Chapter 16 #2
And he hasn’t given me much, but that he lives in Boston, he hasn’t been who I thought he was, and do not say Bobby fucks better than him.
“Fine,” I quip. “Do you like anything instead of sugary danishes?”
“You.”
I feel a furious blush coat my cheeks, but I don’t break his stare. I’ve given him enough already to feed his ego, and the complicated fact that I still let him fuck me last night by the Christmas tree.
I need more self-restraint here.
“What else?” I press, moving on to make it look like I’m not affected in the least by those words.
“Loyalty.”
I perk a brow. “Can you give me something interesting if you’re not going to answer my first question?”
“Christmas.”
I mindlessly beam at that because Bobby liked summer holidays where he could walk around almost naked. “You do?”
He takes another bite of the cherry pastry. “I do.”
“Is it the atmosphere? I don’t think it’d be the music. I don’t see you singing along to Holly Jolly Christmas, but—”
“I like it because you like it,” he replies simply. “It’s your countenance that makes the holiday enjoyable.”
I immediately frown. “But…”
My next words choke themselves out and die because, from what I understand, he was only with me to…
“But, what?” Bronte presses, rubbing his fingers together to get any remnants of the pastry off his hands.
I don’t want to elaborate.
I don’t want to keep bringing up that I’m stupid and didn’t notice that my boyfriend of two years wasn’t fucking me at Christmas and our birthdays, but his twin brother.
“I need to get dressed,” I advise, getting to my feet so I can get my mind together for our outing today. “No more large donations while I’m gone.”
“I took over my father’s shipping company when he died.” He looks up at me, keeping a respectful stare on my face and not my body. “That’s how I can afford the million-dollar donation, Daydream.”
I nod, but can’t help but ask the question, “No mob connections?”
He rocks his head. “No mob connections.”
Well, there’s that.
I make a quick and clean exit from the living area to the bedroom, take a quick shower, wash my face, and brush my teeth before I pick out what I’m going to wear.
Then my phone goes off with a little ping.
Picking it up off the bed, several emails are already showing up on my screen, all from my student loans.
Congratulations! You paid off your debt!
No.
No, I did not.
“Bronte!”
He doesn’t respond, and I don’t make an effort to get him either.
This is excessive beyond what is deemed appropriate.
It’s too much, and a sluggish wave of anxiety begins to fill my veins.
Is he trying to buy my love?
Because this isn’t going to work. And I hate feeling indebted to him when we didn’t even talk about it. When I’m too independent for my own good, and someone helping me out like this makes me feel ick.
“Yes, Daydream?”
I snap my neck to the door and find Bronte, but before I can pepper off his stopping of all debts, donations, and speaking to me about it first, he’s eye-fucking me.
And he’s eye-fucking me in my towel.
Shit.
A lump forms in my throat because I got so caught up in my head that I didn’t bother getting dressed before letting him have it.
“Stop getting into my life and handling things,” I carp out, exhaling heavily, but it doesn’t do anything for the pent-up unease throughout my whole body. “This is getting to be too much.”
“You’re overwhelmed.”
God, yes.
And Bronte doesn’t stop there; he enters the space in four steps and stands in front of me, but doesn’t push it past that.
“It wasn’t meant to do that,” he says softly. “I just want you thriving, Meirna.”
I hear him, I do.
It’d be sweet if he were my boyfriend at one point in time, but this is borderline insane.
“I can do that on my own,” I impart simply. “I don’t need your help.”
He nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”
I do appreciate his apology, probably more than he thinks I would. Nonetheless, his paying for things makes me feel insignificant and small in my own life.
“I’m going to get dressed.” My statement and subtle get out now doesn’t get Bronte to move. “And you’re not invited to watch.”
His eyes skate along my shoulders, across my collarbone to my other shoulder. “I’d say I’d pay, but I don’t think that’d be received very well.”
“You pay to watch people get undressed?”
“I would this time.”
Bothersome blushes meet my cheeks again, but I stand my ground. “Not happening.”
“Worth a try.”
“I’ll be ready in twenty. I need to make a call.”
Bronte eyes me—dare I say—suspiciously before he steps back to make his exit from the room. “I’ll be ready when you are.”
He begins out and, for some reason, I feel the need to tell this man everything.
Not sure why.
He likes loyalty, but I have trust issues galore now.
“Bronte?” He turns on his heels at his own leisure, then patiently waits. “I’m calling Bobby.”
I see him run his tongue to one cheek, as if tampering down his temper, which Bobby would allow free at any given moment, and says, “Of course, you are.”
Then he departs from the room and leaves behind guilt residing in my chest.
Little does he know, it’s not because I miss Bobby. I may miss memories and what I believed we had. A future I had imagined and planned with the hopes of happiness and warmth, but he killed it.
There’s nothing left anymore.
The projection of everything I dreamed about was shattered the moment I saw confirmation that Bobby was and is cheating on me.
Navigating through my phone, I ring Bobby before I talk myself out of it.
“Geezus Christ,” he pants after the second ring, but he sounds as though he just ran five miles. More than likely, he’s been ramming some random woman for the last five minutes. “I was hoping you were going to call me again. Where are you?”
I instantly notice he doesn’t say my name. I never recognized that before until just now.
And it sounds like he’s moving to obtain some privacy.
“Meirna?”
Ah, there it is.
“I’m here,” I deadpan, feeling my temper begin to rise. “Where are you?”
“Home,” he says, which would check out due to the time difference, but it still doesn’t do him any favors. “I’ve been spending night and day searching for you.”
I’m not impressed.
Just now, I’m realizing that he never stood up for me with his mother. That I wanted to go to Prague for our honeymoon, not Paris. That I’ve tried to make his life easier by not being or wanting to spend quality time together.
I was accommodating as all hell, and he was fucking Jolene.
“I’m surprised.”
“What—why? Of course, I’d be looking for you, Meirna. What kind of fucking comment is that?”
My heartbeat kicks into overdrive, and the words I want to spill will change everything between us.
For good.
It officially ends an era in my life.
“The kind where Jolene and your harem of females take up a lot of your time, Bobby. It’s almost insulting that you’d think I’d never figure it out.”
Because God, I pray I would’ve picked that up eventually on my own. However, I would’ve been married to him by now, wasted who knows how many years, and been even more miserable emotionally.
“Who?”
The absolute gall of this guy to play innocent.
But that’s what all cheaters do, right? They make you feel like you’re crazy. That you have nothing to worry about. That you’ve got something wrong or simply deny, deny, deny.
“I called to tell you to call off your search,” I proclaim, feeling somewhat empowered by my words. “There’s no need to waste your time. I’ll send you the text messages and pictures, though, if you need reminding. But I highly doubt you do.”
“Meirna…I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Cheat on me, then insult my intelligence on top of it. Geezus, Bobby, I know you weren’t the brightest crayon in the box, but you did know how to pick up on cues. Obviously, because you were never volunteering in Stonehaven that day. I met Bronte, not you.”
“It was me,” he retorts angrily. “We met. That was me.”
“We didn’t kiss the first day,” I carp back. “I’m not Jolene.”
“Meirna, you’re clearly upset about everything, babe. And, I get it. But, you need to tell me where you are so I can come get you.”
“No.”
“Meirna. Are you being fuckin’ for real right now? We’re supposed to get married—”
“I am married. And, thank fuck, it’s not to you.”
The stark silence that sounds on the other line makes goosebumps trail along my skin. I know he’s mad—pissed even.
But that still doesn’t stop the reality of the situation.
Bobby and I, we’re done.
We’re always going to be done.
“Don’t forget to wrap it up.”
Then I hang up.