6. Rosie
6
ROSIE
That bastard.
As the Porsche speeds out of the parking lot, all I can do is hope his sorry ass gets pulled over.
Staring down at the credit card he practically threw at me, I shake my head. Irritated doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.
And what the hell was that kiss?
I’ve never been kissed like that before—with equal parts passion and desperation. It’s like he wanted to sink inside me.
The worst part is that I would’ve let him.
Shame on me.
I cross the lot and climb into my SUV. For several minutes, I sit there, engine running, and soak in the warm air blowing from the vents. Today’s harsh wind has caused a chill to settle in the air. Or maybe it’s Daire’s frigid behavior that’s getting to me.
With my forehead pressed to the steering wheel, I swallow past the lump in my throat. I certainly didn’t expect the traditional wedding night, nor would I let him touch me like that—even if I really, really liked the way he kissed me—but I can’t say I envisioned him abandoning me in the courthouse parking lot either. I should’ve known better. If there’s one thing Daire has been consistent about for the last few years, it’s embarrassing me.
Meandering aimlessly down the streets of the small town outside our sprawling campus, I finally say fuck it, and drive the few hours into Nashville. I don’t need to spend his money, but if he’s offering, then why not put it to good use?
Asshole.
I don’t even care if I’m behaving exactly like the kind of person he thinks I am. If he can’t treat me with respect, then he doesn’t deserve it either.
When I get downtown, I check into the Four Seasons. I didn’t bring a bag with me, but I have no qualms about using Daire’s card to pay for a change of clothes, pajamas, and toiletries.
Once I’ve got my keycard, I head back out and make my way to the mall. In the first store I come across, I change out of my dress and into a new pair of jeans and a light-weight sweater. From there, I continue to add to the bill. New boots at another store, a cute dress from a third, and a purse I’ve been eyeing for the last year but didn’t want to pull the trigger on.
I don’t care if our marriage isn’t real. It’s rude as hell that I’ve gone out of my way to help him, and in return, he’s discarded me like a dirty tissue.
When I come across a furniture store, excitement flares inside me. We have a new home to decorate, after all. We need couches and tables and… well, everything. When I finish there, I charge a nauseatingly large sum, putting that “no limit” to the test. Sure enough, the purchase goes through.
If he gets text notifications for his card, he’ll probably go into cardiac arrest.
“Thanks so much.” I smile at the saleswoman, masking a pain so sharp I feel as if I’ve spent all afternoon wandering the mall with a knife buried in my chest.
Even so, I hold my head high, scoop up my bags, and continue on my merry way.
Retail therapy usually does the trick when my life goes to shit, but it’s not making me feel better this time.
It doesn’t stop me from purchasing another luxury purse, though, or a watch I certainly don’t need.
The ring on my left hand feels like a weight threatening to drown me.
What have I done?
I never should’ve allowed myself to be suckered into a scheme like this. It was stupid. Downright foolish of me. There’s a small part of me that remembers what it was like before, when he was my friend, and like an idiot, I let that small voice sway my decision. I just wanted to help. To make it all better for him.
It’s late by the time I return to the hotel. Luckily for me, Daire’s paying for the penthouse suite.
The bathtub is practically the size of a small swimming pool. I run hot water and add the bubbles and salt provided as exhaustion weighs heavily on me. I’m not even physically tired, just mentally strung out from the last few weeks. I better get used to it, I guess, because this whole thing is only beginning.
Slipping out of my clothes, I sink into the steaming water. An embarrassing sigh leaves me.
Alone.
It’s my wedding night, and I’m all by myself.
Sure, it was never going to be a real wedding night, but I didn’t realize I’d signed myself up to a lifetime of loneliness with this deal either. I thought… well, I guess I stupidly thought we could repair our friendship. Better friends than nothing, but apparently, he doesn’t see it like that.
I snag my phone from the ledge around the tub, desperately hoping to see a text or call for him, but there’s nothing. The lack of notifications only leaves me feeling more pathetic.
When my fingers begin to prune, I wrap myself in a big, fluffy robe and scan the room service menu beside the bed. The last thing I feel like doing is eating, but my growling stomach disagrees with me.
By the time I’ve finished ordering, the hotel staff probably assumes I’m throwing a party. I ordered way more than one person can ever dream of eating. But now’s a perfect time to sample a little bit of everything.
Remote in hand, I lie on my stomach and turn on the TV. The first menu I find lists a handful of early-access movies available for purchase, so I do what any sensible person in my position would do—I buy them all.
I desperately want to text him, check on him, but I hold myself back. I can’t start down this path on night one. I’d rather not show him just how pathetic I can be so soon.
I click the icon for the first movie on the list and let it play in the background. There’s a complimentary bottle of champagne chilling, so I pop the cork and pour myself a glass. I don’t even like champagne, but I might as well drink it. It’s not like I have anything better to do. I settle into the middle of the bed since I have it all to myself tonight and sip the bubbly.
The irony here isn’t lost on me. All I wanted when I was a little girl was to marry Daire and become Mrs. Hendricks. Now I’ve done it, but this scenario looks nothing like how I pictured it would.
You’re helping him out. That’s all. You knew what you were getting into.
I did, but that small part of me that hoped things would be different couldn’t be quelled.
When room service knocks on the door, I hop up to let them inside. The guy scans the room, probably wondering where all my guests are, but he has the decency not to ask. I sign the slip for the food, and since he’s keeping his comments to himself, I add a more than generous tip.
“Thank you,” I tell him as he heads for the door. Just because I’m suffering in my feels doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten my manners. Daire can think what he wants of me, but if there’s one thing my parents and nannies instilled in me and my younger sister, it’s to use our manners.
Being rich isn’t an excuse to be a dick, my dad used to say.
To which my mom would berate him for saying the word dick, especially when my little sister, Grace, would repeat the word nonstop for the rest of the day. I miss my sister so much. It doesn’t matter that I spent all summer with her in the Hamptons.
My sister was a welcome surprise for my parents and for me. I was ten when she was born. We knew from early on during my mom’s pregnancy that she had Down Syndrome. My parents didn’t once balk at the diagnosis, at least not that I saw. Instead, they embraced it with open arms. They’ve never treated Grace any differently than they do me. Okay, maybe that’s not entirely true. They probably treat her a bit better, but only because she really is the best. It’s impossible not to love her. She’s a ray of sunshine, always smiling and giving hugs, but she can be brutally honest. Sometimes that’s a great thing, other times, not so much—like the time she told our waitress she could see her boogers.
She’s almost twelve now, so she’s gotten a smidge better at filtering herself.
If she were here, she would read Daire to filth for his behavior. I smile, thinking about the way she’d call him a butthead.
She was only six when our friendship shattered, so she doesn’t know him well, but she knows he broke my heart.
After I’ve inspected the spread of food, I grab the cheese board and take it to the bed with me. Cheese solves all problems. At least, that’s what I’m hoping. It’s nearly midnight, so the only lights outside come from the establishments nearby.
I haven’t checked my social media in hours, and I always keep my notifications off, but I have nothing else better to do on my wedding night. So I wrap a small hunk of cheese in a piece of lavish bread and take a bite as I unlock my phone.
The second I open Snapchat, I nearly choke.
Video after video of Daire appears. It’s a party at his house. Though I suppose the place isn’t his, but it’s where he lives. For now. Tears flood my eyes as I watch. The party isn’t the issue. No, his meltdown is what steals my breath. It’s like a dagger to the heart. He’s trashed, his hair a mess and his eyes bloodshot. The guy is falling apart. Maybe I could feel a smidge of sympathy for him, but his words erase any softness I have toward him.
The phone shakes in my hand as I force myself to watch the video.
On screen, Daire stands in the middle of a living room, surrounded by people.
“Oh, and guess what? I’m fucking hitched now.” He sneers the words, as if his marital status is a death sentence. As if he wasn’t the one begging me.
He pulls out the ring I put on him only hours ago and slips it onto his right ring finger instead of the left.
“And no, not to the baby mama. She’s a professor and a real bitch. She didn’t tell me she was pregnant. She thought she could keep him from me, but I won’t let her. No, sir.” He smacks a hand roughly against his chest as tears slide down his cheeks.
Dammit, I hate myself for feeling sorry for him.
“So, now I’m married to Rosie—yeah, that girl I can’t fucking stand because—” He shakes his head. “That’s not important.”
That knife in my chest twists, the pain excruciating. I know he hates me, but I’ve never known why. At least I have a reason to dislike him. Even so, it hurts to hear those words out loud. God, I’m pathetic.
“Oh, but guess what, there’s more.” He tosses an arm over his friend Cree’s shoulders, swinging the guy toward his other friend Jude.
Jude shakes his head and grasps Daire’s shoulder. Even on this tiny screen, the pleading in his eyes is obvious. “Don’t do this, man.”
What’s he so afraid Daire is going to do? Air all their dirty laundry?
Daire throws his head back and lets out an obnoxious bark of laughter. “But why not? It’s so fun!” He squeezes his friend even tighter, smiling manically. He’s clearly on the verge of a breakdown. “Are you listening, buddy?” Daire’s mouth is almost on Cree’s cheek in some sort of mockery of a kiss. “This is a big one. Are you ready?” Cree shoves him away, anger clouding his expression. Daire laughs, unbothered, as he stumbles and rights himself.
Instead of the normal sounds of a party—music, chatter—it’s dead silent except for the conversation playing out on the screen. Every person in the room seems to be holding their breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“What?” Cree asks Daire, the question so quiet I’m surprised it’s audible. The grimace on his face makes me wonder if he really even wants to know. “Well, what is it?”
Daire looks off camera at someone. A war of emotions plays over his face. Anger, sadness, fear, maybe a little regret. He shakes his head, then and waves a hand wildly. “It’s not important.”
“It must be for you to be putting on this whole fucking debacle,” Cree huffs.
A sneer forms on Daire’s lips. “Don’t be so quick to jump to conclusions, my dude. It’s not like you’re some holy saint. Nah, you like to think you’re a good guy, but you’re a liar just like the rest of us. And here’s another little secret—good guys don’t lie. Your sins might not be as shitty as the rest of ours, but a lie is a lie is a lie.”
That’s when the video cuts off. I’m sure if I scroll, I’ll find one that shows what happens next, but I don’t even want to know. I shake my head, a mix of emotions ranging from anger to downright pity rolling through me. It’s like watching a train wreck and being helpless to stop it. The worst part is I’m stuck in the middle, right in harm’s way if Daire crashes and burns.
I turn my phone off, fearing Bertie will come across one of the videos and call. What the hell would I even say to her if she did? I don’t have a good explanation for Daire’s rant or why he and I aren’t together on our freaking wedding night.
I climb off the bed and set the cheese platter on the table with the other food. My appetite has officially vanished.
Breathing deep, I find a pair of pajamas purchased during my spree and slip them on. Then I turn the lights off and get back in bed, saying a prayer for sleep to come.
When it does, it’s fitful, and I wake more exhausted than I was before.
I head back to campus early since I have class, leaving most of my purchases in the car since it’ll take multiple trips to get it all inside.
I take a few bags with me as I hurry into my dorm to get ready for class. All I’ve eaten since yesterday morning are a few pieces of cheese and bread. I can’t stomach the thought of food right now, and the horrible part of my brain whispers your mother would be happy.
But I’m not intentionally starving myself.
After the scene in the parking lot yesterday and then the video of Daire, if I tried to eat, it would more than likely come right back up.
Once I’ve deposited the bags on my bed, I quickly apply my makeup. Today it feels like I’m painting on a mask for the world. The stares and whispers have already begun, and I’ve been on campus for five whole minutes. It’s only going to get worse as the day goes on. I still haven’t turned my phone back on. If I did, it would be to see whether Daire has tried to contact me. I hate myself for even caring. For even thinking he may have. It’s unlikely I’ll hear from him after the things he said last night.
When my makeup is done, I grab my backpack, making sure I have everything I need. And when I sling my bag over my shoulder and tuck my hair behind my ear, the ring on my finger glimmers in the light.
It sits like a heavy weight, a reminder that I’m stuck in this situation now. So I better put on my game face and make the most of it.