My Perfect Fiance (Perfect Guy Book 2)

by Annabelle Costa

  “I just started thinking about it,” I say. “And… I think we got into this relationship because I needed to prove myself. You dumped me because I lost my legs. I wanted to prove to myself I could get you back. But then after you agreed to marry me, there was nothing left to prove.” I lean back in my seat. “I mean, how could I marry you after what you did to me all those years ago?”

  If I was trying to hurt her, I’ve done it. I see it all over her face. It’s ripping me apart. I want to tell her I didn’t mean any of that. I just want her to be fucking happy.

  She reaches for the napkin in front of her and squeezes it between her fingers. “You said you’d forgiven me for that.”

  “Well, I haven’t.”

  “And you just realized that right now?”

  “It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a little while now.” I shrug, trying to act like I couldn’t care less, even though I’m dying inside. “I thought it was better to end it now, before things went too far.”

  “You mean like before we moved in together?” she practically spits at me. “Before you asked me to marry you? Before my daughter…”

  She can’t even complete the sentence, and I’m glad she doesn’t. She can’t make me feel guilty about Lily. I’m doing this partially for Lily.

  I’m giving up two people I love so they can be happy.

  Bailey stands up so abruptly, her chair topples over behind her. People are starting to turn and look at us now. It’s obvious to everyone I’m breaking up with her. Everyone in this restaurant hates me. Well, except for that waitress who tried to slip me her number before my date arrived.

  “Your ring is back in the apartment,” she says, her voice shaking. “In case you want it.”

  Christ, if I have to go through giving her ring back to me a second time, it might kill me. “Keep it.”

  “I don’t want it.”

  “Then donate it to charity.”

  “Right. Charity. Great.” She looks around the restaurant. “And where are Lily and I supposed to go now?”

  “You can stay put.” I went to the apartment while she was gone and grabbed enough stuff to get me through the week and stashed it in a hotel room. And I also removed anything valuable that she might destroy in a fit of anger. “I’ve made other arrangements for myself.”

  “I can’t afford the rent on my own, you know.”

  “Well, I’ll pay it until you figure something else out then.”

  She stands over me for a moment. My heart is thudding in my chest.

  “Will you please be honest, Noah?” Her eyes shine with tears that haven’t fallen. “Tell me why you’re doing this. You at least owe me that.”

  I wish she wouldn’t talk to me in that broken voice. It would be better if she cursed me out in front of the whole restaurant. Screamed at me. Told me she hated me. She’ll be better off without me. That, I could handle.

  “I told you the reason,” I say in a flat voice that belies everything I’m feeling inside.

  She stares at me, waiting. Hoping I might change my mind? If she stands there another minute, I just might. I want her so badly, I’m not sure there’s enough willpower in my body. One more minute and she will break me. I’ll never be able to let her go.

  And then two seconds before I’m about to crack, her shoulders sag. “Fine,” she breathes.

  With that final word, she grabs her purse, gives me one last look, and storms out.

  Chapter 43: Bailey

  He broke up with me.

  Noah broke up with me.

  I can’t wrap my head around it. I thought… when we reconnected, I felt like that was it. I was back with the man I was meant to be with. And I assumed he felt the exact same way.

  How could I have been so wrong?

  I cry all the way home. It’s humiliating to be openly sobbing on the street. I wish I hadn’t worn so much makeup because it’s leaking everywhere. Waterproof mascara, my ass. I don’t know how I’ll ever stop crying. There’s a horrible feeling in my chest that I can’t get rid of.

  This is how I felt when my mother died. This awful gnawing emptiness that the person I loved most in the world was gone. Admittedly, Lily is the person I love most in the world now, but Noah is up there. And now that he said those things—looked me in the eyes and told me he didn’t want me—I feel like there’s a hole in my chest. It’s awful.

  My divorce was actually easier. Because when it ended, I didn’t love him.

  I can’t turn it off. I can’t stop loving Noah just because he said those things. There’s part of me that’s hoping he’s just freaked out about the wedding and maybe he’ll change his mind back. That’s what this must—a panic attack. I don’t believe his story about our relationship being some sort of elaborate revenge plot to get back at me for leaving him when we were younger. There’s something else going on. I know it.

  Noah Walsh is a good man. I have no clue what is going through his head right now, but he’s the best person I’ve ever known. He’s the love of my life. I will never, ever find anyone like him ever again. I’ve got to find a way to fix this.

  The last thing I want is to return home less than half an hour after I left with red, puffy eyes. It will be obvious to Amber what just happened. But at the same time, I don’t want to stand on the street sobbing. So I have no choice but to go upstairs.

  Amber and Lily are sitting on the couch when I return. They’re reading one of Lily’s books, which is awesome. Lily has still been difficult about reading with me, but she’s making phenomenal progress with Noah.

  Or she was.

  “Mommy!” Lily screeches when she sees me. She leaps off the couch, practically levitating with excitement. “Amber and I just read another chapter. You know what that means? I get a chip!”

  “Oh,” I say weakly. I don’t have the energy to get excited over this.

  “I have fifty chips!” She jumps up and down. “You have to tell Noah! He said he’s going to buy me an ant farm when I have fifty chips and I got ‘em. I got fifty chips!”

  Amber has noticed the look on my face by now. She comes over to Lily and puts a hand on her shoulder. “Lily, honey… let’s give your mom a little space, okay?”

  “But I have fifty chips!” Lily insists. “Where’s Noah? I want to tell him!”

  “He’s…” I swallow a lump in my throat, using all my willpower to suppress more tears from falling. “He had to go away for a little while, Lily.”

  Her face falls. “For how long? Till tomorrow?”

  “No, probably longer. It’s going to be a while.”

  “But…” She looks down at her socks, which have little ducks on them. “I have fifty chips. Noah said he’d get me an ant farm.”

  “I’ll get you the ant farm.” Lord help me—I do not want ants in my house, but I’m going to keep this promise.

  “But Noah said he’d get it for me.” Lily’s eyes fill with tears. “He said he was going to help me set it up. And I’ve got fifty chips.”

  “I know, Lily, but—”

  “I have fifty chips!” The tears overflow and fall down her cheeks. “We were going to get the ant farm when I got fifty chips.”

  “And I said I’d get it for you…”

  “No.” She shakes her head vigorously. “I want to get it with Noah. Tell him to come back. He promised.”

  And now she’s outright sobbing. I bend down and take my daughter into my arms. She rests her head on my shoulder, her tears making my black dress damp. “I have fifty chips,” she murmurs into my hair. “He promised.”

  He promised a lot to me too, Lily.

  Chapter 44: Noah

  What the hell am I doing?

  I’m going eighty across the Brooklyn Bridge. I haven’t been to Brooklyn since my mother moved to Queens with Bailey’s dad. I grew up there, but it feels like another life. Brooklyn has, after all, changed a lot in the last twenty years. The building where I spent my childhood has been torn down and the whole neighborhood has g
otten so upscale, we never could have afforded to live there.

  The neighborhood where my father cuts hair for a living isn’t as rich as that, but it’s not so bad that I’m worried my car will get ripped off if I leave it for more than ten minutes. I don’t think I’ll get mugged, but you never know.

  And I have no idea how long I’m going to be out here. I’m not sure what possessed me to jump in my car and make this drive, without bothering to check with my father to make sure he’d be there or give him a heads up I’d be coming. I guess I thought there was a reasonable chance I’d change my mind on the way over.

  The last twelve hours have been rough. I was in a daze after Bailey stormed out on me at the restaurant. I felt sick, like I wanted to throw up, but I knew that wouldn’t make me feel any better. Nothing would. The first time she left, it took months. Maybe it’ll be quicker this time.

  Except I know it won’t. If anything, it will be worse.

  I pull up right in front of my father’s barber shop. The street is mostly empty so I get good parking without having to resort to using my plates. I’ve been using my cane most of the time when I walk around these days, just to keep the pressure off my right limb, but I leave it in the car now. I don’t want my father to see.

  I linger outside the glass door, peering inside. There’s a man within the shop, sweeping at the ground. He’s older—about the right age to be my father. Is that him? Or is it some other barber?

  Only one way to find out.

  The door jingles when I open it. The whole shop smells like cleaning fluid, which isn’t a terrible smell for a barber shop. The man sweeping the floor looks up and…

  Christ, it’s him. It’s my father.

  He looks old. So much older than my mother. He’s got to be in his mid-sixties, but he looks eighty. His hair is sparse and gray, there are large bags under his eyes, and veins form a map of spider webs on his face. His nose used to look like mine, but it’s bloated to twice its original size. That’s what years of drinking will do to you. But even so, he’s recognizable from the photographs and my memories of him. And what I see when I look in a mirror.

  “Can I help you?” my father asks.

  He doesn’t recognize me. I touch my face, feeling the beginning of a beard. I haven’t shaved in two days, which disguises my appearance, and that aside, he hasn’t seen me in almost twenty-five years.

  “I, uh…” I’m your son. “I’d like a haircut.”

  “Oh.” He looks around the store, at all the empty chairs. A small television screen in the corner of the room broadcasts a basketball game. “Well, we’re pretty busy. Looking at maybe an hour wait.”

  I stare at him.

  “I’m joking.” He cracks a smile at me, showing off his yellow teeth. My head swims with déjà vu. I remember that smile. “You can go ahead and sit down. What’s your name?”

  I’m Noah. Your son. “John.”

  “All right, John.” He gestures at one of the empty stools, since I’m just standing there. “My name’s Mike. Have a seat, please.”

  I do as he says, settling down awkwardly into one of the barber chairs. I stare at my own reflection and wince. I’ve barely slept the last two days and it shows. My hair is disheveled, I’ve got purple circles under my eyes, and the beard makes me look like a hobo. Needing a haircut is the least of my problems.

  “You want a shave too?” my father asks me as he wraps a drape around my shoulders.

  “No, thanks.” If I’m clean-shaven, he might recognize me. Not that it would be so terrible. In fact, I’m not sure why I haven’t told him it’s me. But I know I want it to be on my own terms.

  He runs his hand lightly through my hair. “How short you want it?”

  I study the haircuts demonstrated on the poster hung on the wall. “I’ll take number three.”

  The man who calls himself Mike and is actually my dad gets to work. He spritzes my head with lukewarm water, then gets out his scissors. Given his history of drinking, I’m worries his hands will shake, but they don’t. His hands are very steady.

  “You live around here, John?” he asks.

  Who? Oh wait, I’m John. “Uh, yeah. Not too far.”

  “How’d you hear about the place?” Christ, that Brooklyn accent is thick. Was it always like that? I grew up here, but I don’t have a pronounced accent. I think the more education you get, the less likely you are to end up with an accent. That said, I’m sure people from, say, Georgia would figure out where I’m from.

  “Just sort of… saw it passing by.”

  He nods. “Good to know.”

  He starts snipping at my hair with a scissors. He’s doing an okay job. I don’t really care, unless he butchers it so badly, I can’t go to work. Then again, I could just shave my head like Theo.

  “Good head of hair,” he comments.

  “Thanks.” The color of my hair—dark blond—is the same as his used to be at the same age.

  “I bet your wife is glad you’re not going bald.”

  I cough into my fist. “I’m not married.”

  He grins. One of his incisors is noticeably rotting. “Oh yeah? So keeping your options open then? Good for you—you’re still young.”

  My father kept his options open even when he was married with a kid. But I can’t exactly say that without telling him who I am. So instead, I say, “Are you married?”

  He hesitates, his hand on the electric razor. “No.”

  “Oh.”

  “Used to be.”

  My eyes meet his briefly in the mirror. “Yeah?”

  “I messed it up,” he says. “Had something good, and I blew it with my own damn stupidity.”

  “Sorry to hear that.”

  He studies my profile for a moment, then he shrugs. “Well, that’s life. You win some, you lose some.” He trims the back of my hair using the razor. “You sure you don’t want a shave, kid? You could use one.”

  “No, I’m good.”

  He continues trimming my hair, but after a second, he yells, “Damn it!”

  I nearly jump out of my chair. Not that I can do that so easily. “What?”

  “Aw, sorry, kid.” He pats my shoulder. “I got distracted by the game. Can’t believe Knox missed that shot.”

  I glance up at the television screen. The Knicks are playing the Lakers. “He’s usually a pretty good shot.”

  He smiles again, and this time it lights up his face, making him look ten years younger. “You a Knicks fan?”

  “Hell, yeah.”

  I get the longest haircut in the history of the world while we chat about the Knicks and all the other inferior teams they’ve played this year. I played basketball a lot in college, although was never good enough to be professional or even close, but I still like to watch. Bailey teases me that she could parade around naked while the Knicks are playing and I’d never notice.

  My father gives me a decent haircut. He shows me the back using his little mirror, and it’s all fine. He pulls off the drape he had wrapped around me, and I carefully get to my feet.

  “You happy?” he asks.

  With the haircut? Sure. “Yeah, looks good.” I follow him to the cash register. “What do I owe you?”

  “No charge, Noah.”

  “Oh, but…” I start to protest, but then I realize he isn’t calling me John anymore. His watery blue eyes meet mine. “Uh, when did you figure it out?”

  “The second you walked in the door.” He smiles crookedly. “I’ve seen pictures. They got that really good one of you on the website for your hospital. I showed that one to all my friends. Told them, ‘Look how good-looking my kid is. And a doctor!’ No thanks to me, of course.”

  He looked up photos of me online. And showed them to everyone he knows.

  He’s proud of me.

  “Also,” he adds, “you look just like I did. Like looking in a mirror thirty years ago.”

  I run a hand through my newly shorn hair. “Yeah…”

  He arches a bushy gray e
yebrow at me. “Gwen told me you were going to come looking for me. I was hoping she was right.”

  “I…” My throat feels dry all of a sudden. “I found out… I mean, she told me you’d been wanting to see me for a long time. Like, since I was a teenager.”

  He nods solemnly. “That’s true.”

  “She said you were there when I…” I look down at my legs. I’m wearing long pants that cover up my secret, aside from the limp I’ll never get rid of.

  “I got to hold your hand until you woke up.” He scratches at the stubble on his own chin. “I thought for sure you wouldn’t make it. And I thought to myself… I really fucked up. All those years I could have been there, and I wasn’t.”

  “But Mom kept you away…”

  “Sure she did.” There isn’t a trace of resentment in his eyes. “I was a mess. And a lousy dad. She was better off alone than with me. So were you.”

  “But after my accident…”

  “I was at my worst then.” He grits his teeth. “I was over the limit the whole drive to the hospital, scared I’d get pulled over and the cops would toss me in jail. And then I woulda missed my chance to say goodbye to you. But I got to the hospital, and you… you made it.” He coughs into his hand—a wet smoker’s cough. I don’t remember my father smoking, but now I hear the rasp in his voice. A smoker and a drinker. One coronary under his belt. Based on what I see in the ER, he won’t live much longer. “Gwen told me I couldn’t be part of your life till I cleaned myself up. I coulda tried taking her to court, but she was right.”

  “It wasn’t her decision to make.”

  “Sure it was.” He places a hand on the counter, and I notice for the first time the swollen joint in his left thumb. A gout tophi. It’s hard not to look at the guy and make a million diagnoses. “Your mother is a smart lady. You think you got your smarts from me? Not a chance. She knew it would mess you up to see me, and I believed her. And I tried my best to get myself cleaned up, but… well, it wasn’t easy. Every time I got on the wagon, I kept falling off.”