Chapter 29
Meirna
I’m spending way too much time packing for Boston, picking out the perfect dresses to meet Bronte’s family, and giving myself a complex because I want to set a really good first impression.
Which is wild.
If you had asked me days ago if I’d be doing this, I’d tell you hell no. I would never agree to do anything related to Bronte and his life, but everything has changed.
Everything.
I see bits and pieces of the man I think I knew.
Some touches of his feel familiar, the sex definitely does, and he treats me like a queen.
Today was a reality check that cemented in what I had, what I had in pieces, and my future holds now.
The sight of Bobby today made me sick to my stomach.
His touch, the way he spoke to me like an innocent victim, everything. Bringing his mother with him only proved that he was a boy, not a man. He couldn’t get me to sway his side by himself, but needed to bring someone to intimidate me to do so.
It was a ploy.
A game.
The marriage was for them, not me, and what I was giving up. There was nothing in it for me. No love, commitment, or emotional security.
It was all fake.
Fake in every aspect, in every word, and it only made Bronte look better.
And he’s currently proving that because he’s out grabbing me a deep-dish pizza from Vizzy’s, a mom-and-pop shop whose delivery times are more than an hour, and he didn’t want me to starve.
I’m spoiled in the little things that matter to me. I don’t need big weddings and trips to luxury vacations like Paris.
I like things like pizza and carousel rides in the middle of winter.
Sifting through my closet for the third time, I mentally debate between a green and a red dress, both statements of their own.
The green is classic girlie-girl. It frays out at the hips, but it might be better suited for a charity event than a New Year’s party, but I’m not sure.
And the red is a second skin, too sexy but sparkly and fun.
I study the rest of my closet, landing on a white one that has silver sequins everywhere.
Plucking the hanger, I pull it out to get a better look and, yeah, I think this one might work.
I think.
Biting on my lower lip, I notice a purple dress that doesn’t jog my memory. I pluck some of the fabric and notice it’s a combination of deep plum and black tulle.
Too much.
Getting mildly irritated because I’m being picky, but nothing seems to fit, I inhale and remember that I’m not going to a Harding event, that Catherine is going to critique my attire.
I’m going to Boston…which, in hindsight, doesn’t make me feel better because what does that mean?
Sighing, I’m going to leave the dress decision-making for later and finish up my casual packing and necessities, focusing on that to make sure I don’t forget anything, when I spin around and find Bronte staring at me in a daze inside my bedroom.
I smile, but it quickly fades into a frown because it’s not Bronte.
It’s Bobby.
An immediate glower pins and bores into my ex-fiancé’s head.
“What are you doing here?” I spit out, feeling a tightness in my chest that only poses as a warning. “Get out.”
“Meirna,” he says softly. “I can explain—”
“Explain, what? That you cheated on me. That you were going to steal money from my non-profit? That you work with a mob, Bobby? What the hell is wrong with you?”
He shakes his head several times while saying, “That’s not true. He filled your head with lies, babe.”
“I saw everything,” I retort, wishing my voice was a bit more stern and disgusted, but I’m more breathy and a bit freaked out that he’s standing here right now. “The text messages, how much you missed Jolene and you couldn’t wait to fuck her—”
“That’s ancient history.”
“That’s as of several days ago. A few before our wedding.”
He frowns, evidently thinking he was probably going to come in here and convince me of his innocence, but I won’t stand for it.
I won’t deal with it.
“Listen,” he hedges, lifting his hands in mock defense. “I wasn’t the best. I made some mistakes.” I scoff because that’s not even scratching the surface. “But I love you, babe. I was marrying you.”
“Not anymore.”
That’s when his blameless demeanor cracks, because his brows pin together and he takes an unnecessary step forward. “What the fuck does that even mean?”
I stare at him because…I dunno, I’m married? You can’t marry someone who’s already married; it’s kind of a thing that’s against the law. This is common-sense stuff, and I don’t want to have this conversation anymore when I’m trying to gather my things together and get ready for this trip.
“You need to go, Bobby,” I impart instead. “Now.”
“I’m not leaving until you decide you want to marry me and you’ve forgiven me—”
“You haven’t even apologized for one,” I bark back with anger. “And, two, you’re a cheater. I’m not dealing with that. And, three, you were going to steal from me. There’s nothing about our relationship—”
I suddenly notice that the window to my bedroom is open.
The air in my personal space cooling by the second because it’s dead of winter, and it’s how Bobby got here.
Bronte did say he was going to have someone outside my place for protection. I didn’t ask questions; I was honestly too hungry and gung-ho on packing while he was gone that I didn’t throw two and two together.
But he was protecting me from something like this.
Bobby desperately climbed up the emergency ladder to get to me.
He doesn’t climb things.
He’s never been desperate to my knowledge until recently.
The man is in some deep shit, and I’m the solution to his problems.
And a desperate man can be a dangerous one.
Something cracks through the air then, and in my head, it warns me to tread lightly moving forward.
I’m alone and, maybe if I scream, it might get those men Bronte told me were around to come in here and escort Bobby out.
“Bronte isn’t mentally stable, Meirna,” Bobby mutters softly. “It’s why I never mentioned him before. Honestly, I thought he was off, doing his own thing; we never had the best relationship. I didn’t want to bring that into your life. You’ve always been special to me.”
“You need to go,” I repeat again. “Now.”
Bobby closes more space between us, and I counter his actions. “Meirna, stop. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“This is highly inappropriate, and—”
“I’m your fiancé,” he retorts mildly. “We slept in the same bed together.”
My stomach twists painfully as I try my best to steady everything in my body to a smooth pace.
But, I’ll admit, I’m a bit scared of Bobby right now. He’s never done something like this, and I don’t know what he planned on doing.
But I’m not going anywhere with him.
“What do you want me to do, Bobby?” I ask as gently as I can to keep the conversation light and controlled.
“I want you to marry me,” he says immediately. “I want us to move through life together. I promise you…I’ll fix all my wrongs. I’ll never hurt you again.”
“Why? You don’t love me—”
“I love the shit out of you,” he argues, eating up more space and giving me less to work with before I end up between my dresses in the closet. “You are everything to me.”
Bullshit.
It’s such a lie that I’m surprised he isn’t choking on it with how thick and corrupt it is.
He two-timed my trust and wasted my time. There is nothing about Bobby that shows me he loves me, truly and unconditionally.
And I won’t have anything else.
Even if that’s being single for the rest of my life.
“Small problem,” I mutter. “I’m married to—”
“I can fix that.” He touches my forearm and I involuntarily flinch, prompting his notice and a frown. “Are you serious? Now, I can’t touch you?”
“No,” I answer mindlessly. “You’re a cheater, Bobby. I don’t want you anywhere near me—”
“But my brother can?” he leers through clenched teeth. His skin is turning red as anger pumps through his veins. “Did you fuck him in Prague? Is that what this is about?”
I glower at him for thinking he even has the right to ask me. “Would it matter? You’ve been fucking Jolene and God knows who else for years—”
“We’re not married yet,” he lashes out. “I can do whatever the fuck I want when I want to do it.”
I rip my arm away from him and point toward the door. “Get the hell out of my apartment right now. We’re done.”
“We’re not done,” he grinds out, inching even closer. “You committed yourself to me. We had plans. A future. You can’t just erase that without speaking to me first.”
There’s entitled Bobby.
I don’t owe him anything. And I sure as hell don’t owe him an explanation on why I feel the way I feel.
“You’re not even angry I married your brother,” I vouch, feeling my nostrils flare. “You’re angry that you lost control over me.”
I should’ve kept with treading lightly because Bobby snatches my biceps and then whips me around toward the bed.
I stumble, pushing back on him to get his hands off me before I’m shoved onto my mattress, and his body crushing into mine.
“Control is me fucking you,” he grinds out, trying to pin my hands over my head as I thrash around to throw him off me. “And that’s what I’m going to do. Because Bronte doesn’t take from me. I take from him.”
“Get off me!” I scream, thrusting my head forward to get any piece of him away from me.
I connect with his forehead, earning myself a radiating pain throughout my whole skull, but I can take that knowing that Bobby feels the same.
However, it doesn’t stop him from lifting my dress and fumbling between my clenched thighs.
“You stupid bitch!” he thunders out, trying to weasel his fingers past my clenched thighs to get to my cunt. “Do you like it rough, Meir? Do you want me to fuck you like I do Jolene?”
Bile rises in my throat at the mention of him having sex with other women while he was with me.
The only thing I can say is that he wrapped up every time.
Shit, I think.
The times I think I was with Bronte, there were no condoms, so I’m banking on being safe, but not now.
Rape isn’t safe.
Bobby’s mental space isn’t safe.