“And that’s my problem because…?”
“It’s not, but —”
“Glad we’re on the same page,” he interjected, pointing back to the doorway. “Don’t let the front door hit your lard ass on the way out.”
I held my ground. “Matthew, you know I didn’t do it.”
“Then let them investigate you. What’s the harm in it?” He walked to the coffee table and picked up a Playboy magazine. He rifled through it in front of me. “I love these photos. Of girls who care about themselves. Take care of themselves. Not gorge all day on refined sugar and white flour.”
I ignored the disrespect. I was past caring about his gross obsessions and habits. And I was numb to his cruelty. “The harm in it? Come on, this will set me back years. I’ll lose profit. I’ll probably lose the bakery if they close it down to investigate.”
“Yeah, that’s true,” he replied, then fanned himself with the magazine. “Poor girl, what will you do about it? Maybe you should ask your firefighter lover to save you again. The one with the huge cock and equally huge bank account.”
“What the hell is your problem? What did I do to deserve your fucking disdain?” I snapped, then slapped my thighs. I was tired of being pushed around, specifically by him.
“My problem is you can’t keep your skirt down and your legs closed,” Matthew retorted.
“Right, I don’t need this. I’m leaving. I don’t know what I was thinking, coming to you for help.” I stood and marched towards the exit, my skin prickling with utter rage. How dare he talk to me like that!
I’d never done anything to deserve this kind of treatment. I wasn’t a bad person. I was a human being. He’d dumped me. He’d let me go because —
“I can help you,” he called out. “I can squash the case. Hurry through the investigation. Or … I can sit on it for so long that the banks will call in your loan and you’ll be fucked.”
I turned on my heel and glared at him. “What do you want?”
“Stop seeing the fireman. Don’t speak to Gabe again.”
I glared at him.
“Take your time to formulate an answer. Hell, the longer you wait, the closer you move to bankruptcy.” Matthew bore his teeth, chucked the Playboy back onto the coffee table. “Let me know what you decide.”
I turned away from him to hide my tears. I ran for the door.
“See you soon, Ally,” he shouted after me.
Chapter 17
The cops had already closed the bakery down so they could proceed with their investigation, but even they didn’t work on a Friday night. At least, not investigative work. They were probably prowling the streets.
Matthew had often worked the late shift on Fridays. I’d always worried myself sick about him. A sick feeling of dread every time there was a knock at the door or a ring of my phone. Not so much anymore.
Now, I kinda wanted him to get punched in the face, hit by a drunk driver or shot in the gut without his vest on.
I sat in my living room, sipping a tequila on the rocks. Tequila was low calorie. I paired the drink with a bowl of frosting topped with cherries. If now wasn’t the time to comfort eat, then I didn’t know what was. In spite of Matthew and his vulgar jibes about my weight.
My phone rang and I answered it. “Do you need our help?” Kelly didn’t bother saying hello first. She was pragmatic. I loved that about her. “Pat’s got a pretty good lawyer.”
“Thanks, Kels, but by the time I need a lawyer, it will already be too late. I’m losing money by the day.” I gulped down a spoonful of frosting.
Ah, bliss.
“I’m coming over, we can braid our hair, roast marshmallows, do girly stuff.”
I took another bite. “That’s real sweet, but I’d rather be alone right now.” I couldn’t think of anything less appetizing than having to put on a ‘strong face’ while Kelly supported me with words and gooey, molten marshmallows.
“Ally,” she said.
“No, Kelly, I really need this time alone. Thanks anyway.” I hardened my tone, to cut her off before she got into convincing mode.
“If you’re sure,” she said, her voice tinged with uncertainty.
“I’m sure. Chat later,” I replied, then pressed the red button before she could guilt me into girls’ night. I couldn’t handle that right now.
I needed space, time to think about Matthew’s crazy ultimatum. Gabe had pissed me off like crazy, but that didn’t mean I wanted to lose whatever the hell it was we had. If we had anything.
Damn. I was so confused.
He’d called himself my boyfriend, arrogant jack off. It’d infuriated me at the time, but now, it made my stomach writhe with hopeful butterflies. Like everything would be alright. I reveled in the feeling for a moment more until Matthew flittered into my consciousness. He’d ruin this. Like he’d ruined everything.
Gabe said he wanted more than just a fling. He wanted me for me.
I frowned and slurped my tequila, then chased it with a cherry. “Matthew wanted you too, and look how that turned out,” I said out loud.
Codsworth meowed at my ankles, and turned his knowing kitty eyes on me.
“You can’t have any,” I scolded. “Sugar isn’t good for your constitution. Neither is tequila. Although, I’d love to see your antics if you took a few licks.”
It wasn’t good for mine either, but I was about to lose my lifelong dream, so what the hell. I spooned more into my mouth and let it melt over my tongue.
Chocolate frosting. Please, sir, may I have some more. I ate another spoonful.
My phone buzzed to life again. Probably Kelly, calling back to force me into a onesie. The screen read ‘private caller’ so I pressed the green icon on the screen.
“Stupid bitch,” a woman said into the phone. She slurred it actually. “You’re gonna fucking die for touching him.” Then she hung up.
I stared at the screen, my mouth slightly open. “What the fu —?”
The phone buzzed again. I probably shouldn’t have answered, but there was sick fascination twisting in my gut. I pressed the green icon again.
“Whore!” she screamed this time. She hung up before I could ask who the hell it was.
Some drunk woman on a Friday night who didn’t want me to touch a guy. A guy?
Gabe. Damn it. It was probably him.
Matthew had said that he got around. He used women and then dumped them when he was finished. This chick was probably one of his ex-flings, furious that I’d gotten in the way of whatever had happened between them. If she’d slept with him, she’d want more. His mad bedroom skills weren’t in question.
I squished the plastic of my phone until it squeaked. The phone buzzed again, but I didn’t bother answering it this time. Expletives could go to voice mail. I waited until she’d stopped calling, then dialed Gabe’s number.
“I’m glad you called,” he said. “I wanted to apologize for what happened the other day.”
“How about you apologize for what happened a few seconds ago,” I replied, then inhaled some tequila, choked and crunched on an ice cube.
“What do you mean?”
“I just got a call from some woman who swore at me and told me I’m going to die for touching you.”
“Holy shit,” he exclaimed.
“My sentiments exactly. Care to explain?” I was little tipsy. I licked frosting off the spoon and accidentally dabbed some on the tip of my nose. Make that a little drunk. On tequila.
And sugar.
And lust.
“I have no idea, Allegra.” He clipped the words out as I chewed my bottom lip.
“Are you lying to me again? Is this some woman you’re screwing on the side?”
“No! Allegra —”
“Because if it is, I get it. Look, we’re not dating, not exclusive. Not anything. It’s natural for you to play the field, I guess. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”
“From who? Who told you that?” Gabe growled the questions.
&n
bsp; “Doesn’t matter,” I said around a mouthful of frosting. “Just don’t give out my number to your harem. Okay?”
“Allegra, it’s not like that. Will you just listen for a second?” Gabe shuffled the phone and scratching filled my ear for a second.
“No, I’m done listening. Goodbye, Gabe.”
“Don’t do this,” he pleaded.
“It’s over. Goodbye. Have a good life. Don’t come near my place again.” I hung up and tossed my phone on the chair opposite me. I didn’t own a TV, but I preferred it that way. Jane Austen, sugar straight to the vein and my best friends Kelly and Codsworth. No penises need apply.
I kicked off my slippers, folded my legs beneath me, and finished the tumbler of tequila in one go.
I didn’t let myself cry for another half hour, not until the bowl of frosting was as empty as my heart.
Chapter 18
The living room was full of junk, even messier than the last time I’d visited. The Playboy magazine still had a prominent position on the coffee table open to the plastic, bleach-blonde, size zero, fake boobed centerfold. I looked away. Not only because the stick figures made me feel bad about my curves, but they reminded me of my mom. In prison.
Mom was to blame for that one.
On the rare occasion I’d gone to visit her, she’d been pretty explicit about conditions in the prison. Apparently, she had a girlfriend now. I would’ve been happy she’d found love, but I was too busy living my life and trying to make something of it to think about her self-induced lifestyle.
But success wouldn’t happen if my bakery went under because of the constant interference of officers tramping all over my kitchen.
“I’m glad you came back,” Matthew said, strolling into the lounge carrying two beers. At this hour?
I’d asked for a lemonade, but of course he’d ignored me. That was his style. Matthew did as Matthew pleased and fuck all the rest.
“Yeah, I can’t say the same.” I put on a tight smile and stared at him.
“So, have you thought about what I said last time?” Matthew popped the lids on the beers with a lighter and handed me one.
I held it, but didn’t take a drink. I had a hangover brewing, and the smell of the hops made my stomach turn.
“Yes, I’ve thought about it.”
“And?”
“And yes, I won’t see Gabe again.” It actually hurt a little to say it. Why was that? No, it had to be the hangover making my senses dull. I didn’t care for Gabe that much, we’d hardly spent any time together.
I was so full of complete bullshit.
We’d shared so much. And one unforgettable night. The best of my life.
And now this. Blackmail a la my ex-fiancé and an investigation in my bakery. Fun times.
“That’s splendid,” Matthew said, putting on his fake British accent. I hated when he did that. “I’m proud of you, Ally. You’ve made the right choice. The guy was a total scumbag.”
I glanced at the Playboy pointedly and the beer in his hand. It was fucking eight in the morning. What a complete tool.
He didn’t catch my hint, merely slurped back some beer and smiled at me. “Now that he’s out of the way, we can negotiate.”
“Negotiate?” I asked, raising both eyebrows. I frowned. “You said you’d help me if I stopped seeing him.”
“No, no, you’re mistaken. I said I would sit on the case if you didn’t stop seeing him. There’s a difference. You should listen more carefully, sweetie.”
“Don’t call me that,” I barked, then took a sip of the beer. I instantly regretted it. I set it down on top of the magazine. On top of the naked woman’s clit.
“Are you ready to negotiate or not,” he said, leaning back in the chair and gesturing with his bottle. “Because I sure am.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” I replied. What did I have to lose? I needed to get the cops out of my kitchen and back to work before the bank called in the loans. Gabe was out of the picture because of the crazy lady who’d called me. Hot sex notwithstanding, I hadn’t signed up for that kind of drama.
There was nothing to negotiate. Whatever Matthew wanted, I had to give it to him because he had me by the short hairs and he knew it. A rapturous look settled over his face. The face I’d once found handsome now turned my stomach. Sweat ran down the back of my neck, and it wasn’t from the alcohol or the heat.
“Great. I want a date.”
“What?”
“I want to go on a date with you,” he repeated.
“What for? You broke up with me, remember?” I pinched my lips together. “Nothing’s changed. The results certainly haven’t. I’m still infertile.”
That was the reason he’d ended it. I couldn’t give him children. The cyst prevented it.
Granted, he hadn’t been a tasteless, messy pig at the time. If a Playboy had graced my presence when we were engaged, I would’ve thrown it at him. I wasn’t naïve enough to think that men didn’t look at porn to get off, but there was a distinct difference between enjoying it on the sly and throwing it in a woman’s face.
“I want a second shot at our relationship.” He shifted to the edge of the seat and grasped the beer in his palms, angling the neck of the bottle towards me. “I miss you, baby.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“Besides, there are ways of getting around the whole infertility thing. Surrogates, adoption,” he said, pulling his face at the last option. Then, he reached under the Playboy and pulled out a newspaper article. “It says right here that Mayo is doing a trial of a new drug that’s perfect for women with only one ovary. They’re getting an eighty percent success rate of pregnancy. It should be FDA cleared and ready to hit the market in a few years.”
I snatched the article from his hand and as my eyes scanned it, my heart sang. He was right. I’d have to go online for more information the moment I got home. Matthew had never been a particularly empathic person. The idea of taking in someone else’s child was beyond his mental grasp, so it was obvious the Mayo article yanked his chain.
“A date. You want a date.”
“Yeah, that’s it. Just a date, no strings attached. We’ll take it from there,” he said, swigging from the bottle afterwards.
I stared at him for a minute, considering the proposition. “And you’ll speed up the investigation if I go out with you?”
“Yeah, hell I’ll squash the damn thing.”
I nodded slowly. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a date,” I replied, hating myself to the bottom of my soul. I couldn’t turn back from this. I had to fulfill my dreams of independence. Even if it meant one date with a man I officially detested.
“Great, I’ll meet you at eight tonight, at Le Teresitas.”
“Mexican?”
“Yeah, their fish tacos are super cheap.”
I rose from our old leather sofa and bobbed my head at him. “It’s a date. I’ll see you there.”
Cheap ass wouldn’t even pick me up in his car to take me there? That was fine. I’d rather take my own than wind up relying on him for transport. I couldn’t help comparing him to Gabe. A man who’d asked me out on a proper date to a beautiful and pricy place. Like he was proud of me. Like my happiness mattered.
“I can’t wait,” Matthew said.
I couldn’t say the same, so I left the apartment and the beer on his Playboy in silence.
Chapter 19
I’d dressed as conservatively as possible for our ‘date’ so Matthew wouldn’t get the wrong idea about how this evening would end. I’d paired the same skinny jeans with a shirt and a pair of ballet flats. I wouldn’t stoop so low as to fuck him just to save the bakery.
I walked into the Mexican restaurant like I was on my way to the electric chair and fish tacos were my last meal.
“You came,” Matthew said, more as a courtesy than anything else. He didn’t stand up, just sat there as he scanned the menu and toyed with his beer bottle. There was no doubt I’d come tonight. None in my mind or
his.
I needed the bakery so much I’d turned to him.
“You look beautiful,” he said. I glanced at his face, surprised by the unexpected compliment as I sank into my chair across from him.
The gesture would’ve been sweet from anyone else. I sat down and didn’t answer him, merely placed my handbag in my lap and folded my hands on top of the table. Raucous laughter rang out, people joked and chatted all around us. The couple next to us drank from long straws from the same marguerita that looked like it contained a gallon of the delicious mixture.
None of them were in their personal version of hell.
Like me.
“It’s lovely to see you out,” Matthew said, like I’d been hiding under a rock or something. He touched my hand and I jerked it back. He frowned, a snarl curling his lips. “Is that how you think this is going to go? ‘Cuz I’ve got news for you, Ally. This is a real date, complete with a goodnight kiss and everything.”
“Oh, you’ve planned it to that extent, have you?” I asked, withering inside bit-by-painful-bit. A goodnight kiss? I’d rather kiss my own ass goodbye. Maybe that was the point.
“Hell yeah — I have. Tonight’s our first date. Sunday is Netflix and chill.”
“I’m never having sex with you,” I said, loudly. The people at the table next to ours stopped talking for a second and stared. I smiled at them, and they went back to their sipping and hand-holding.
“I think you will.”
“I think I’d rather vomit fish tacos and re-eat them,” I replied. “I only agreed to this date as a courtesy. You’re not going to extort sex from me, Matthew.” I shivered at the thought of it.
Matthew had gone from my 'dream' fiancée to sexual aggressor in six short months. What the fuck had happened to him? More importantly, what the fuck had I been thinking to spend more than a few seconds with this guy? Was the bakery and my dream worth the destruction of my self-respect? Worth giving up everything? The frustration and angst over the impossibility of the decision caused nausea to crawl up the back of my throat. The answer was —
There was no damn answer.
Wasted Vows Page 28