some music.”
I was wrong. There were levels of surreal we hadn’t even begun to explore.
A lyrical piano waltz fills the apartment, and Alex turns to me expectantly.
“What the hell is this?”
“Shostakovich.” He steps forward, offering me a hand.
“No—” I shake my head in frustration. “Alex, I’m not going to this damn social, and I’m sure as hell not dancing with you.”
“You are coming to this social, because you’re my fiancée.”
“Was, Alex. Not anymore.”
His hand doesn’t fall. “If you come to the social with me, I’ll waive that twenty grand of seed money. You can keep it.”
I gape at him. “What do you think I am, a high-class escort that goes on a date because you goddamnpayme?” But if it wasn’t for HM&L, I’d almost be forced to take him up on that. Thank God for other options.
And shit. Now I’ve said no, he could ask for the money right now.
