Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Damn, why does it sting so bad when I felt relief only a few minutes ago?
Because he has humiliated you. Didn’t even bother to break it off face to face. Instead, he let it play out this way when all he needed to do was call me and talk to me.
Wilson clearly isn’t my person.
The really sad thing is that I’ve known this for some time now. I just didn’t want to face it.
Henry, Chloe, and Samantha go straight to the kitchen to sort out the champagne we bought on the way back to the apartment. But Elsa doesn’t leave my side.
She sits at the table with me and takes my hand. “It’s better this happened now than in two months or six months when you’re already married.”
“It would’ve been better yesterday.”
“True. But then thoughtfulness has never been Wilson’s strong suit.”
She’s not wrong. How many times had he left me waiting in a restaurant because he had forgotten we had a date?
I look up. “Should I have seen this coming?”
“None of us saw this coming,” Henry says behind me. I turn around, and he hands me a glass of champagne. “You’d think after all the jerks I’ve dated that my jerk radar would be on point.”
Chloe nods. “Me too. With my dating history, my nose for bullshit should be a lot stronger.”
Elsa doesn’t say anything. Because she knew Wilson wasn’t for you, and when she voiced it, you didn’t listen.
Samantha joins us at the table. “Enough with talking in hindsight. Let’s discuss revenge.”
“Yes, how are we going to murder him and dispose of the body?” Chloe asks, sitting beside her.
“Being fabulous is the best revenge,” Henry says with a wink. “When he comes crawling back and begs for forgiveness, you’ll tell him you’re too busy being awesome to even acknowledge his existence.”
“Right before punching him in his smug face,” Samantha adds.
Samantha grew up with six older brothers. She knows how to defend herself, and she isn’t someone to fuck with.
“In order to do that, we need to find him first,” Chloe says.
During the ride back to the hotel, a flurry of phone calls took place in the back of the limo. I called Wilson’s brother, who swore on their mom’s life that he had no idea where his loser brother was. Elsa called the club Wilson owns and spoke to Rita, the manager, who also swore on her mom’s life that she had no idea where he was. Chloe, Samantha, and Henry made calls to different friends who might have some idea where the groom had vanished to, but no one knew anything.
It’s like Wilson has vanished off the face of the earth.
“He’s not for you,” Elsa finally says, echoing my earlier thoughts. “And I think you’ve known that for a while now.”
She’s right. Deep down, I knew it wasn’t going to last, but I didn’t want to face it. And I certainly didn’t think I would have to face it while wearing a wedding gown, with a church full of wedding guests wondering where the groom was.
I watch the bubbles in my champagne glass rise, fizzing in my glass, and wonder why the hell I didn’t say something sooner. “I know. I’m partly to blame.”
“No, this is all on him,” Elsa says.
I take a long sip of my champagne. Beside me on the table, my phone keeps vibrating with messages—friends expressing their sympathy. But I ignore them because I’m going to need a lot more champagne before I can face them.
“I can deal with the messages if you like,” Elsa offers.
But I shake my head. “No, I should, and I will. But first, I need to get out of this dress.”
“I’ll help you,” Elsa says.
“No, it’s okay. Honestly, I just need a moment.”
In the bedroom, I stare at myself in the full-length mirror on the wall. I turn and look at the king-size bed. Only two nights ago, I had lain awake beside a snoring Wilson, wondering if I was making the right decision marrying him. Things had cooled between us. It had been weeks since we’d had sex. But our sex life had been dying a slow death for a lot longer. Long gone was the foreplay we used to indulge in when we were a newly loved-up couple. Gone was the spontaneous midday sex. Not that it had ever been explosive like I’d thought it would be. I mean, Wilson was a player. A bad boy who looked like he could give you all the orgasms. But the truth was a lot less exciting. Sex was for the bedroom. Usually missionary. And usually quick. He was all about coming and less about creativity. I watched the clock once, from the time he rolled over and started to fuck me to when he was coming loudly in my ear, and it was all over in two minutes. Sometimes, I felt like I was just a vessel for him to empty into. Other times, it seemed important to him to make me come, and he would keep asking, “Are you close?” while he jackhammered into me. “I need you to come for me. That’s it, Brooke baby, come for me.” But he wouldn’t do anything to make that happen.