Callie giggles. “Liar. I had you long before that.”
He turns his head up, and she plants a kiss on his lips. “You did.” He runs his fingers through the ends of her dark hair. “I didn’t stand a chance against that mouth of yours.”
I grimace.
“Sunflowers,” Wilder says, ignoring the interaction. “Her favorite. Jess used to get them every year for her birthday.”
“Sunflowers. Got it.” I blow out a steadying breath, standing and dusting my hands off on my jeans. “I’m gonna head home. I’m not built to play the fifth wheel.”
Callie’s smile widens. “All the more reason to bring Angie around. Any chance she likes books?”
“I’m not letting your little book club corrupt my girl.”
“Think of our books as instruction manuals. You only stand to benefit from them.”
A devious smile splits Jaxon’s face, but I don’t stick around to listen to whatever he’s about to say. Sometimes my younger brother can be too forthcoming about his sex life. As thrilled as I am for him, I’d be content to never hear about their sex manuals ever again.
I give them all a backward wave and head out front to my truck. It’s a short drive up the road to my quiet house on a hill surrounded by evergreens. I built this place with the future in mind—a wife and a gaggle of kids running around the yard. It’s a massive four-bedroom, three-bath farmhouse with a sprawling backyard and a wrap-around porch. It’s way too much house for one person, but I never thought I’d still be single at thirty-seven.
Maybe it’s time to get a dog.
No.
It’s time to bring my wife home.
Chapter 6
It’s All About Perspective
? Fabulous – Meek
Angelina
I gavemyself twenty-four hours to be sad, wallowing in the aftermath of the Vegas trip. I didn’t shower or brush my hair. I drowned myself in a pint of mint-chip and followed that up with a marathon of sad movies, starting with The Notebook. I let myself cry until the well dried up, and all that was left was an empty pit where my heart used to be.
This morning, I woke up feeling renewed. I called my hair stylist and set up a last-minute appointment, then I took an everything shower, put on my favorite wide-leg jeans with a black lace corset top, and an oversized shacket for a bit of coverage—wouldn’t want to give any of the older ladies at the salon a coronary.
With a few hours before my appointment, I rip the dust cover off my black cherry convertible and take the top down. I only take the car out on rare occasions. It was a gift from myparents upon their retirement and one of my most prized possessions.
After a quick lipstick check in the rearview, I push my sunglasses up the bridge of my nose and back out of the driveway. Stiletto on the gas, I point my car in the direction of the nearest strip mall and crank up the dial on my favorite playlist. Ironically, the first song that comes on is Bad Bitch Scorned by none other than Ruby Lynn Hayes—Griffin’s sister. Ignoring the connection, I sing along at the top of my lungs, wind whipping through my hair.
With no one to answer to, I make a stop at a coffee shop and head into the mall with my platinum card and an unlimited budget.
God, I love free will.
Retail therapy might not fix a broken heart, but it can’t hurt to try.
How many pairs of shoes is too many? Screw it. It doesn’t matter anymore. I have a whole closet to myself now. I can fill it floor to ceiling with shoes and accessories to my heart’s content, and nobody can stop me.
Unsurprisingly, plus-size clothing options are limited, but I don’t let that get me down. I love my body, and I refuse to let the fatphobia that’s ingrained in the fashion industry and society as a whole dictate how I see myself. I’m quite fond of my curves, and if my memories of our wedding night are anything to go by, so is my husband—not that I should be thinking about that. He won’t be my husband for long, and I’ll have to settle for manual orgasms for the foreseeable future.
An hour into my shopping spree, I stop in front of a new independent plus-size store at the end of the mall, where I manage to find several new pieces to add to my wardrobe, plus an armload of accessories to style them with. Leather pants? Yes, please.
Fashion fell by the wayside when my career took center stage, but from time to time, I still like to trade in my scrubs and remind myself I’m so much more than Doctor Angelina Rossi. My career is only part of who I am. In hindsight, I may have lost a bit of myself when I was with Tyler.
It’s time to get her back.
On my way out of the mall, I spot a familiar kiosk in the center of the thoroughfare. I smile as the distant memories resurface. I miss my best friend, but she’d kill me if I didn’t stop and have my main character moment. Before I can change my mind, I deposit my bags on the floor inside the booth and take a seat in front of the camera. I fix my hair in the reflection and wipe the smudge of burgundy lipstick from my teeth.
