Of course my mother feels directly responsible, because she’s the one who pushed me to take Brittany. It doesn’t matter how many times my father and I assure her she couldn’t have known, and that Armstrong is responsible for his own actions, she’s still going to feel culpable. Just like she did when things with Armstrong became so unstable when we were teenagers.
My mother is a good woman with a great heart, and right now hers is broken because of what’s happened, and her perceived involvement in the demise of this marriage. Never mind that even if Armstrong hadn’t messed up tonight, there’s a good chance he would’ve done it eventually.
I worry about the impact this is going to have on my mother and her health. The stress isn’t good for her. She battled cancer and won a couple of years ago. During that time, she was the most gracious, selfless sick person I’ve ever encountered. The kind of woman who refused to allow her illness to interfere with her charity work or her family dinners.
When she had her cancer scare I was the one she told first, even before my father. It took her months to tell him. At the time, Bancroft was traveling with his team and Griffin was my dad’s right hand, so I took on the role of caretaker and confidant—it’s pulled us closer, although we were already close to begin with.
For that reason, I was the one who witnessed how difficult it was for her. I kept the secret until it was too much for just the two of us, respecting her desire to protect everyone from her pain.
I made it my responsibility to ensure every event she was in charge of still happened, and that she took the time she required to heal. It meant I slacked a lot more with my job working with my father at the Mills hotel empire. It caused some friction, and reinforced the assumption that I wasn’t taking my job seriously, but I took the heat because mothers aren’t replaceable and mine devoted her entire existence to making sure she raised three respectful boys. I’d rather have people think I’m a screwup than take away my mother’s pride and purpose.
The gossip over this is going to be disgusting and Gwendolyn, my mother’s sister and Armstrong’s mother, is bound to cause trouble. Making up excuses for how this couldn’t possibly be her precious son’s fault.
My father is currently ranting about how this generation places no value on the sanctity of marriage. I have to agree as far as Armstrong’s values are concerned. I’m glad I wasn’t raised in a home where marriage is just a word. My parents are devoted to each other and it shows.
“I think it would be best if we got you out of town until the worst of this blows over.”
“Harrison!” my mother chastises.
“I’m sorry, Meredith.” He covers her hand with his and gives it a squeeze. “Poor choice of words. It’s actually a good opportunity. There are some properties that need attention on the Polynesian Islands that you could visit. You’ll need to book a flight as soon as you can and we can get all the files ready before you go. I think it might be best for you to work from home until then, though, just to avoid all the gossip because we know how much your aunt and your cousin like to talk.”
He has a valid point. If my being out of the country will help slow the gossip roll, or take my family out of the line of fire, I’m willing to do what my father asks. I worry how this is going to go down for Amalie, but there’s nothing I can do about that. “Okay. If you think it’s going to make things easier.”
My father taps on the arm of his chair; he’s moved from angry lecture to full-on business mode. Despite my still being under the influence of a substantial amount of alcohol, so am I.
I make notes on my phone while he talks. I pull up the most frequented review sites and check out some of the resorts in the Polynesian Islands. “It looks like I should focus my attention on Bora Bora based on what I’m seeing here.”
“Good. Book yourself a flight, but give yourself enough time to prepare.”
“Should I book a return ticket or leave it open-ended?”
“Open-ended is probably better in case there are other properties that also need attention.”
“That works.” It’s hard to believe that not long ago Amalie was wearing lingerie, begging me to fuck her and now I’m being sent out of the country to avoid the backlash of this bullshit.
“I’ll have your assistant forward along any pertinent information we don’t manage to secure before you leave.”
“I could stop at the office on the way home and grab what I can?” I offer.
“That’s a good idea.” He taps the arm of the chair. “I know this isn’t ideal, Lexington, but these could and should be some of our most exclusive and best performing hotels, so I’m trusting you to stay focused while you’re there and try not to worry about what’s going on here.”
“I fully understand and I’ll do my best.”
“I expect you will. I know you’re capable of great work when your head is in it.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I’ve been working my ass off for the last six months, trying to redeem myself for my fuck-up in London last spring. And I did fuck up. That trip came on the heels of Armstrong and Amalie’s engagement party. I thought I could deal with the whole wedding thing, but it was Armstrong’s need to rub it in my face that pushed me over the edge at the engagement party. All the little digs, the snide comments he dropped, the ostentatious engagement ring, and the constant bragging about taming a wild one were more than I could handle. I spent a good part of the trip alone and shitfaced, micromanaging Bane and generally driving him insane.
I admitted to having dropped the ball, and I had wanted to be the one to rectify the error, but my father had taken me off the project and put my brother on it. Since then I’ve been trying to earn back the trust I lost. Having my younger brother come in and take over was another punch in the balls. It’s not his fault he’s inherently good at everything he does, but sometimes his golden-boy status pisses me off, especially on top of my already shitty shit sundae.
My father takes his glasses off and folds the arms while my mother yawns. “I think we’re all tired here, so it might be best to call it a night and we can discuss any questions in the morning.”
“Sounds good.” I push up out of the chair and my mother rises. She’s still in her heels, but even with them on she barely reaches my chin. Her smile is pained as she steps up and straightens my tie, as is her habit. She purses her lips and adjusts my collar, then rubs at a spot on my neck.
Fuck. I know exactly what that is.
“Is that a—”
I put a hand over hers, hoping my expression conveys the silent message not to finish the question.
Pursing her lips, she moves her palm to my cheek. “That girl has no self-respect at all. I’m so sorry, Lexington. I promise not to play matchmaker with you anymore, obviously my choices lack class.”
I clasp her hand in mine. She’s shaky. “It’s not your fault, Mom. Please don’t blame yourself.” I’m certainly not going to tell her the hickey isn’t from Brittany. Since Brittany is already a villain, it doesn’t hurt to throw some extra fuel on the villainous fire.
She gives me a sad smile. “Thank you.”
I don’t think she’s referring solely to my comment, but also possibly my lack of fight over being sent out of the country for something that essentially isn’t my fault. “Just for you, though.” I hug her, hoping this whole thing doesn’t cause another rift between my mother and my aunt. Just as Armstrong is an ass, Gwendolyn can be a bitch.
I wait until the elevator is heading to the hotel lobby before I pull up flight info for Bora Bora. The elevator doors slide open and I step into the lobby, thankful it’s virtually empty. I should’ve asked my driver to meet me at a side entrance. I walk briskly, keeping my gaze locked on my phone to appear engaged and to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might still be here.
“Lexy!” The shrill, unwelcome voice almost trips me up.
I accelerate and pretend I don’t hear her, but the clip of approaching heels warns me escape is not possible. She reaches me jus
t as I push through the doors and step into the blustery New York night.
“Hey!” Brittany grabs my arm.
“Don’t.” I yank free of her grasp and she stumbles back a step, wide eyes sad and glassy.
She clasps her hands in front of her chest and drops her head. “I’m sorry.”
I ignore the apology. “What’re you still doing here?”
She lifts a shoulder. It’s cold and she’s not dressed appropriately for the weather. The shawl covering her arms does nothing to stop the wind blowing up her too-short skirt. “My parents left without me. I thought maybe I should wait for you . . . but that was probably a bad idea, huh?”
I take a deep breath. A headache knocks against my temples. “Yes, it was a bad idea, Brittany. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’ve caused tonight?”
She fidgets a little with her purse and her hair, then sighs before she says something that makes me hate Armstrong even more. “Armstrong said he could help me get a modeling contract through Moorehead Media.” She rushes on. “No one was ever supposed to find out, and no one is ever really faithful anymore, and it’s not like you were all that interested tonight what with how mopey you were. And then you just up and disappeared after dinner, so I took the opportunity. I didn’t mean to ruin the wedding.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Armstrong and Brittany definitely deserve each other. I really don’t have the energy to manage this situation right now. My anger is too big, and if Brittany keeps talking I’m going to say something regrettable. “You should go home.”
I take her by the elbow and lead her to a waiting cab. I open the door and motion for her to get in. She slides over as if I’m joining her. “You have a credit card to pay for this?” I ask.
“So you’re not coming with me?”
“No, Brittany.”
“Why not?”
I rub the space between my eyes. “Do you honestly need to ask?”
She adjusts her skirt so she’s not at risk of flashing me or the cab driver. “But Armstrong said you wouldn’t care.”
I bark out a laugh. “You blew the groom at a wedding that wasn’t yours. Even if I didn’t care, what you’ve done is morally reprehensible.”
Her brow furrows. I assume it’s because I’ve used a word that has far too many syllables. She cocks her head to the side, her gaze focused on my neck. “Is that a hickey?”
“Good night, Brittany.” I slam the door and knock on the roof, then drop into the backseat of my own waiting car. This has been a miserable night, and I feel like the coming days are going to be more of the same until I’m out of the country and away from Armstrong’s drama. I wonder if it’s going to be as easy for Amalie.
Five: Anti-Honeymoon
Amie
I think I’ve cried more in the past three hours than I have in my entire life. What’s most telling is that my tears are primarily over how I’m going to manage this humiliation, not that Armstrong cheated on me. I think it might be shock. I’m sitting in Ruby and Bane’s living room nursing a glass of Perrier.
My luggage had been in the bridal suite, still waiting to be brought to our honeymoon penthouse for the night, but we’d run out of time and I’d forgotten to ask someone to take it up. Turns out that was for the best. Bane grabbed the luggage when he left the hotel and brought it back here.
Ruby felt her and Bane’s place would be a safer bet than mine, since there’s security and a doorman to prevent Armstrong from gaining access. And then there’s Bane, of course, who seems to be more than happy to act as my bodyguard.
Armstrong has been texting me incessantly. The messages have grown increasingly desperate over the past couple of hours.
The latest ones read:
Please respond, Amalie, we need to discuss how to manage this misunderstanding.
I’m certain we can find a reasonable way to handle this if you’ll just answer me.
We need to present a united front to alleviate the negative media attention.
I’m at your apartment but since you never gave me a key I can’t get in.
He’s never had a key because he never wanted to come to my apartment on account of the lack of amenities. I don’t respond, but a few minutes later I receive another series of messages:
I can see that you’re reading my messages. Are you home? Can you hear me knocking?
Where are you? Why aren’t you home yet?
We need to talk.
This wasn’t intentional.
The police are here. Did you call them? For God’s sake, Amalie, answer me!
I toss my phone on the couch and sigh. In the few hours I’ve been at Ruby’s I’ve only spoken to my mother, and very briefly. I was surprised, and relieved, when she didn’t mention forgiving Armstrong for his transgression even once during our conversation. She only wanted to know if I was safe, and to make sure I wasn’t with that “perverted liar of a husband.”
She also wanted to come to me, but I told her I’d be okay, and that I’d call her in the morning. When I asked where Dad was she mumbled something about the hotel bar. I sincerely hope this doesn’t result in another one of my father’s extended business trips or a monthlong excursion to a relaxation spa for my mother.
They’ve been off and on for as long as I can remember, but this wedding has been something that united them. They’d been so supportive of what they believed was a good choice for my future.
Any kind of stress is bad for my mother’s health and I worry that this could have some kind of ripple effect. Not that there’s anything I can reasonably do to prevent it now. It’s my own mess of a life I’m going to have to focus on.
I rest my forehead on my knee. “I can’t believe I threw myself at Lexington.”
“I’m sure you’re not the first and you won’t be the last.”
“That makes me feel so much better.” I huff a laugh, then shiver at the memory of the way I’d taken him to the ground and straddled him. At the way he’d flipped me over and tried to stop me. I’d felt him, against my palm and between my legs. He’d been hard. And big. Big and hard. He’s a big man all over. I never really considered how big until he was on top of me.
His words ping-pong around in my head. No was the very last thing I wanted to say to you. I can’t imagine he meant it. I seriously must’ve had a complete mental break to act the way I did.
“You were pretty upset.”
“I cut a fifteen-thousand-dollar dress in half.” In all fairness, I’d wanted something vintage and off the rack, but Armstrong and Gwendolyn were totally against it, so I’d ended up with an overly poofy, excessively expensive dress.
Ruby pets my hair. “It was a very Anarchy Amie thing to do, and understandable, considering.”
I lost that nickname, for the most part, when I started dating Armstrong. It came on the heels of my sometimes unruly behavior as a teen. I had a tendency to get into trouble. Often it was directly related to the boys I liked to date. Once my parents went away for a weekend and the guy I was seeing at the time thought we should throw a house party. It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last either. It seemed like a good idea—until it went viral and my entire school population showed up—along with some college boy who’d been chatting me up on social media. That was a messy night.
The nickname was well earned over the years considering all the stunts I’d pulled. I discovered that when I caused trouble during one of their business trips/spa escapes, my parents would be forced to cut the trip short so they could deal with me. It was definitely a classic case of me seeking my parents’ attention. It resulted in a couple of near expulsions from school, a slew of boyfriends who I assume all ended up in prison, and several parties where the police were called.
But I’m an adult now, and I don’t want my own police record—which almost happened with my most recent ex. I never wanted to see or experience that kind of disappointment from my family again, so I tried to be a better, less rebellious version of myself.
<
br /> After the almost-arrest in the Mexico airport, I felt like if I picked someone good, someone they’d approve of, I could undo some of the damage that last relationship had caused and make them proud again. They’d been so excited for the wedding, and it made me feel like I was doing the right thing. I don’t want this failure to affect them negatively, but if I’m honest, it felt good to cut that stupid fucking dress in half. Freeing, really. I hated it. The frills, the lace-up back, the poof—none of it was for me. All of it was for someone else.
I peek up at Ruby. My head is all over the place. I don’t know how to deal with all of these conflicting emotions, the ones I’ve been fighting this entire time. The ones I’m going to have to face now that my future has been blown apart by public fellatio.
“I’m going to have to annul this marriage.”
Ruby rubs my back soothingly. “Can Pierce help with the annulment? Can you call him in the morning and get the paperwork started?”
“I’m pretty sure. He’s not a divorce attorney, but someone at his firm can probably help. Oh my God, what am I going to do about my job?” Maybe I need something stronger than Perrier.
There’s no way I can go back to Moorehead Media after this. I’ve sustained enough humiliation where Armstrong is concerned.
“Let’s just deal with one thing at a time. That’s not something you need to think about right now. You have weeks to figure that out.”
She’s right, but thinking about my job is easier than thinking about how all of my choices over the past year lead to the horror of this night. “I can’t believe this happened. Or maybe I can. I don’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just before Armstrong asked me to marry him, I told my mom I wasn’t sure about my feelings for him.”
The briefest flash of hurt passes across Ruby’s face. Of all the people I should’ve had that conversation with, it’s her. But then maybe her honesty was what I’d been afraid of. “What did she say?”
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