“Who’s that woman Matt’s with?” one of them asks the other.
“That’s his fiancée.”
“His fiancée? When did that happen?”
“Just a few weeks ago, I believe.”
The woman snorts. “I was just in that bed of his a few months ago. How did he get engaged so fast?”
“No clue. Maybe he was cheating on her,” the other suggests. “It wouldn’t be the first time you were the other woman,” she points out.
He wasn’t cheating on me. That was before our arrangement began, but it’s not like I can say that.
“Wonder who she is? Or how in the hell she managed to land him, of all people. We’d dated and fucked around for years and I never got a proposal.” She sounds bitter, angry.
“All I know is that she isn’t from around here, and by that, I mean she isn’t exactly in our social class. My grandmother is friends with his grandmother. Apparently, there’s been a big squabble about his father not wanting him to marry her, but his grandmother really likes her. Matt and his dad haven’t talked since . . . well, tonight, I guess.”
“So this woman he’s with is poor? Like, drives a Prius or some shit?” she jokes.
“Want to know my opinion?”
“Well, I guess I might as well. You’re going to tell me anyway.”
The other woman snorts. “I think it’s all fake. I think she’s either using him for his money or he’s using her.”
“Why in the world would he use her?”
“I don’t know. Maybe to get his father off his back? Or maybe there’s some kind of clause in his trust fund that states he can’t receive the full amount until he’s married. Who knows? You know how stuff is done around here. You saw her talking to Jefferson’s new wife, didn’t you? They were probably exchanging pointers.”
So that’s what people think? That I’m using him for his money or that he’s using me to get money? No one thinks we’re just happy and in love? This isn’t a world I want to be a part of. But it is his world. If I want him, I have to accept all of him. But can I accept this? These horrible events with even more horrible people?
I stand up and lower my dress back into its original position. I open the door of the stall and step out. The two women gasp as their eyes grow wide with surprise.
I walk up to the sink and wash my hands while they stare blankly at me, watching and waiting to see what I’ll say or do. I finish washing my hands and pick up a towel. As I dry my hands, my eyes stay on them. They’re still frozen in fear.
“You know,” I start, my voice calm, “it’s impolite to talk about such private things in public, right?” I wait, but of course, they don’t answer. I toss my towel into the basket and take one step closer. They both step back as an automatic response. “Well, I’m sure you two know that. I mean, you are upper-class after all, and that’s common knowledge even where I’m from.” I look them up and down with a snotty look on my face. “Or . . . are you lower-class like me? I mean, those dresses!” I roll my eyes. “So, whose gold are you two digging?” I lean forward and fake whisper. “Matthew Lewis is mine, so hands off.”
One of them, the braver one, stands up tall. “We are not lower-class. We were raised here. We belong here.”
“Oh, you could’ve fooled me. I could’ve sworn those Louis Vuittons were knockoffs from Maxwell Street Market.”
She looks down at her shoes. “These are not knockoffs!”
Clearly, assuming her shoes are knockoffs is way better than actually insulting her. I shrug. “Oh well. Enjoy the party, ladies. And don’t forget, check under the stalls before you start gossiping about someone, especially if you have no idea what’s really going on. I mean, come on. I’m a gold digger? That’s the most creative thing you could come up with? I mean, who knows? Maybe I’m his secret stepsister who’s blackmailing him into having an illicit and dirty affair or I’ll spill the family secrets.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, throwing the restroom door open and strutting out like they were nothing more to me than pesky flies.
But now that I’m out of the restroom, I don’t feel as confident. I feel even more like I don’t belong. I find Matthew in the middle of a conversation with his father and some other guys. I don’t want to interrupt, and honestly, I need a little alone time. I need to think—think about everything we’re doing and try to figure out if this is the right decision or not. Am I making a mistake?
Instead of walking back to him, I walk out, needing fresh air in my lungs. I feel trapped in here, like the walls are closing in on me. There’s no room to move or breathe. I’m stuck.
The moment I walk outside, I inhale a big gulp of fresh air and feel my head float back down to my body. I’m pretty sure I was moments away from hyperventilating. I need to leave. I need to get out of here. I don’t belong—not here with these people. I look for our limo, but there’s just a long line of them and I’m not sure which one is ours. Instead of wasting time trying to figure it out, I step up to the street and hail a cab. One stops immediately and I rush to climb in. I quickly rattle off Matthew’s address.
When I get to the apartment, I strip out of the dress and leave it lying in the middle of the floor while I pull on my clothes—the clothes that make me feel like myself instead of Cinderella. I think it’s time for this story to come to an end. As I start packing, I can’t help but think of Cinderella and wonder how she ended up. Sure, the story ends with them married, and then it’s “happily ever after.” But what if it wasn’t? What if the story continued?
Would Cinderella feel out of place when she was by her prince’s side? Would he drag her to bizarre parties and expect her to wear ridiculous gowns? Would he insist on her fitting into his world, or would he change to fit into hers? Cinderella was lucky. All she got was a happily ever after. In my mind, that leads the reader to think they lived however the reader imagined they’d be happy. But the ending varies depending on who’s reading it. They could have children if the reader wants children or already has them. They could end up traveling the world if another reader saw that as a possible future: being in love, kissing, and making love in amazing places whenever they want. But this isn’t a storybook. It’s my life and there will be a real ending, not just something that’s interchangeable.
So what’s my ending?
I don’t know, but I know I can’t see my ending being here by his side, made to feel inferior to him by every watchful eye. I don’t want to be forced into ridiculous gowns and parties. I want to be free to live my life the way I see fit, with a man who’s in it for the long haul, who’s willing to change and grow with me. The more I think about the way he tricked me into this arrangement, the more I realize how wrong it all is. Why was I so willing to just swallow that down and not realize it was him being manipulative—getting his way just like his father?
When I finish packing, I write out a quick note.
* * *
Matthew,
I’m sorry for leaving like this, but it’s the only way. Please forgive me.
—Poppy
* * *
I leave his grandmother’s ring on the note and leave both items in the center of my bed. I grab my things and walk out the door for the very last time. I refuse to look back. My choice has been made. I hail another cab and give them my address. I’m going home—back to where I belong, back to where this all started. That seems like a fitting end, right?
Twenty-Eight
Matthew
I head over to the women’s restroom door and wait. I plan on catching her the moment she steps out so I can drag her out of here. She’s better than these people, and now—thanks to her—so am I. Neither of us belongs here anymore. I’m going to tell her I’m sorry for forcing these horrible people on her, and for tricking her into spending time in my fucked-up world. I’ll beg until she forgives me.
Two women walk out and I realize one them is an old ex of mine, Trisha.
“Is there anyone else in there?” I ask, grabbing her arm lightly
to stop her from walking away.
“No, it was just us two. Your fiancée was in there, but she rushed out after telling us off,” she smiles but wipes it away.
“Telling you off? That doesn’t sound like her.”
She makes a sad face. “Oh, Matthew, don’t you realize the people here are lions and you just walked her straight into the den?” Her bright red lips turn up.
I frown. “What was said in there?” I ask, feeling my anger rise.
She shrugs. “Kimberly and I were just trying to figure out how you got engaged so fast since it was only a few months ago that I was the one in your bed. Were you cheating on her?”
I feel the need to vomit all over her ugly-ass dress. “Where is she?”
She rolls her eyes. “I think there’s a better question to be asked, don’t you?”
I don’t know what she’s talking about, so I don’t reply.
But she steps up to me and places her hands around the back of my neck, locking her fingers together. “Will she stay?” she whispers. “We all know your reputation, Matthew. I wouldn’t be surprised if she learned something tonight that she didn’t know before she arrived. Something that might have made her change her mind about you.”
I reach behind my neck and pull her locked fingers apart. I drop her hands and they fall to her sides. “If you said anything to her . . .” I threaten.
She shrugs carelessly. “I didn’t say a word, did I, Kimberly?”
Kimberly steps up. “I can honestly say she didn’t say anything.” Then she smiles and I know it’s not Trisha who said anything. It was her.
I shake my head as I turn on my heel, walking away from them. I quickly sweep the room, realizing she isn’t here. She must have left. I walk outside and find the rows of limos. I can’t tell which is ours, so I call the driver and he promises to swing around to pick me up. Five minutes later, I’m sliding into the back seat, pushing the button to lower the partition.
“Did you take my fiancée home?” I ask.
“No, sir. I haven’t seen her since I dropped you off,” he states.
I sink down into the seat, hoping and praying I catch her at home—that she doesn’t do anything rash until she talks to me. I can make this right. I have to make this right. I can’t imagine living my life without her. I refuse to live my life without her.
We finally make it back home and I rush up to the apartment. The place is deathly quiet as I make my way back to her room, which she hasn’t been using lately. I walk in and find it empty. I rush to the bathroom, opening the door, but it’s empty too. I open the closet door and see that everything is gone. I spin around in a panic and find her ring on top of a single piece of paper. I read over it and my world comes crashing down around me.
I slide the ring into my pocket and crumple the note, tossing it to the side. I grab my phone from my pocket as I head for the door. I call her number again and again on my drive over, but she never answers. Finally, I park in front of her building and rush inside. I try opening her door, but of course, it’s locked. I have to settle with pounding on it.
“Poppy, open this door,” I demand.
But no sounds come from inside. So I try again. “Poppy, please. We have to talk.”
“Go away, Matthew,” she finally says.
Just hearing her voice settles my erratic heart rate. I lean my forehead against the door and place my hand next to it as if I could somehow touch her through it. “Please, open up. Let me in, Poppy.”
“There’s nothing left to say or do. We’re over. Give the police the video if you must.”
I pull my hand back and hit the door loudly. “Dammit, Poppy! Let me in. I’m not going away. This isn’t over. Not for me. Give me a chance to explain.”
I hear her unlock it and quickly step back. Moments later, it’s swinging open and she’s standing before me.
“There’s nothing to explain, Matthew.” She shakes her head. “It’s done. Just leave it.”
I rush forward the moment I see her start to close the door. She’s in my arms in the next second, and I’m kicking the door closed behind us. “Stop, please. Tell me what happened,” I plead.
I have her pinned between me and a wall and I’m not moving until she tells me exactly what happened—what made her run not only from the party, but from me.
“I don’t fit in with those people, and that only reminded me that I don’t fit into your world. If we get married, I’ll just be forced into this little box of expectations—not only by your father, but by your friends too. I don’t want that. I don’t want to live constantly worrying if I’ll be accepted. I don’t want the headache of always having to play a role and keep up appearances. That’s your world. Not mine.”
I shake my head. “That’s not my world anymore, and I realized that tonight. I was there waiting by the restroom door for you. I was going to take you away from there. I want you—not them. Not that life.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t want me. You want the version of me you created: the woman who goes to the gym, who knows which fork to use for the salad, and who wears priceless family heirlooms and doesn’t have to bother to shop because the store will come to her. That’s not me.”
“Dammit, Poppy! I don’t care about any of that. You don’t want the ring? Fine! I’ll give it back to my grandmother. I’ll buy you one from Walmart if you want! You don’t want the dresses, fine. I’m pretty sure we’ll never need another one after we get married anyway. I don’t want that world anymore. I want the world we’ve created. Please . . .” My words fall away as I rest my forehead against hers. “Please, just don’t leave. I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll give up anything you want. I just want you. I only need you.”
I take a chance and press my lips to hers. They’re stiff—not yet ready to give in. But I breathe her in deeply, letting her scent settle over me like a thick blanket. I can feel her in my mind, heart, and soul. My whole body is consumed with her like she’s a drug and I’m addicted. I’m ready to give myself over.
“Please,” I beg against her lips. “I only want you. I love you,” I say, kissing her jaw and her neck as my hands roam her body, grasping anything I can hold on to.
“Please,” I beg again, making my way back to her lips. “I love you,” I repeat.
I feel her resolve give way. Her love for me comes rushing out. Her lips move with mine and her hands move up to fist in my hair. She tugs me closer, even though it’s impossible to get any closer without moving through her. Now that she’s kissing me, I know that everything will be okay. I pick her up against me and carry her into the living room. I have no idea where her room is, but I don’t care. All I need is her. I don’t need a bed.
I press her back against the wall again and her hands get busy pulling my clothes away.
“I love you too,” she whispers.
I pull back and see fresh tears in her eyes. I raise my hands, wiping them away with my thumbs. “Don’t cry. I’m here. We’re together. That’s all we’ll ever need.” My lips crash against hers again, and this time, we don’t stop. We don’t stop kissing, or touching, or loving. One round of lovemaking only leads us to the bedroom where we start all over again.
After round four, we finally fall asleep, holding on to each other like that’s the only thing that matters, ‘cause it is the only thing that matters.
In the morning, I wake and find her sound asleep next to me. She’s still naked from the night before, the blanket only covering her lower half as she sleeps on her stomach, facing me. She’s beautiful—breathtaking. Why isn’t there a stronger word for what she is to me? I’m not just in love with this woman. I am absolutely, completely, irrevocably, totally in love—wrapped up, consumed with her. She’s the reason I breathe. She’s the reason I was born. She’s the reason I’m going to have a good, long, happy life. Gravity isn’t holding me here anymore. Only she is.
Her eyes flutter open and lock on mine. A sleepy smile covers her face when she sees me. I lean forward a
nd press a kiss to her head. “Good morning. Did you sleep well?”
She stretches. “Not really. This bed sucks,” she laughs out and I join her.
“So, what do you say to going back to my place?”
“It is much more comfortable there,” she agrees.
“So the wedding is back on?” I say, almost afraid to ask.
“With a few conditions.”
I scoot down until we’re eye level. “What are your conditions?”
“I never have to go to another fancy party.”
“Agreed.”
“You won’t try forcing me into a round hole when I’m a square peg.”
I laugh. “Okay.”
“And . . . you wake me up with mind-blowing sex every single morning.”
My smile widens. “Oh, I think I can handle those conditions,” I agree, rolling us over until I’m hovering above her. “Round five,” I say, moving in for a kiss.
Twenty-Nine
Poppy
“Are you ready for our flight, soon-to-be Mrs. Lewis?” he asks, grabbing my hand and pulling me to his chest.
“I’m ready,” I agree, moving in to press my lips to his. I’ve never been more ready to marry this man.
“Good. I might get you to the island and hold you hostage,” he jokes, whispering against my lips.
“I wouldn’t even fight you.”
We land and make it to our little piece of forever. It’s exactly the same as I remember it. Nothing has changed except it may be even more beautiful now. The wedding is in three days, and sadly, we’re not alone. All the wedding preparations are going into effect. The wedding planner is here with her team of people who boat in every day to get to work, setting up the altar, chairs, and decorations. The chef and his team are here, prepping and preparing for the dinner. And while all this craziness is going on around us, we’re not affected by any of it. We stay locked up in our bedroom, feeding each other things we’ve managed to steal from the kitchen, making love, and sleeping like we haven’t gotten to in a decade. Every morning, people boat in only to boat out at night. Nightfall is the only time we have alone, and that’s when we emerge from our bedroom, usually to make love in other parts of the house or on the beach, or to cool off in the ocean.
Breaking up with My Boss: An Enemies to Lovers, Office Romance (Love You Forever Book 4) Page 18