Chapter 27 #2
“We’ve already said that you were upset about all the plans we made and how everything was missed due to your unexpected illness that you needed a minute to recover and reorganize things. The wedding has been rescheduled for Saturday.”
It’s Thursday.
“Saturday,” I repeat in a shell-shocked daze because…I’m married.
I’m married to another man.
I’m married.
“Yes,” Catherine declares haughtily as if she’s gained another point. “We have everything the same. The same cake you wanted, the food, the music, everything.”
I don’t know what that means because I don’t know half the shit she ordered and went over me on.
Regardless, it still doesn’t matter, because I’m not marrying Bobby.
I would never marry Bobby.
I would never date or forgive Bobby.
I’m done with Bobby.
Even if there was no Bronte, I still wouldn’t subject myself to such an asshole who didn’t care what he did or how he wasted my time.
“Meirna, I missed you,” Bobby cajoles, knowing damn well I’m not on board. “Baby, I am so sorry all this happened to you. We can push the wedding back another week, if—”
“We’ve already made the announcement, Bobby,” Catherine scolds with a glower his way. “Another delay would make things worse.”
Welp.
There’s going to be a delay, a standing up, an I’m not showing up to that circus and, as I mentioned, I’m already legally married.
“I don’t want to stress Meirna out more than she already is,” Bobby inserts, returning her glower with one of his own. “She’s been through enough, mother. All these lies and now she’s back when she was held against her will. It’s medieval.”
“I was going for feral,” another male voice prompts, causing all three of our necks to snap in the direction of it but I’m the only one who’s thankful and put at ease.
Bronte stands a few feet away, near the reception desk, dressed in his signature all-black suit, looking like a million dollars that his twin next to me doesn’t have.
Rude, I know.
I feel Bobby’s demeanor shift from concerned ex-fiancé to enraged ex-boyfriend within seconds.
Catherine is out of my peripheral, but I bet she’s about to shit her pants in two seconds. But I’m soaked in by light green eyes and a look of sheer calm from Bronte as he stares at me like he can’t bear to do anything else.
“You have the balls to show up here and face me?” Bobby leers, prompting the reality of how much of an entitled shit he is. “You need to leave.”
“I came for my wife,” Bronte says matter-of-factly, not bothering to see the look on his brother’s face when he states the facts. “You ready, Daydream?”
“Day what?” Bobby carps out, making this so much harder for himself than it needs to be.
He didn’t need to come here.
He didn’t need to talk to me or ask for forgiveness because he isn’t going to be getting it anytime soon.
In fact, I was completely okay with never having to think about it again.
However, the Hardings have a hard time losing and accepting defeat. And, if I were naive, I’d think it was because they truly cared about me.
But they don’t.
It’s just their image and Bobby they’re concerned about, not me. I’m just an object to push things forward for Bobby’s future.
Divorce would’ve been inevitable eventually and I would be left with nothing but a broken heart, years of my life gone, and Catherine taking the mother role of whatever kids we had.
She’d shut me out, use her money to do so and raise my children without me.
It all makes more sense now that I have some of the missing puzzle pieces I didn’t have before.
“Bronte,” I hear Catherine say soberly. “Meirna isn’t your wife, darling. She was Bobby’s. We need to make this right.”
Bronte finally breaks his focus off me, appearing infuriated that he has to, when it lands on his birth mother. “And what would you have me do?”
“Divorce her,” Bobby sneers, stealing an inch closer to me and that has Bronte’s eyes examining the distance between our bodies. “She doesn’t belong to you. I built this future with us. You don’t get to come in here and start taking things from me.”
“I can’t take what was already mine, Bobby.”
My ex-fiancé moves forward, so quickly that a slice of anxiety courses through me because I think he’s going to do something stupid. Like he’s going to swing at Bronte and cause a scene that my seniors would love to see but we have some on medication for anxiety and sensatory issues.
A fight would be full of mixed emotions and rile them up all day.
“Bobby,” I scold underneath my breath, lining up at his side because I have to stop this. “You can’t do this here.”
I’ve never seen Bobby get into a fight before, not sure if he’s able, but I’m not going to risk it today.
“We need to discuss this elsewhere,” Catherine proclaims. “This is a family matter and too public.”
You didn’t care about that five minutes ago.
Bronte’s eyes slice over to me then, and I can read the message clearly in his head; get the hell away from Bobby, or I’m going to hit him myself to make it happen.
Doing so, I see Bronte’s shoulders relax before he lifts his chin slightly. “It’s been an eye-opening pleasure, Bob,” he says. “But my wife and I have plans for the day.”
I don’t correct him because I didn’t know of any, but I don’t care.
I’d gladly leave with him.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Bobby provokes, snatching my wrist and yanking me toward him.
My chest bumps into his bicep from the force and I wring my arm to get him to release me. “Let go.”
Bronte doesn’t make a move for me.
And, in a sense, I’m glad.
I don’t know what he’s fully capable of and, again, I don’t want to see it here.
Bobby doesn’t listen to me, still boring daggers up at his older brother and prompting him to do something about it.
“Daydream,” Bronte drones, unseemly cool and collected. “Relax.”
My body stops resisting Bobby’s touch by ceasing my pulling, but I feel it through my skin, and it makes me still tense and feel disgusted by it.
“Now, Bobby,” Bronte continues, all business and no play.
“I know you don’t know this, but I’m not a patient man.
You’re touching my wife. And, the only reason why I haven’t fucked you up yet is because she loves this place.
The last thing I’d want to do is make her a storyline with the residents.
But I’m going to make you one in two seconds, if you don’t take your fucking hands off my fucking wife. ”
He hasn’t raised his voice once, but every syllable stresses bloody violence.
And it’s…eerily sexy.
Eerily, as in, the idea of Bobby getting throat punched is going to make me wet, and I’m going to want to get on my knees for the possessive husband who’s going to protect me.
“Make me,” Bobby challenges slowly, digging his fingertips into my skin. “You know...brother, Meirna had hopes and dreams with me of a family. Her smile was always—”
“Bobby,” Catherine cuts in, stepping toward him. “This isn’t the time nor the place. Meirna and you can speak later. We’ll need to get the wedding plans—”
“There are no wedding plans,” Bronte mutters as his attention falls on his mother.
“Because she’s married to me. Your other son.
I’d hate to spread a little rumor that you’re playing some sick fucking game by having both your sons married to the same woman.
This isn’t some hick relationship where we share.
Figure it out, Catherine. Because my wife isn’t walking down an aisle with your son on the other side of it. ”
Bobby suddenly lets me go and erases some of the space between him and Bronte. “I’d hate to spread a rumor that you kidnapped my fiancée and forced her to marry you. You sick son of a bitch…who the fuck does that?”
“Me.” Bronte motions with his fingers for me to move, and I do, so far away from Bobby that he’d have to take several steps to get me.
Bronte steps back, eyes falling to me in silence that we’re leaving.
And I take off with him out of the lobby with him at my six, just in case Bobby decides to make a scene and grab me again.