“I never expected you to stay the same,” she shot back. “But I never expected you to change for the worse. So celebrate away, Harvey, because you’ve definitely succeeded in becoming the worst version of Harvey Zale that’s possible.”
Mean, vicious, spiteful, and exactly what she had wanted to say directly to his face ever since the divorce, but never had the opportunity. She was the one who served the divorce papers, the one who ruined their chance for a happily ever after, the one who walked away from working on their marriage because she didn’t want to patch up something that was infinitely wrong and broken. Even so, she had never been willing to drive the final knife into his heart by spewing out the deepest venom of hatred inside her—the burning resentful truth that she no longer had the ability to love him because she no longer respected him.
He clenched his teeth, his muscles along his jawline twitching like he was controlling the urge to rage against her.
Go ahead, Harvey, she glowered at him. Go ahead and rage, she dared him.
Instead, he swiftly strode toward her, encircling her forearm in his uncompromising grip and drew her body against his own. She gasped as the strength in his hand and the firmness of his chest forced her into submission. As he stared at her in infinite silence, the heat of his breath hovered over her lips. He waited, his hard blue eyes watching for the moment when she might betray a hint of desire and vulnerability within his arms. But she betrayed nothing except resignation—it was the end of their relationship, their friendship, and their reunion. And it had been the end for a very long time.
“I may be a worse man than when you first married me,” he said in a hush, deliberately pronouncing each word as if it was the last thing he ever intended to confess to her. “But I’m definitely still a man of my word, so no matter how much you hate me and all the things that I do, I want you to know that I’ve meant every single word that I’ve said to you in the past two days, and nothing you do or say to me will ever change that.” Releasing his grip and the threat of his kiss, he broke eye contact.
She rubbed her arm and fought back tears, silently cursing him. No, he didn’t deserve to see her cry. He absolutely did not. And he sure as hell didn’t deserve the satisfaction of knowing how much she wanted to cry over everything lost between them.
She got her wish. Without glancing back, he charged up the staircase without her. “Be on my speedboat in five minutes at the river dock. I told your father I’d take you home.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Harvey was reminded of the reason he loved his speedboat—there wasn’t any chance for conversation. Zipping across the surface of the river, full-throttle, he only experienced the wind whipping in his ears and the violent churn of the frothy wake behind him.
He had dropped her off at the edge of the riverfront boardwalk near her condo building, and watched from the pier until the light flicked on in the top-floor penthouse unit—the one they had bought and renovated together. The glow illuminated the circular stained-glass window of a fairy-like woman sitting on a crescent moon, signaling like a beacon that she was safely inside.
Safely inside— and away from him, he thought, revving the boat’s engine and motoring through the glistening waters, reflecting the rays of twilight. It was a sentiment that echoed in his mind all the way home to his own riverfront home. He repeated it over and over as he cast off the docking lines and pivoted the boat into the pier, and by the time he finally trudged up the wooden staircase to his entrance, he had accepted it like a man accustomed to coming home to a silent house.
Soulless silence.
Kicking off his shoes and untucking his shirt, he grabbed a tumbler and a bottle of his favorite brandy and sank down into his leather empire armchair. It would have been now—in these vulnerable moments of heartache and loneliness—that he would have taken comfort in the distraction that his nameless, faceless mysterious Contessa had provided him.
“Nameless, faceless no more,” he called out, toasting his glass into the air with a sad, indignant chuckle, as if their situation was too ironic to be true.
Vzzzzz.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. Pulling it out, he scanned the text, then shut his eyes as if he couldn’t bear it.
I never expected only one night.
He rubbed his forehead and sloshed his drink around in its glass.
Was she really still pursuing it? Even after being stood up?
Of course she was. A greedy, deceitful scumbag like him wouldn’t be allowed to get off that easy by disappearing into thin air without a good-bye or an explanation.
He stroked his chin, considering his options. But as always, she forced his hand.
And I certainly never expected to be left waiting the other night, especially since I made the effort to wax myself bare for you.
He dropped his head and exhaled a long wistful sigh. How cruel the universe was to corrupt the one thing that had given him a tiny measure of solace all these lonely nights.
I’m sorry I left you waiting alone, he texted back. You must think I’m a detestable bastard.
Oh, I definitely know you’re a bastard, she immediately sassed back, reminding him of why he’d been drawn to her from the very beginning. And I didn’t wait alone for long…
He paused, recognizing the voyeuristic window she had just drawn open. He knew it would be wrong—so very wrong—to look through it. But still, he couldn’t help it.
No? he casually answered, luring her in. And why was that?
Because I met an old acquaintance. You’ll be happy to know he bought me a few drinks and kept me entertained.
Sounds like he made it easy for you to forget about me.
He was supposed to be jealous, no doubt. Was that the only reason she was texting? He wondered. To prove she had moved on?
But after a brief silence, she finally answered in a cryptic way that unnerved him. It was easy…until it wasn’t.
He stroked the smooth leather of the chair and stared through the bay window at the view of downtown Chicago. Not long ago, he would gaze out into the city, wondering who she was and where she lived. Now, he knew exactly who she was and where she lived—and it tortured him.
He circled his thumb over the screen of his phone, uncertain how to respond. In that moment, he considered revealing everything. He knew he should have already revealed everything. But she beat him to it and revealed something unexpected.
I’m coming out of a long relationship and perhaps I assigned more importance to our arrangement than I should have to help me get through it.
And just like that, she told him everything.
Our arrangement is very important to me. It’s been the only uncomplicated thing in my life—until very recently.
Then, as if she needed to confirm her biggest fear, she sent out her next text:
Are you married?
He paused, feeling the need to come clean. I used to be.
Girlfriends?
He had to smile. Even in her fantasy world, he was a player with an entourage of women.
None.
Before she could propose other possible excuses and complications, he saved her from having to imagine them.
You’ll just have to trust me. If I could have been there with you, in the way that you wanted me to be, I would have done it. Everything else is just excuses.
He could have left it at that, but his final words echoed in his mind—everything else is just excuses.
He could have steered the conversation away from his failure to meet her and rekindled their affair. He could have asked her what she was wearing—or what she wasn’t wearing—and expressed his need to fondle her waxed slit before slipping his bare cock between her legs, seeking out her warmth and wetness—one last time. He could have sat back and waited, slowly regaining her trust in order to extend the charade, perhaps even for one more night. Just one more night. But ultimately, he knew she deserved more from him.
I need to see you again, he finally replied.<
br />
When?
Tonight.
It’s not possible. I have an important function I have to attend.
Never did he feel like such a conniving deceitful bastard than he did in that moment.
Then tell me where…and I’ll meet you.
She made him wait, clearly weighing the risks of answering the question over choosing never to see him again. He sat up from his chair and paced the living room. He wasn’t sure of his own intentions. He only knew he needed redemption.
It’s a gala at the Field Museum. It starts at eight o’clock. But I’m not certain they’ll let you in without an invitation.
Don’t worry, he confidently shot back. I have connections. I’ll take care of it. Just be sure to wear your antique diamond choker. I want the pleasure of seeing you wear it.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Breathtaking…
When Alma arrived at the top of staircase of the Field Museum, she was reminded of how much she loved Chicago and all its glory. The museum’s Pantheon-inspired grand hallway transported her back in time and she briefly forgot who she was and all the turmoil in her life. Her gaze traced the repeating curves of the archways and vertical lines of the Roman pillars sweeping upwards to the vaulted ceiling, patterned with a checkerboard skylight. Its three hundred-year-old limestone floor embedded with fossils gleamed like modern-day polished granite. Sue, the world’s best, most preserved Tyrannosaurus Rex specimen greeted her with an enigmatic smile—sweeter than the Mona Lisa, she thought, marveling at its twelve inch, dagger-like teeth and massive head the length of a grown man.
One of the museum’s countless historical treasures, Alma thought, savoring how the seventy million-year-old dinosaur fossil perfectly blended into the sumptuous ballroom décor. Dramatic white chiffon drapes cut across the grand hall from floor to ceiling, illuminated by the diffused glow of floor lights. Pristine white tablecloths covered dozens of round tables crowned with majestic floral centerpieces in blown glass vases. Women in evening gowns and men in tuxedos milled around the main attraction—the auctioneer’s podium and viewing pedestal beneath a billowing white canopy where dozens of privately-collected fine art pieces were scheduled to be auctioned off to the highest bidders.
Alma scanned the crowd, looking for familiar faces within the infinite elegance of the grand hall. Aldermen, city officials, wealthy patrons, and even a few of her father’s clients stood out among the sea of champagne flutes and inebriated laughter. But no one conspicuously stared back at her.
He would make her wait again, she thought, descending the ornamental wrought iron staircase beneath the soaring, half-dome belvedere to the main floor. This time, she had come emotionally and mentally prepared to wait for him.
Lifting her chin and sweeping off her faux rabbit fur shawl, she nodded in appreciation to the attendant who exchanged it for a ticket at the foot of the staircase. Alma had taken a painstaking amount of time in deciding what to wear tonight. She knew it had to be a worthy companion to his stunning antique diamond necklace, but as someone who routinely wore the same pair of overalls every day, she fretted for hours before finally settling on the one precious piece of clothing she had stashed away in the back of her closet—a floor-length mother of pearl silk charmeuse gown that radiated with opalescence under the chandelier lights. Its formal sheath bodice created a clinging silhouette all the way down its fluid, minimalist train while its hidden high slit evoked sophistication with every step. Decorative crystals embellished the one shoulder strap, calling attention to its plunging cowl back design—the only vintage flair of the dress—upstaged by a heavy, emerald-cut diamond choker that framed her neckline.
Without warning, the firm touch of a man’s hand pressed against the small of her back.
“They finally valeted the car. Let us hope the auction goes smoother than the parking.”
Alma exhaled, relieved to see her father by her side. His familiar touch guided her toward the center of the grand hall toward the auctioneer’s podium. Despite his confident stride and impeccable black tuxedo, Enrique tugged on his bow tie, compulsively attempting to loosen the noose of the starched collar. Alma recognized the displeasure on his face, knowing how her father hated the high-maintenance game of dressing up as much as she did. But attending luxury galas and auctions hosted by their roster of wealthy clients was just part of their business, and no one was more gracious and courteous in an uncomfortable tailored suit than Enrique Castillo.
A familiar face rushed up to them.
“Where have you guys been? I’ve been here since four o’clock and I’ve been waiting hours for you to show up.”
Surprised, Alma scanned her sister’s catering uniform and serving tray. “You’re working as part of the staff tonight?” She reached out for a flute of champagne.
“Papi pulled some strings and got me the job.”
Their father eyed her. “Are you being good, Conchita?”
“Of course, Papi!” she cried out, flicking back her long black hair and adjusting her red lace bra beneath her white blouse. “I haven’t even had the urge to spit in anyone’s drink yet. Not even once.”
Alma almost spit out her own drink. Enrique, on the other hand, ignored his youngest daughter.
“Alma, please stay with your sister. I see a few of our clients on the other side of the hall. I will go and greet them. Come over when you can.”
He lifted a flute from Conchita’s tray and sauntered across the grand hallway like a man who had been to a thousand galas before this one.
“He expects you to babysit me,” Conchita said, lifting one of the flutes and downing it.
“I can’t imagine why.”
“Yeah, probably because you’ve been doing it my whole life.” She swigged from a second flute. “Who’s he talking to over there, anyway?”
Her eyes followed Conchita’s gaze over to the chocolate fondue fountain. “One of our clients, Madame van der Meer. We appraised her collection of rare antique watches and she’s auctioning off a few of them tonight.”
“So I’m interrupting your work as usual.”
Alma nodded, admiring her father as he worked the room. “Yes, probably. He’s so much better than me at being the social butterfly. I much prefer standing in the corner like a wallflower at these functions unless someone needs me to talk about the differences in appraisal values of jewelry from the Victorian, Edwardian, or Art Deco eras. ”
Conchita flopped her head forward and loudly snored.
“Yeah, I know how much my art history expertise impresses you.”
“About as much as your sex life impresses me,” Conchita snarked. “Although you never dress up like that unless you’re trying to get laid.” She paused, as if she suddenly expected to be clued in. “And I do believe there’s been some movement on that front, right?” Popping a miniature puffed crab cake into her mouth, she crudely thrust her finger back and forth into her hand shaped like an “O.”
Alma stared at her sister, wondering how often Harvey and Conchita traded the details of their relationship. Wasn’t naming her Ballbuster enough?
“There’s nothing to relay about Harvey and me, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s exactly what I mean,” Conchita insisted, stopping one of her catering colleagues and swapping out her champagne flutes for his hors d’oeuvre tray. “I expected you both to show up here together tonight.”
Alma defensively crossed her arms. “Whatever Harvey told you may have happened,” she insisted, “it wasn’t without a lot of alcohol and regret. Trust me.”
“I’m pretty sure the only sex worth remembering involves a lot of alcohol and regret.” Conchita gauged her sister’s empty champagne flute before making the leap. “So you’re not mad at me?”
“Mad at you? For what?”
“For hoping that you two would get back together—even if it was just for one night of fuck-your-heart-and-brains-out-sex-with-your-ex. It was getting old watching you both pretend to hate each ot
her.”
“Oh, we’re definitely not back together. And I definitely still hate him.”
“Okay, sure. Which is why you’re wearing your wedding gown to a public event where you know you’ll run into him.”
Alma marveled at her sister. God, how Conchita had a freakish photographic memory when it came to everything related to shopping and clothes.
“It was supposed to be my wedding gown,” Alma corrected her. “Except Harvey and I eloped and I never had the chance to wear it. I only wore it tonight because it was the only thing I had that could be paired with the necklace.”
Conchita’s gum fell out of her mouth and onto her serving tray. “Holy whoredom, Alma! Did Harvey give you that? Dang…if I got one of those every time I had sex with my ex, I sure as hell wouldn’t be dumping him—again. How can you be so heartless and cruel?”
“Me? I’m the one being cruel?” Alma protested. “I’m not the one acting like a megalomaniac billionaire titan who completely disregards anything without obvious monetary value.”
“Ugh!” Conchita plugged her fake fingernails into her eardrums. “My ears burn when you talk like a public service announcement. Yes, I know. I get it. I get it! You hate how Harvey’s become a filthy rich stud muffin. But most wives would just live with it because he’s still a stud muffin—an attentive, faithful, loyal stud muffin. Hell, most wives would freaking love every minute of it, and if they didn’t, they would just get revenge by maxing out his credit cards, not divorcing him.”
“Well, I don’t want to be a wife who stays in her marriage for the bling,” Alma sassed back. “And I certainly can’t keep waiting around for Harvey to change back into the man that I married, so I’m doing the only thing that I can—”
“Treating your ex-husband like he’s the fast food equivalent of sex on the side?” Conchita interjected. “Or wearing your wedding dress like that creepy Charles Dicken’s character, Miss Havisham?”
Alma deliberately ignored her. “I am trying to put it all behind me and move forward.” She swept her gaze through the crowd, hoping to catch a stranger’s eye. “Which is why I’m waiting to meet someone else here tonight.”
Exes (Billionaire Romance #3) Page 23