Page 43 of Tangled in Temptation

“No, I’m home.” I choked back the sob that threatened to escape.

“I’m coming over,” she said and ended the call.

The tears started to stream down my cheeks. I heard my oven timer go off. I quickly wiped my face and got to my feet. I had just pulled the pot pie out of the oven when I heard a knock on my door.

“Come in,” I called out.

Amber practically slammed the door into the wall as she barged in. “What did he do?”

“Nothing.”

“What happened?” she asked. “I thought you were going to be gone a couple of days.”

“Regina,” I hissed. “His fucking ex-wife happened.”

Her eyes widened in understanding. “Oh, Catherine.” She crossed the room in two long strides and enveloped me in a hug. “I’m so sorry.”

“Me too,” I said, my voice muffled by her shoulder.

Amber stepped back and looked at me. “You’re better off without him,” she declared, her gaze hardening.

“Maybe,” I admitted, trying to hold back my tears but failing miserably.

She handed me a box of tissues, and we settled on the couch. “Tell me what happened,” she said quietly.

I told her about finding the perfect gown and then going to dinner. Amber listened attentively. “I heard him talking on the phone in the middle of the night,” I told her. “He was saying I wouldn’t be a problem. Then his wife showed up and told me I was trash. She said I’m not good enough to be with Timothy. She’s staked her claim, and that’s that. I don’t get a say in the situation.”

“He’s got his own mess to deal with, Catherine. But you don’t have to carry that burden for him. You deserve more than being someone’s secret. I know it sounds impossible, but you have to walk away from this guy. He’s clearly not ready to move on from his ex.”

Her words resonated, but the ache remained. “I know,” I said. “I know it, and no matter how many times I try to tell myself to leave him alone, I just get sucked back in. I wish he would just move back to Manhattan and stay there.”

Amber looked at me, her expression full of compassion. “Oh, Catherine,” she sighed. “I totally get it. The heart wants what it wants, right? But sometimes the heart is a moron.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle. Amber had a unique way of lightening up any situation.

“More like a masochist,” I said, rolling my eyes.

She gave me a sympathetic pat on the back. “You know, Catherine, I have always admired your strength,” she began. “You’ve handled everything life has thrown at you with such grace and dignity. You’ve stepped up when others would have backed down. You can get through this.”

“I know,” I sighed. “I just wish I could get through it faster.”

“I know how to speed up the timeline,” she said with a cheesy grin.

“I’m not going to find some random dude to hook up with,” I said dryly.

“Not that, but if that happens, so be it. Let’s go out.”

“I’m not in the mood to go out,” I said.

“Not out, just to the bar. A couple of drinks. No big deal.”

I protested, but she refused to take no for an answer. Finally, I gave in and found myself getting dressed for a night out. It wasn’t like getting for a night out in town was like getting dressed to go out with Timothy.

As we entered the dimly lit establishment, the familiar smell of stale beer and the distant hum of conversations welcomed us. It was like coming home. We had spent a lot of time in this bar. Mostly because it was one of the only cool places in town. We’d been coming here since we turned twenty-one. We found a corner booth; the worn vinyl seating was part of the ambiance. Amber’s boyfriend, Tristan, joined us, his easygoing nature providing a welcomed distraction.

“Hey,” he said and then frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Boy troubles,” Amber told him.