He slides the chair out and rises. “You deserve more than a man who will leave before dinner even starts. Enjoy the Alfredo. I already paid, pretty girl.”
He dips off, skirting around the tables to avoid my fiancé. Dylan plops down on his chair, unfolding his napkin before he freezes.
“Who ate my steak?”
I shrug, lifting my glass to my lips. “I was hungry.”
Chapter fifty-seven
Melody
Aweekafterdinner,I’mangrily slapping a bouquet together in the backroom of my shop. The table I’m working on looks like a massacre with chopped flower stems and loose leaves scattered around. I’m butchering everything with a firm hand, my craft only creating a weak balm for the hurt inside of me.
Dylan and I aretryingto work through things. We started attending couples therapy at my request, but it’s hard to fix things when he’s never here. We got one appointment in before he received a call from his California office. He had to take the next flight out, leaving me alone with wedding rehearsals and invitations. It’s been an overload of preparation all without him by my side.
I feel like I’m losing my god damned mind.
“Ms. Melody?” Rita asks from the doorway, her electric blue hair tucked behind her ears. “Maybe you should take a break? The shop closed two hours ago…”
I sigh, slamming my shears down on the metallic table with a teeth-grindingting. “You’re right.”
She fidgets uncomfortably. “Are you okay?”
“Super,” I huff before closing my eyes. “Sorry, Rita. I’m just stressed.”
Her expression softens. “I can get some overtime and finish this. If that’s okay with you?”
I offer her a kind smile despite my shit mood. “Of course. I need some sleep anyway. Rehearsals start early tomorrow.”
She takes over, and I let her before grabbing my purse off the coat rack and locking up behind me. The whole drive to the condo is strained silence as I thrum my fingers on the wheel. Nothing is okay anymore, and I don’t know what to do about it.
For the first time in my life, I want someone to save me. I want to relinquish all of the control and just let someone take care of everything for me. I’m tired and worn out. Every day is a new batch of chaos that I’m never prepared for.
All I’ve ever asked of Dylan is to be there for me. All I ever wanted was to bechosenby someone.
The tears fall before I can stop them, wetting my cheeks as I pull into the parking garage. I rest my forehead on the wheel, letting it all flow out as if it’s being yanked from my lungs. I sob brokenly, allowing myself to have this moment of sorrow.
Just like every other night, I cut the car, take a few calming breaths, and grab my stuff before shuffling into the lobby. The doorman greets me, but I don’t respond as I make my way to the elevators. I let my head rest against the wall until I make it to my floor.
Once the doors slide open, I keep my gaze averted so Mrs. Barlow doesn’t notice me. She’s a chatty neighbor, and I’m not really in the mood tonight. I unlock the door, prepared to step into quiet, sterile bliss, but freeze.
Mountains of beautiful red rose petals are scattered across the floor, the fresh scent filling the air as the dining room chandelier overhead shines dimly. It’s beautiful to see the blooms contrasting with the white floors, and my heart skips a beat.
Roses.
He knows I love roses.
There’s a trail of them that leads to the bedroom, and a smile tugs at my lips as I follow them. Out of all the flowers Dylan has surprised me with over the last two weeks, these are the best.
Was he saving this?
Waiting to surprise me when I least expected it?
That weight on my shoulders lifts slightly as I near our bedroom. There’s sound from the other side of the door—voices.
There’s a breathy quality in the tone that makes my head turn.
Music?
