3. Brooke
I don’t want to go back to the hotel where I spent last night with my bridesmaids. I want to see the empty apartment for myself so I can start believing that this is actually happening to me. Except when I arrive, dressed in my wedding gown and veil, I walk into the apartment to see all of his stuff is gone, and I have to sit down and take a breath. He’s really gone. All his clothes in the wardrobe. Gone. All his expensive sneakers. Gone. Toothbrush. Gone.
Damn, why does it sting so bad when I felt relief only a few minutes ago?
Because he has humiliated you.Didn’t even bother to break it off face to face. Instead, he let it play out this way when all he needed to do was call me and talk to me.
Wilson clearly isn’t my person.
The really sad thing is that I’ve known this for some time now. I just didn’t want to face it.
Henry, Chloe, and Samantha go straight to the kitchen to sort out the champagne we bought on the way back to the apartment. But Elsa doesn’t leave my side.
She sits at the table with me and takes my hand. “It’s better this happened now than in two months or six months when you’re already married.”
“It would’ve been better yesterday.”
“True. But then thoughtfulness has never been Wilson’s strong suit.”
She’s not wrong. How many times had he left me waiting in a restaurant because he had forgotten we had a date?
I look up. “Should I have seen this coming?”
“None of us saw this coming,” Henry says behind me. I turn around, and he hands me a glass of champagne. “You’d think after all the jerks I’ve dated that my jerk radar would be on point.”
Chloe nods. “Me too. With my dating history, my nose for bullshit should be a lot stronger.”
Elsa doesn’t say anything. Because she knew Wilson wasn’t for you, and when she voiced it, you didn’t listen.
Samantha joins us at the table. “Enough with talking in hindsight. Let’s discuss revenge.”
“Yes, how are we going to murder him and dispose of the body?” Chloe asks, sitting beside her.
“Being fabulous is the best revenge,” Henry says with a wink. “When he comes crawling back and begs for forgiveness, you’ll tell him you’re too busy being awesome to even acknowledge his existence.”
“Right before punching him in his smug face,” Samantha adds.
Samantha grew up with six older brothers. She knows how to defend herself, and she isn’t someone to fuck with.
“In order to do that, we need to find him first,” Chloe says.
During the ride back to the hotel, a flurry of phone calls took place in the back of the limo. I called Wilson’s brother, who swore on their mom’s life that he had no idea where his loser brother was. Elsa called the club Wilson owns and spoke to Rita, the manager, who also swore on her mom’s life that she had no idea where he was. Chloe, Samantha, and Henry made calls to different friends who might have some idea where the groom had vanished to, but no one knew anything.
It’s like Wilson has vanished off the face of the earth.
“He’s not for you,” Elsa finally says, echoing my earlier thoughts. “And I think you’ve known that for a while now.”
She’s right. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I didn’t want to face it. And I certainly didn’t think I would have to face it while wearing a wedding gown, with a church full of wedding guests wondering where the groom was.
I watch the bubbles in my champagne glass rise, fizzing in my glass, and wonder why the hell I didn’t say something sooner. “I know. I’m partly to blame.”
“No, this is all on him,” Elsa says.
I take a long sip of my champagne. Beside me on the table, my phone keeps vibrating with messages—friends expressing their sympathy. But I ignore them because I’m going to need a lot more champagne before I can face them.
“I can deal with the messages if you like,” Elsa offers.
But I shake my head. “No, I should, and I will. But first, I need to get out of this dress.”
“I’ll help you,” Elsa says.
“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I just need a moment.”
In the bedroom, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall. I turn and look at the king-size bed. Only two nights ago, I had lain awake beside a snoring Wilson, wondering if I was making the right decision marrying him. Things had cooled between us. It had been weeks since we’d had sex. But our sex life had been dying a slow death for a lot longer. Long gone was the foreplay we used to indulge in when we were a newly loved-up couple. Gone was the spontaneous midday sex. Not that it had ever been explosive like I’d thought it would be. I mean, Wilson was a player. A bad boy who looked like he could give you all the orgasms. But the truth was a lot less exciting. Sex was for the bedroom. Usually missionary. And usually quick. He was all about coming and less about creativity. I watched the clock once, from the time he rolled over and started to fuck me to when he was coming loudly in my ear, and it was all over in two minutes. Sometimes, I felt like I was just a vessel for him to empty into. Other times, it seemed important to him to make me come, and he would keep asking, “Are you close?” while he jackhammered into me. “I need you to come for me. That’s it, Brooke baby, come for me.” But he wouldn’t do anything to make that happen.
How many times had I faked it just to make him feel better?
Sometimes, it would have been nice to make it about me. There were times I just wanted him to clear the table with one swipe of his arm and take me right there on the surface.
I tried to take control once, but he just took it right back to missionary. I also tried to spice it up and bring more things to the bed to slow down the pace and make our sex more intimate, but he found my attempts frustrating and time-wasting.
“Massage is for sports injuries, Brooke, not fucking, and who the hell would want to bring another dick into the equation, even if it’s plastic?”
Signs. All of it. The distance. The lack of sex. That feeling gnawing away in my gut in the lead-up to today.
What other signs had I missed?
I remove the diamond clip holding my veil in place and shake out my hair so it falls in loose waves down my back. I slip out of my dress and change into a pair of yoga pants and a tank top.
I hang my dress up and stare at myself in the mirror. The reflection I see isn’t a broken-hearted woman. Oh, she’s hurting, and she needs answers, but she isn’t crushed.
Suddenly remembering the money I was saving up to start my own marketing consultancy business, I quickly check the safe we keep hidden in the closet, and it’s empty. Six hundred dollars. Gone.
Asshole.
I check to see if he’s left anything behind in his haste to pack everything up while I was staying in a hotel across town, thinking I was going to get married the next day, but I find nothing.
That is until I find a scrunched-up piece of paper under the bed. Unfolding it, I see a phone number and a name written in red ink. Laura.
Sitting on the bed, I call the number.
A female picks it up on the third ring. “Yeah?”
“Hi, who am I speaking to, please?”
“Honey, you called me. I should be the one asking.”
“My name is Brooke Masters.”
There’s a pause. “Ah, you’re the fiancée.”
Alarm spirals through me, and a strange tingling sensation takes up in the base of my spine.
“You know my fiancé, Wilson?”
She scoffs. “Yeah, I know him. Probably better than you’d like.”
Nausea rises in my gut, and I grip my phone tighter. “Is he with you?”
She scoffs again. “So he’s gone and done the vanishing act with you, too, huh?”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if he’s left you, honey, then he’s done you a fucking favor.”
She hangs up, and I sit there for a moment, wondering what the hell just happened.
I call the number again, and she answers almost immediately.
“What do you mean you know him better than I’d like? Were you having an affair with him?”
“Listen, I didn’t know about you until I went looking for him, okay? When I found out he was shacked up with someone, I backed off.”
“When was this?”
“A couple of months back. I met him at his club. We hooked up a few times. When he ghosted me, I went looking for him and found out he was already spoken for. I ain’t one to step on another woman’s toes, so I chalked it up to a bad experience and moved on.”
“How many times.”
Her tone softens. “Listen, I’m sorry—”
“How many times?” I snap.
“Four, maybe five times. He used to drop in after work.”
While I usually finished at the club around six at night, Wilson usually finished work at three or four in the morning. I would be asleep when he got home and wouldn’t know if he got in late.
“When was the last time you saw him?” I ask.
“Weeks ago.”
She could be lying. He might even be with her, and this is her way of giving me a bum steer.
“You’re lying,” I whisper. Because I can’t stomach the thought that he is on the other end of this call with her laughing at me.
“No, honey, I ain’t. And if he’s ghosted you, then I’m sorry, but you’ve dodged a bullet.”
It’s the second time I’ve heard that today, and honestly, they’re preaching to the choir. I know I’ve dodged a bullet, but I need answers.
“Do you know where he might have gone?” I ask.
“No, and my advice to you is to not go looking.” She pauses, then adds, “You’re better off without him, honey. He’s not a good guy.”
She hangs up again, and this time, I don’t bother calling back. I drop my phone on the bed and let the strange sensation wash over me. Oddly, what I just learned makes me feel stronger.
Cheating jerk.
Leaving the bedroom, I overhear Chloe and Samantha in the hallway.
“She’s calm, and it’s making me nervous,” Chloe says.
“I know what you mean, it’s like the calm before the storm,” Samantha replies. “I feel like she’s going to implode any minute, and this shitstorm is going to devastate her.”
Chloe drops her voice to a low whisper. “We need to keep eyes on her twenty-four-seven just in case.”
“She’s not going to hurt herself.”
“No, but he might call her and continue with his fuckery. Blame his shitty behavior on her. Make her feel worse than she already does. Who knows what that jerk is capable of.”
“Christ, I’d love to run into him just so I could hurt him,” Samantha says wistfully.
“I know, right? A dark alley with a rusty knife. I’d cut his dick off and make him eat his balls.” Chloe looks like an angel, but I’m pretty sure she has serial killer tendencies.
I smile to myself. I love my friends. No matter what, they have my back.
I step into the hallway, and when they see me, they’re all smiles.
“Guess what?” Samantha says.
“What?”
“We’re coming on your honeymoon with you,” they both say in unison.
The honeymoon.In Vegas. I had completely forgotten about it.
Suddenly, the idea of all that heat and bright lights isn’t as exciting as it was when Wilson had told me that’s where we were going for our honeymoon.
I go up to my friends, hug them both, and then step back.
“I love you guys, but I’m not going to Vegas.”
“No?” Samantha asks.
Chloe frowns. “You’re not staying here, are you?”
“Hell, no. I’m going somewhere I want to go.”
Now, Samantha frowns. “And where is that?”
“New York. I’ve always wanted to go, and here’s my chance. I’m going to check into the Waldorf, window-shop at Tiffany’s, eat a bagel, wander through Central Park, and visit Broadway.” I’m making this up as I go because I’m suddenly aware that I am as free as a bird and can go anywhere I want and do anything I want. I’ve always dreamed of visiting New York City. And God knows I need to get away from this nightmare.
“We can come too,” Samantha says.
But I shake my head.
“No, I need to do this by myself.”
“What if Wilson shows up when you’re gone?” Chloe asks.
My gut tells me he won’t.
“Too bad I won’t be here,” I say. “Let him wonder where I am.”
“And if he contacts either of us?” Samantha asks.
“Tell him to go to hell using all the colorful language you like. Feel free to get creative with the name calling too.”
Samantha grins. “Oh, it will be my pleasure.”
But Chloe looks uncertain. “Are you sure?”
I hook my arm through hers. “I’m sure. Now let’s go and drink champagne, and you can tell me all about your dark alley fantasies, especially the ones about chopping off Wilson’s dick.”
I love that my friends want to close ranks around me, and I will forever be grateful for them.
But right now, all I really want is some space.