Chapter 31
Chapter
Thirty-One
MIRA
“ W ell, look at you.” Enzo is waiting for me right outside the restaurant. I twirl, black dress spinning around my thighs. I’m floating, feeling so happy right now. Things feel right and like this is how life is supposed to be.
With Mason.
We go inside and get seated right away. We’re at an Italian restaurant and the waitstaff seem to know Enzo. The host seems a little scared and the cook in the back comes out just to give him a handshake. I make a mental note, reminding myself to call him Matt.
“How was New Jersey?” I ask, putting my hand over the top of my wine glass, letting the sommelier know I don’t want any. I really wish they’d ask, as more and more people are avoiding alcohol altogether these days.
“It was…intense.”
“Oh, really? Do you want to talk about it?” I laugh. “Sorry, I was in back to back sessions today. It’s a good thing there aren’t paper and crayons on the table or I might have asked you to draw your feelings.”
Enzo laughs and reaches for my hand. “I like that you care about my feelings.”
“Of course.” I link my fingers through his, doing my best not to gag. Yeah, his family has money, but he’s just gross. And I don’t mean physically, but energetically. How the hell do women fulfill sugar baby duties? “I might have a pen in my purse instead of crayons.”
He fakes a laugh and moves his hand back so he can run his thumb over the inside of my wrist. He’s touching my scar from when I had surgery to repair the broken bone, and it hurts a little even after all these years.
“I’d rather express my emotions another way.” He leans in, eyes wide. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Mya.”
I suck in a breath. “Really?”
“Yes, really. You were on my mind and now I want to be on you.”
Mason laughs, voice in my ear. “Like that line is going to work.”
As much as I want to laugh with him, I ignore his voice and keep talking to Enzo, trying to gently probe what happened in Jersey. He gives me a few clues and forgets his own made up story, complaining about a sister who I think is actually Bianca, his cousin. Mason said she was a person of high interest, leaving me to believe that she was higher up in rank.
Even though he’s lying, I can tell that this man could benefit from so much therapy. My mind drifts a little, wondering what it was like growing up the way he did. No wonder they’re all so fucked up. It’s some sort of messed up cycle of violence and blood money.
I carry the conversation and this reminds me yet again why I only go on one date with suspected cheaters. There’s no point in trying to get to know someone when it’s all fake. Everything is superficial and while I thought Enzo’s only goal was to sleep with me, I’m starting to wonder if he wants someone to be his constant source of supply to build him up and make him feel good about himself. Men with narcissistic tendencies often have messed up family lives where they grew up not feeling adequate in any way, shape, or form.
“Should we try going for a walk again?” I ask him, keeping my hair over my shoulder so my ear stays hidden. “And hope no one tries to steal my purse again.”
“Yeah. This way?” He tips his head toward the Wrigley Building. Of course, he’s trying to get me to go home with him. We make it a couple blocks and it’s like hitting a brick wall to get a conversation going that doesn’t feel forced.
“Ohh, what’s that?” I ask, pointing across the street at a line of people waiting to get into a bar.
“That’s my buddy’s place,” he tells me.
“Go in, if you can,” Mason encourages. While it’s a little confusing to have a voice in my head like this, I feel safe knowing Mason can hear everything that’s going on. I’m not quite sure where they are parked this time, but it’s nearby.
And that brings me so much comfort.
Enzo goes to the front of the line and the bouncer gives him a one-armed hug. He turns to me, grin on his face, thinking I’m going to be impressed that he got us in. We push our way up to the bar and he ordered two Old Fashioneds. This guy doesn’t pay attention at all. I’ve never ordered an alcoholic drink when we’ve been out and when he’s put one in front of me, I haven’t drank it.
I perch on the edge of a bar stool and Enzo creeps up next to me, putting himself between my legs. A band starts to play, so loud I can’t talk without shouting. Great. I won’t be able to hear Mason and he probably won’t be able to hear anything I say either.
“Mira!” someone calls, and I’m not sure I hear them at first over the music. “Mira!”
I turn and my blood goes cold. It’s Cory. He has a beer in his hand that he’s sloshing all over as he wobbles his way toward us. I turn back to Enzo, and look down, putting my mouth closer to the wire hidden in my bra.
“Mayday,” I say. “Mayday!”
“Mira,” Cory says again and pushes someone out of the way. He’s looking right at me.
“You mean Mya?” Enzo puts his arm around me. Normally, a man being possessive is hot. Everyone wants to be desired and protected, but the way he goes about it is just gross, reminding me of a kid not wanting to share his toys. They’re not even toys he necessarily wants to play with, he just doesn’t want anyone else using them.
“Mira,” Cory presses.
“No, sorry. My name is Mya.”
Cory lets out a snort of laughter and takes a big gulp of his beer. “Don’t fucking play games with me.” He slams the glass on the bar top. “That’s what she does, you know. She pretends to be people she’s not and fucks up relationships. Mira fucking Martin is her name. Look her up. She’s famous and thinks she’s better than everyone else! She hates men and teaches women to not need us.”
“I have no idea what he’s talking about,” I say to Enzo. It’s so loud in here I don’t think Mason can hear anything. “He’s drunk and thinks I’m someone else.”
“She’s my ex-wife,” Cory blubbers on. “Mer-rah.”
Enzo’s eyes narrow, looking from Cory to me again.
“I can prove it!” Cory goes on and tries to get his phone from his pocket. He’s drunk and fumbles, dropping it onto the ground.
“Let’s get out of here,” I say, feeling all shaky. It’s so easy to slip back to scared, powerless Mira around Cory. I know he’s the weak one. He’s the one who has already lost everything and is so unhappy and miserable with himself that he has to project it onto me.
I curl my toes and press them against the sole of my shoes. Cory is a small, small man. He is a true sociopath and will never be happy without taking happiness from someone else. I get hit with another memory of him screaming at me, saying our big, fancy house was going to be mistaken for a trailer because I had mismatching towels in the powdered room.
I didn’t know better then and engaged in an argument, saying that there was nothing wrong with living in a trailer to start with and that if anyone comes into our near million dollar home and gets confused over mismatching towels to the point where they think they’re suddenly in a trailer, that’s on them.
He pulled the towels off the towel rack and whipped them at me. The corner of one hit me right in the eye and it hurt like crazy. But I was a baby, I was dramatic and a liar when my eye swelled up. Because it was just a little piece of cloth that hit me and it wouldn’t hurt that bad. No, I faked it all, even though I documented photos of the progression of how my eye got pretty fucking bad.
Cory snuck onto my phone the next week and deleted all the photos. He had done the same when he pushed me over while I was doing yoga, causing me to face plant off my yoga mat onto a wooden floor.
But I fell. I lost my balance and fell. It was my fault. It wasn’t his, even though he was the one who shoved my foot off the side of the couch, where I had my toes resting to help me keep balance.
“Fuck you,” I say to Cory. “Leave me alone.”
He shoots back an insult but his words are lost over the music. I turn back to Enzo and put my hand on his waist. “Your place is nearby, right?”
I regret it as soon as the words leave my mouth but I need to get out of here, away from Cory not just because I can’t fucking stand the loser, but because he’s just a few seconds away from showing Enzo our wedding photos or pulling up my social media accounts.
Mason says something, but it’s too loud to hear. I bring my hand up, putting my finger to my ear to try and muffle the sounds of the bar. Someone bumps me, and I accidentally catch my nail on the earpiece. It goes flying and my eyes widen. My first thought is fuck, if Enzo sees we’re done. And then I realize I won’t be able to hear any of Mason’s instructions anymore.
I stand frozen for what feels like minutes but is only a few seconds. Enzo throws a couple twenties on the bar and slides his hand around me as the crowd claps and cheers as the first song ends.
“What happened to the other guy I saw you with?” Cory continues, finally getting his phone from the ground. He leans in, trying to taunt me, and I smell it: the same aftershave Enzo is wearing. Oh my god. It wasn’t Enzo outside in the courtyard a few weeks ago.
It was Cory. He’s been stalking me—again.