10. Brooklyn
brOOKLYN
Gulping down the last of my mimosa, I bang the crystal flute down on the table, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, and gesture to our waitress for another.
“What?” I ask innocently. “It’s only my third. They don’t call it a bottomless mimosa brunch for nothing.”
Tori and Emzee shoot concerned looks my way. Emzee is still nursing her first boozy beverage, but Tori (thanks to the pregnancy) is drinking plain orange juice.
“Rough week?” Emzee asks gently, sliding a forkful of duck confit sope onto my plate.
I shrug. “You could say that.”
The waitress comes over and switches out my empty glass for a fresh one, and I thank her profusely before digging back into my gourmet goat cheese, rosemary, and fig topped waffle.
We’re having one of our girls-only brunch dates at a trendy new hotspot in River North that Emzee—our resident foodie—wanted to try.
I’ve really grown to rely on them as friends, and right now I’m especially grateful for the distraction.
Tori pushes aside her salmon toast and says, “I know the runway show went great—”
“Yeah, you and that candy wrapper dress have totally blown up on social media!” Emzee cuts in. “I wonder if Elia needs a new photographer…”
“—so what else is going on?” Tori finishes.
“I guess I’m just missing Luka while he’s out of town,” I half-lie. “He didn’t tell me he was leaving until the last minute, and I was planning a surprise picnic for us.”
“Awwww,” my sisters-in-law coo in unison.
“You guys are disgusting,” Emzee teases. “Almost makes me want to start dating again.”
“Ooh, speaking of which!” Tori says. “You know my friend Audrey from school?”
“She’s the edgy one from New York, right?” I ask.
“Mm-hmm. So she just got back from a trip back home and she went to this amazing gallery opening at some co-op loft space in Brooklyn where the artist makes all these ethereal sculptures out of wire and sheer fabric—” Tori stops talking just long enough to pull out her phone and start searching for the artist on Insta “—and I told her you’d totally be into that and she said he’s going to be in Chicago in a few weeks so I thought maybe you guys could—”
Emzee presses the back of her hand to her forehead in a woe-is-me gesture and whines, “Please don’t tell me you’ve already set me up on a blind date with this guy! I’ve had nothing but bad luck dating artists. They’re always so self-absorbed.”
“Don’t be like that,” Tori mock-scolds. “Here, just look at the sculptures.”
Rolling her eyes at me good-naturedly, Emzee takes the phone and starts scrolling. “Ah. Okay. These are pretty cool. Like ghosts, except…there’s so much movement here. Oh, wow.”
“Told you so,” Tori says, flashing me a smile.
It’s hard to smile back at their familiar antics when all I’ve been able to think about since Luka left yesterday is what he’s been up to in Vegas with Monica.
My mind has been flooded with images of them holding hands on the plane, screwing in the hotel hot tub, drunkenly deciding to get married at one of those Elvis-themed chapels.
I know I’m just being frantic and jealous, but I can’t help how I feel.
Even his “landed safely” text did nothing to assuage my suspicions, and I’ve been stalking Monica’s social media accounts just waiting for something incriminating to pop up.
So far, it’s been nothing but the usual sexy selfies—people seem to be loving her new dark hair—and a few unimaginative shots of the Vegas strip lit up with all its flashy neon signs at night.
But he hadn’t picked up my call this morning. Was he just busy, or in bed with Monica?
If only my traitorous heart hadn’t gotten me into this mess. I never should have moved back into the penthouse. Not when things between Luka and me are still on shaky ground.
“I think it’s already dead, Brooklyn.”
“What?” I do a double take at the fork in my hand. Apparently, I’d zoned out a little while repeatedly stabbing one of my sausages. “Oh, sorry.”
I set the fork down and Emzee slides it discreetly away.
Looking back at my sisters-in-law, I see the looks of concern have returned.
It’s obvious my little white lies aren’t fooling them, but there’s something nice about them knowing me well enough to call me out.
I’d always hoped the three of us would grow close.
It’s taken a little time, but we’re definitely getting there.
I nearly cancelled on them when Tori called me this morning to see if I needed a ride, but I’m glad I crawled out of bed for this.
“You sure you’re okay?” Emzee asks. “You look like you didn’t sleep very well.”
“Well, Emzee, how well would you sleep if your husband neglected to mention that he was about to spend three days in Las Vegas with Monica Shore?”
She frowns. “It’s a DRM thing, right? A business trip?”
“Supposedly,” I grind out.
Tori gives me a sympathetic look. “You’ve got nothing to worry about, Brooklyn.
Stefan goes on last-minute work trips all the time, and yes, sometimes with the models.
It doesn’t mean anything is going on. Maybe it sounds na?ve, but I used to get upset about it too, until he made it clear how committed to me he is.
I’m sure Luka would never put your marriage at risk, either. ”
I wonder if those words feel like a total lie as they spill from her mouth? Because they sure feel that way to my ears.
“If he’s going to cheat, I just wish he’d do it with anyone but her.”
“He’s not going to cheat,” Tori insists.
Emzee scoffs at her. “How can you say that, when you know what Luka used to be like? Although, before you came along, Stefan wasn’t much better.”
“You’re really helping out here, Em,” Tori says sarcastically.
“Look, there’s something you need to understand about my brothers,” she says, addressing both of us.
“They’re the kind of men who fuck like wild rabbits because deep down, they’re just lost little boys, trying to find something solid to hang on to.
But all that time, they could never admit to themselves that what they really wanted was stability.
Until they found you two. And now neither of them are even close to the pathetic ‘men’ they used to be. Thank God.”
She raises her mimosa in a toast and then takes a loud slurp.
I take a long slug of my own drink as I contemplate what she just said. “Wow,” I finally say. “That was weirdly deep, and kind of a shock coming from you.”
Emzee grins. “Yeah, well, I’m full of surprises.”
Still, I have to admit that her words do make me feel a little better.
Luka does seem like a different man since we got together, and he’s miles away from the arrogant, entitled jerk who tricked me into bed when we first met all those years ago.
I’ve seen him be kind, caring, and supportive.
He’d seemed truly apologetic about Monica getting the Maxilene job, and sincere when he said that he didn’t just hire her to ensure the company signed a DRM model.
Tori reminds us that our breakfasts are getting cold, and we dig in. The food is delicious, and mixed with laughter and the good-natured squabbles that my sisters-in-law get into, it’s exactly what I needed. We sip our coffees as the conversation lulls into a comfortable silence.
Someone’s phone buzzes with a text, and Tori apologizes and says it’s a message from Stefan. But as she reads it, her expression falls. She sends Emzee a side-eye I don’t think she intended for me to see, and my stomach does a little flip. That look can’t mean anything good.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Oh, it’s just a…” Tori’s voice trails off, her eyes widening.
Emzee grabs Tori’s phone from across the table, her mouth falling open at whatever she sees on the screen. She quickly recovers and shakes her head dismissively. “It’s nothing. Just some pictures Stefan sent.”
“Pictures of?” I prod.
Cringing, Emzee passes over the phone. “Better to see it now than get sucker punched later.”
Sucker punch is right. It feels like my waffle is going to come back up.
What I’m looking at is essentially a slideshow of Monica’s Maxilene shoot.
She’s in lingerie, of course. I guess nothing sells makeup like the sight of a woman in skimpy underwear.
The material is sheer enough to show off her nipples and the crack of her ass.
In every photo, part of a series where she’s standing in the center of a replica Trevi Fountain, Luka is right there on the sidelines, hovering at the edge of the scene, hands in his pockets or arms crossed.
His eyes glued to Monica.
“Stefan just sent these,” Tori says apologetically. “He called them a preliminary spread.”
I try to smile like it doesn’t bother me, but my lower lip starts to tremble. Sliding the phone back to Tori, I cross my arms on the table and look at them both.
“Be honest with me. Should I be worried about this? I mean, do you see the way he’s looking at her?”
“He definitely looks…focused,” Tori offers. “But in a professional way.”
“Totally professional,” Emzee echoes, taking my hand. “He’s just making sure she’s positioned properly and that the lighting and staging is perfect. You know how it works.”
“Sure. I guess that makes sense.” I nod, but if they’re trying to make me feel better, it isn’t working. It does keep me from doing anything outrageous, though.
I don’t bring up the fact that I haven’t heard a thing from him since he texted to say he’d landed in Vegas. Not a good night. No wake-up call this morning. Nothing.
“He’ll be home soon and he’ll be all yours again,” Tori adds. “That sounds cheesy, but you know what I mean.”
I do. And she’s right. He’ll be home soon, Monica-free.
Later at the penthouse, I curl up on the couch with Mr. Kibbles at my feet and my phone in my hand.
I answer a few emails and then scroll through my social media apps.
I haven’t really engaged much on any of the platforms since my week of clubbing with Mateo in LA.
It seemed smarter to keep a low profile until all the gossip and rumors died down.
I flip through post after post, finding mostly routine stuff until I reach a well-known fashion blogger’s page.
And then my stomach drops.
The hashtag #wheresbrooklyn tops the post, followed by up close images of Monica swanning through the posh lobby of a Vegas hotel with my husband at her side.
They aren’t touching—in fact, his hands are in his pockets—but she’s looking over her shoulder toward him, smiling warmly, and her body language says it all. She wishes he was touching her.
There’s more. So many more. Monica on the strip in a sequin tube dress, head high, her arm linked through my husband’s.
Monica ducking into a limo, huge sunglasses doing little to disguise her identity, with Luka at her side.
Monica in her photoshoot lingerie and an open robe, sensually eating a strawberry while winking at my man.
I click a link that redirects me to a TMZ article, and find that the celebrity gossip outlet has published a sneak peek of the Maxilene shoot with Monica frolicking in the fountain, Luka playfully splashing her, leaving her practically naked in her soaking wet bra and panties.
The piece mentions that “reformed bad boy” Luka Zoric is in Vegas with supermodel Monica Shore, his new bride conspicuously absent.
Speculation goes on from there, suggesting there’s “trouble in paradise” for the junior Zoric and his wife—his wife!
They didn’t even have the decency to print my name.
The last line of the article asks, “Is the honeymoon over already?”
Pulse pounding, I read through the comments that follow, mostly people gossiping about my absence and whether my short marriage has gone totally off the rails so soon.
They’re not exactly wrong. There is trouble, and Monica Shore sure as hell isn’t helping any.
I can’t just dismiss this as sensationalized press.
Some commenters even wonder if Luka’s Vegas trip is an act of retaliation for the photos of me and Mateo that were taken in LA not long ago.
Throwing my phone onto the carpet, I pull the dog into my lap, letting him lick the tears running down my cheeks.
This is not acceptable, in any way. Luka never should have taken this trip without me, and without telling me in advance.
At the very least he should have invited me along, even if only to keep up appearances.
But regardless of my husband’s betrayal and disrespect, and regardless of how devastating this is, I’m not going to let this drown me.
I’m stronger than this.
And I’m ready to take the law into my own hands.