Last: A Copperslane Romance Novel

by Garnet Christie

  “What do you like to eat?” Brett’s voice is the dictionary’s description of considerate, and I know he’s addressing me, but I act like I don’t hear him. “You strike me as a pasta girl. Maybe lasagna?”

  My lips press together in a firm line.

  “Bee?” Cora’s not going to let me ignore him.

  Resting the menu down, I shoot him a stilted smile. “I hate lasagna, and hopefully I order something you find revolting.”

  He actually laughs. It sounds real, not like the dark one from earlier. His shoulders shake with the husky sound, and if I wasn’t pissed, I’d swoon over it. Lighter tones of brown spark in his gaze as leans toward me. “I’m sure you have great taste. I’ll order whatever you’re having.” He smiles so amiably it could melt the panties off a blind grandma.

  I tap one finger on the tabletop, agitation bundling in my nerves. “Please don’t.”

  “Bianca.” Lizzie locks eyes with me past Brett and frowns. The rebuke in her voice is soft, but you can’t mistake it for anything else.

  Brett shrugs and briefly gives his attention to my friend. “Is she always this sassy?”

  “Gosh no.” Lizzie’s reply is weak and her shoulders curl inward.

  “That’s a shame,” Brett says. “Because it’s cute. Don’t scold her.” He brings his head closer to hers. “I like it.”

  Dear Lord. The tone of his voice . . . if this is how he charms his victims, it’s a total slam dunk. If he hadn’t poked so many holes in my perception of him, I’d be scolding me too.

  Lizzie doesn’t utter another word. There’s a tremor in her hand and crimson in her ears. If there was a wine glass present, she’d be clutching for it. She always crumbles with strong male attention.

  Brett redirects his focus on me. “I’m a veal man myself.”

  “Calf murderer.” I mutter it, snatching up my menu, refusing to spare him a glance. Annoyance threads through my chest when he chuckles, forcing my body to stiffen.

  “Hey,” Cora pipes up. “I like veal too, so cast some stones this way.”

  “Awesome.” Brett’s voice is so fake and happy it turns my stomach sour. “Looks like I’m in great company.”

  My heart sinks to my toes when Cora responds by laughing. Great. Just great. In less than five minutes, he’s hooked my friends in his snare. Debating openly won’t work and will make me look bad. I’ll need to talk to both of them in private since I’m sure that whatever I do at this table, Brett will flip it on its head.

  Looks like my night is going to blow after all. My shoulders fold into themselves, making my frame smaller—it’s a stupid, futile gesture, but physically retreating makes me feel a bit safer from the deceit Brett spreads out.

  Some unease flits away when silence overtakes us. Brett’s presence is throwing any conversation we would naturally have off kilter. The off timed throat clearing and sighs of Brett, Cora, and Lizzie catch my ears. I never look or make a sound, opting to keep my face in the menu. I’m sad knowing the waiter will take it away soon. It’s a great shield—the perfect Brett deflector.

  “So,” Cora knocks her knuckles on the table, shattering our quiet. “What are the plans for tomorrow?”

  “Bianca wants to go check out that Apple Cottage store,” Lizzie says, which puts unwanted focus on me.

  “That sounds interesting.” When Brett says it, my nails bite into the menu. “I heard about that place and wanted to check it out. You’re going tomorrow?”

  My mouth opens to object.

  “Sure are.” Cora cuts me off. “We’re leaving at ten, just so you know.”

  No. Shit. No. I clamp down on my tongue. Anxiety swirls inside. The Apple Cottage is a store off the beaten path with a certain amount of kitsch. I found it online and they sell slices of homemade apple pie and cobbler. You can eat and shop. I’ve been pumped about going here, and I’ll be damned if he ruins it—which he’s going to do.

  “What kind of vehicle did you ladies come in?” His shoe brushes my leg as he props an ankle on top of his knee. I feel like it’s on purpose. Since I won’t give him my attention, he’s doing everything he can to remind me he’s still here. “If there’s room, we could all go together.”

  The menu fumbles in my hands, and the words have my stomach in my throat.

  “Oh.” Cora’s voice slides up to a higher tone. She seems pleased. “That sounds great.”

  Looking at her, my eyes are wide. I shake my head.

  She doesn’t pay me any mind. “We’re in my Crossover. There’s lots of—”

  Damn. “Actually.” The menu falls from my hands, floating down to my plate. Screw Brett. I’d rather miss out on the trip than be miserable with him. “I’m not going.”

  “What?” Lizzie and Cora say it in unison.

  “But you’ve been so excited about this.” A strand of Lizzie’s hair dangles on the table when she bends over, staring at me with an open mouth. “What changed?”

  My gaze flicks to Brett. Bastard. The smug smile tweaking up his lips sends a pulse down my fist. God, I’d love to punch him. He knows exactly what he’s doing. An old adage plays in my mind. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. And right now, if I’m reading this right, he’s opted to keep me close. Very close.

  Folding my arms across my chest, I lean back in my seat. “My agent wants to talk to me about some book ideas I have.”

  “Really?” Cora tilts her head, and through the haze of those purple contacts, I watch her try to dissect me. She probably knows I’m lying. “What book idea is this?”

  “Mmm. This one’s really interesting.” Fatigued at the way Brett encroaches on my space, I cross my leg at the knees making sure my shin rubs against his foot. My pulse stutters when he clears his throat and shifts.

  At least I have some effect on him, and that’s the best feeling I’ve had all year.

  Tilting my head back, I keep my vision locked on Cora. “It’s about this douche, who’s nothing but a piece of crap and only thinks about himself. I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but his ending is going to be sad and lonely, where everyone despises him.” I shrug. “I might even kill him off in the final chapter.”

  Brett coughs and pats his chest. Cora’s brows squish together.

  “That sounds awful.” Lizzie’s soft voice sounds flabbergasted.

  “Yeah,” Cora winces. “Even I have to agree with that. I’m not sure I’d read it.”

  “Well, I would.” I tug at my ear and fake my best doe eyes, gazing up to Brett. “Would you read something like that?” I fake a sugary voice.

  “Uhh,” The ire in his eyes fades and a warmness creeps in. He darts his vision away from me, scratching at his nape. Even under the dim lights, I notice a slight pink shading his tan complexion.

  It’s my first time witnessing this alphahole falter. I have to say it’s a beautiful sight. One that sends satisfaction humming through my limbs. After a second longer, one side of his mouth raises. It strips away the natural brood, and for a flash, I see a softness that wasn’t there before—it forces me to wonder how deep it goes.

  How deep is his well? Is he all dried up, comprising of deadness and cruelty? I’m not sure, all I can hope is that he’s not like this with everyone and that I’m merely seeing the worst version of him.

  “I . . . uhhh.” He chuckles softly. “I don’t actua—”

  “Are we ready to order?” The server appears out of thin air, killing our discussion.

  We order, and sure enough, Brett copies my choice of chicken marsala. And maybe I’m being petty, but knowing he’s experiencing what I am spoils my dish. Especially as our night drags on.

  Anytime Cora and Lizzie try to start up a conversation with me, he interrupts. It doesn’t matter what we’re talking about. Makeup, music, movies, getting our nails done . . . he has some kind of input that always ends up cutting off my answers—but he does it so obligingly that my friends can’t see it for how it’s intended. The only signals I get are the occasional co
cky smirks he sends my way. Each one strips my composure that much more.

  He’s trying to control me. That thought circulates through my brain an hour and a half later. I have to think that Brett is so hellbent on getting me to keep my mouth shut that he doesn’t want me to talk at all.

  I frown. Dick-bag is ruining everything. Light glints off my silver fork as I swirl it through my pasta with zero gusto. Our meal is winding down. I’ve hardly eaten, thanks to his innumerable interruptions and my jumbled nerves. It gets worse. My shoulders tighten at the tone of his voice.

  “Bianca, you’ve hardly touched your food.” I smell peppermint and red wine embanking me on the right. Glancing over, Brett’s infringing on my space yet again, fake concern playing in his eyes. “Is there something wrong with it? We’ve been here a while, but I could send it back.”

  Aggravation grinds me raw, to my marrow. Brittle composure snaps inside me like a dead stick. I squint, unable to live under the thick cloud of lies he’s trying to sell. “Don’t.” The word growls out.

  “Don’t?” He cocks his head. “Don’t send it back? But if you’re not happy with it—”

  Cora and Lizzie are both absorbed in their phones. We’re undetected. “Stop.”

  “Stop?” He uses a confused voice, and God, it’s infuriating, igniting hot blood in my veins. “Stop what? I don’t understand.”

  That’s it. I’m so done it’s not even funny. I sneer and look away. Pushing hair off my shoulders, I sit higher in my seat and force a louder voice. “Has anyone heard from Monica?”

  Brett goes rigid beside me. He stiffens more when Cora places her phone down.

  “Ha. No.” Cora rests her elbows on the table. “I haven’t seen her for a while.”

  “I have.” I feel Brett’s eyes digging into my back, but I don’t care. This is what he gets for threatening and harassing me—a huge warning shot. I’m not ready to out him yet, but I will if I have to. Hopefully me mentioning her scares the shit out of him. “I saw her the other night at . . . AH!”

  Liquid hits my blouse. There’s a shatter of glass while something collides on the floor, but it drowns out in the distance.

  No. Looking down, my heart shreds in two. There’s a red splotch on Mom’s blouse. Wine. Red alcohol bleeds through the sheerness of my top, marring it for life.

  Hot tears streak my vision. My hands shake. I can’t breathe. “Oh . . .” The singular sound wrangles out of me. The longer I stare, the more my stomach knots into sickness.

  “Damn, Bianca.” I hear Brett’s voice. It pulls me back to the land of the living. My blurry gaze locks on the two cold, distant eyes of Brett as he lightly dabs at my shirt with a napkin. “Me and my big arms. I shouldn’t have put my glass there.”

  The false apology swirls painfully in my ears, growing when a mocking smile passes over his mouth. Anyone else would miss it, but he lets me see it long enough to get the point across.

  I hunch over, clutching at my chest. “You—you—you . . .” Finishing my words isn’t possible. Not when my heart just shriveled up and died. A sob breaks free.

  “Bianca?” Brett’s voice deepens, and his large hand cups my shoulder. Trembling, I look up and notice his disdain falling away. What looks like genuine concern brings his brows together, and a paleness splashes across his features. “Bianca?” My name comes out breathless and his thumb grazes across my shoulder.

  His touch and voice are revolting. “Don’t.” I jerk away and stand—my skin crawling at the sensation of him. Jerking to my feet, my chair topples over.

  He’s towering over me before I can comprehend him rising from his chair. “Bianca?” When he holds his hand out, I back up.

  My feet tangle around the legs of my fallen seat. I wobble but catch myself, aware of only one thing––the hole in my chest. A massive, burnt, bleeding, aching hole that Brett’s placed there. My blouse is ruined. Mom’s last article of existence is ruined because of this monster.

  Tears slide down my cheeks. Then I notice the deafness swirling in the air. Everyone is watching, not moving or breathing. Cora and Lizzie are on either side of me, and I’m only now noticing them.

  We’ve created a ruckus, and I’m the focus when I’d rather be under a rock. Glancing up at Brett once more, I can’t stop the trembling of my lip, and the workings of a wail climb up my throat—so I leave.

  Scooping up my purse and jacket, I dart away from the scene.

  “Bianca, wait!”

  I ignore the sound of Brett’s voice and run out the restaurant, its walls smearing around me, while I gasp for air.

  Brett’s destroyed my most loved possession on earth. I hate him for it. I thought this man was a thorn in my side, but now I know him as someone who further breaks the jagged pieces of my heart, and I can’t forgive him for that. I just can’t.

  Chapter 7

  Maybe it’s ridiculous to be in emotional shambles over a ruined blouse, but that’s what’s happening. Tears trickle over the bridge of my nose and slide down my cheeks before seeping into the pillow beneath me. Clutching the shirt against me, I sob once more, unable to breathe through my nose. I still can’t believe it happened, and while it shouldn’t seem like a big deal, it is.

  A frown captures my mouth while thinking of Mom. Envisioning her causes my fingers to dig into the article of clothing, almost like she’s still here and I’m clinging to her. But she’s not here, and she left far too soon.

  Accepting that all over again sends a fresh burn through my sternum.

  I was a junior in high school when it happened. Mom and Dad argued while I was staying over at a friend’s house. Hearing that Mom fought with Dad that evening always struck me as odd. It wasn’t something she’d ever done—but neighbors told me Mom could be heard that night, screaming at my dad to stop hitting her.

  By the time police arrived, Mom was already gone, checking into a hotel, and Dad wasn’t arrested because what occurred was ‘just a little tiff’ according to him.

  Some tiff.

  A hotel worker found Mom in the bathtub the next morning. Two slices to the wrist. That’s the end she chose for herself. She only picked it because of him. Whatever Dad said to her that night, it killed her.

  Waking up to a phone call the next morning and receiving that news was like having your heart ripped out while beating and then watching it get smashed. What followed was worse. I went home the next day to find Mom’s belongings destroyed.

  Every picture of hers? Burnt. Jewelry? Sold to a pawnshop. All her clothes? Cut into squares with a pair of scissors. I lost every piece of her. Except for the blouse. It was in my closet because I had worn it for school pictures earlier that week. I snagged it because I loved it and thought it was the most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. Mom had been pestering me to give it back. Thank God I didn’t.

  When I confronted Dad about what he did, he claimed it was because he couldn’t deal with the grief. Looking back, I think he was pissed because he couldn’t control her anymore.

  The blouse became my world for the first few years. When the pain of her absence became too much, I’d take it to bed with me and cry. Tonight, I’ve come full circle. Years later, my head is buried in a stranger‘s pillow to muffle my cries, the shirt nuzzled into my neck.

  I’ll never be able to wear this and be connected to her again. That’s Brett’s doing.

  He’s sullied my last piece of her. It’s like I’m losing her all over again, and loss aches heavy in my chest. Like before, it’s going to take a while to seal. All I can do right now is let out the grief.

  A few hours later, my tears dissipate, and I roll to my other side, determined to sleep, hoping tomorrow will be better somehow.

  That’s a struggle. Dad’s voice disrupts my attempts as his drink ridden tone loops viciously in my head. A haunting shiver races up my spine.

  “Nothing lasts. You won’t last. Your mom didn’t last. Nothing lasts.”

  He’s proving himself right. More so in death. Nothing is lastin
g for me. Not even the memories of Mom.

  Mom.

  I grip the shirt tighter, then exhaustion wins the fight against my eyes and sleep takes over. Sadly, I slumber to Dad’s words, and maybe I’m beaten down right now, but for the first time I feel myself agreeing to what he spoke over me.

  Nothing lasts. In the end, everything good slips away. Even those we love. Especially those we love.

  Chapter 8

  “Oh la-la,” Cora’s voice rings out over the gathered crowd at the lounge as I enter. “Look at what the cat dragged in.”

  We have two nights left of our ‘vacation’ and a few of us have decided to hit up a posh lounge and upper-class rec bar in town. I almost didn’t come, but after a lot of thought, I knew it would be best. People will know I’m still alive. And while I’m not over the idea of Mom’s blouse being ruined, I’ll survive.

  Arriving this late, I’m pretty sure I’m the last one here. It was by choice. I enjoy slipping into places undetected—the dim blue lights melding around the walls thus chilling out the entrance seems like the perfect opportunity for a sneak in.

  However, Cora has ruined that. Several heads turned when I stepped in.

  “Thanks.” I grit my teeth. “Pretty sure everyone heard you.”

  “Good.” She props the sole of her chunky boot on the wall behind her, clear drink in hand. Most likely vodka. That’s her go-to. “You look hot.”

  A giggle slips out. Running my hands down my torso, one of my shoulders pulls up. “Not too bad, huh?” I roll my bottom lip through my teeth and give her a wry smile. It grows when she gives me a once over and nods.

  I’ve picked a silver mesh bodysuit, black wash jeans and nude heels. The top shines metallic under the rotating lights above, and it’s so form fitting I’m wearing a corset underneath. I’ve also gone heavy on the cat eye and smokey shadow, playing up my blue eyes. Yeah, not bad at all.