I let out a cold laugh. “Are you trying to claim that you weren’t planning to cheat if she’d just gone to Toronto? So you aren’t embarrassed about being a piece of trash, just that you gotfound out. Does your date know? You should come clean if you have nothing to hide.”
He starts gnawing on his lip, unable to say anything. I don’t approve of my parents’ antics, but at least they’re aboveboard about their life choices. There’s never been any deception about what they want. For that, I can almost applaud them, unlike this piece of shit who does things behind Max’s back because he knows she’d never agree to them.
“When a man does something, he should own up to it. That way, he earns a little respect, rather than just contempt.”
Slick gives up facing me. Instead, he turns to Max and gazes at her with tenderness, like some kind of innocent Bambi. He’s so engrossed in his performance, he seems to miss the disgust flashing in her eyes.
“Babe, you know Samantha is just temporary.” The words tumble out of his mealy mouth, which I’d love to punch. Except Japan is probably too civilized to tolerate public violence, even when the other partyreallydeserves it.
Max’s eyes shoot ninja stars at him. “I don’t care what she is. We’re done.”
“Come on, baby. Don’t be so harsh. We’re going to getmarried. This was just a kind of…of a quickie that I didn’t want to bother you with. I was trying to be considerate, taking care of it myself.”
Taking a deep breath, she turns to face me. “I think we’ve wasted enough time here.”
“Agreed. Let’s go. The concierge ought to be around soon to take out the trash. Man, it stinks in here.”
“Now that you mention it, it does smell terrible.” Wrinkling her nose, she shoots Slick an icy glare before leaving with me. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out.
“Sorry you had to see that,” she says when we’re in the elevator. Her eyebrow is pulsing, which means she’s through-the-roof furious.
“Never apologize for something that wasn’t your fault.” I search her face. It’s paler than usual, with flushed cheeks and dark eyes. Her hands are still clenched tight—she doesn’t seem aware of that, though.
She lets out a sigh. “Just…not what I was expecting tonight.”
“Assholes never do warn you beforehand.”
She mutters something that sounds like “bastard” before clamping her mouth shut. The elevator door opens to our floor.
The suite has a vase full of fresh white and pink roses and a bottle of Billecart-Salmon Brut Rosé sticking out of a bucket of ice on the table in front of the uber-uncomfortable couch. A box of German chocolates and two spotless flutes stand next to the sweating silver bucket. I raise an eyebrow. I don’t remember ordering any of this, but ending the day with a decent bubbly isn’t a bad idea. And chocolate might cheer Max up a little.
She walks straight past the flowers, champagne and chocolate as though they’re invisible, then flops onto the bed. She lets out what would be an ear-piercing shriek if her face weren’t buried in a pillow. After a minute or so of muffled screaming, she quiets down, breathing hard.
Guess she’s done. Hopefully she’s feeling better—
Nope. She starts again, this time sounding positively feral. She even pounds the mattress with her fists and kicks her legs. I take the Billecart-Salmon, two glasses and chocolate to the bedside table, then pop the bottle and pour the fizzy wine. That done, I settle comfortably on my side of the bed, legs stretched out.
I wait until she’s done with the second shrieking. This time doesn’t take quite as long before she stops.
“Here,” I say, pushing the flute toward her before she starts a third round. Given how red her face is, it wouldn’t be good for the blood pressure. “A little champagne?”
She lifts her head, taking in the tiny, fizzing bubbles, then looks up at me. Her eyes are slightly bloodshot and dark with fury, embarrassment and something else. Maybe frustration? Confusion? She’s hard to read right now. To be honest, I’ve never seen her like this—out of control and full of raw emotion. This undisguised side feels overly intimate. I cough lightly, trying to clear a sudden tightness in my chest.
“Thanks,” she says hoarsely. “That’s the free champagne I asked the concierge to send, so we could celebrate closing the deal.”
“We can still celebrate. Not just Ohimesama, but you dumping your cheating asshole of a boyfriend.”
She sags like a broken accordion. “Go ahead. Say it. ‘I told you so,’ right?”
“No.”
She shoots me a sharp look, not buying it, since she’s witnessed my telling people that I told them so countless times over the years.
“Okay, maybe a little. I enjoy being right.” I push the champagne at her again.
She shifts slowly, eventually sitting up, then takes the sparkling rosé. “Even if it hurts me?”
“If you put it that way, maybe not…?” I say tentatively. Comforting women isn’t my forte. Max’s situation leaves me angry and frustrated, because she was so happy and mellow after dinner. I can’t even offer to pay for a decent attorney to fuck that idiot up in a divorce, since all they did was date.
