Total pages in book: 127
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 408(@300wpm)
Oh, Fin, I think about the experience more than the reason I was in there.
“And I’m sorry he did that to you.” He briefly cups my cheek, his tone warm but firm. “Hurt you like that.”
“I couldn’t tell you why I was really upset. It was too humiliating.”
“Worse than . . .”
I nod.
“You can tell me now,” he says, his voice as soft as an April shower.
I angle my head, and his hand falls away, moving to my shoulder instead. “The party was in full swing, and I was in the hotel kitchen grabbing a coffee when one of the chefs mentioned Adam. He’s a wedding photographer, you see, but we’d decided early in our relationship to keep our professional and personal lives separate. Part of that was not broadcasting our relationship at work. We didn’t want our clients asking questions, maybe asking for a joint discount, or potentially worrying about us working together after an argument, or whatever. Same goes for the venues.
“Or those were the reasons I thought. As it turned out, Adam’s reasons were multifaceted. Anyway, the last time I’d worked at that particular hotel, he’d been the wedding photographer. I suppose that’s why the chef thought to mention he’d heard Adam was getting married at all. My heart sort of stopped at the news. I almost told the chef it was old news—that we’d broken up. But then he said something about Adam’s fiancée, Rachel, and what a lovely girl she was. Apparently, she used to be one of the hotel’s duty managers.”
I shrug as I recall how the news had felt like a blow to my chest. I’d suffered the hollow aftermath for months.
“Oh, Mila.” Fin’s hand tightens as though he’d pull me closer, but it turns to comfort when I resist. “I’m so sorry that he didn’t have the balls to tell you himself.” His hand slides to the sofa back, his fingers drumming there. “Did you confront him?”
I shake my head. “It’s not like we were on speaking terms.”
“You don’t keep in contact? Not at all?”
“Do you keep in contact with your exes?” I ask pertly.
“Some. But then, I never loved any of them.”
“Well, I don’t want to speak to him, and I’d live quite happily never setting eyes on him again.”
“I hope you told them all what an asshole he really is.”
I shake my head.
“Then I hope you slashed his tires or keyed his car.”
I almost smile. It’s what Ronny wanted to do. And worse.
“I told myself that the best form of revenge would be to live well.” But then things started to fall apart.
“Living well,” he repeats. “That certainly happened in that coat closet,” he teases. “Stolen champagne always tastes better.”
I tsk. “How would you know?”
“I might’ve appropriated a bottle or two in my time.”
“When you’re feeling hard up?” I say with a chuckle. “Or when you’ve left your wallet in your other ermine cloak and your diamond shoes pinch, so it’s too painful to backtrack?”
“An ermine cloak.” He nods. “I should get one of those.”
“Because you fancy someone chucking a red pot of paint over you?”
His expression suddenly turns serious. “You deserved better. I wish you would’ve told me.”
I shake my head as though it doesn’t matter, when the truth is I’ve reached my limit for sharing. And for feeling like an idiot. “I couldn’t.” I can’t quite bring myself to tell him the whole story now. “I just had to hide. Compose myself, I suppose.” I swallow and paint on another smile. God knows what this one looks like. “By the time you showed up, I was angry. As evidenced by the bottle throwing.”
“I think you left a dent.” He grins. “You left your mark on me too.”
“I wasn’t drunk,” I offer quickly. Not because the hot man said a nice thing but because I’d be a fool to believe him. Fin is a decent human; that’s all. And decent humans have empathy. I could be anyone recounting this tale to him, and he’d listen. Say the right things.
“Me neither. Except maybe drunk on you.”
I say nothing but feel everything.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that but happy you’re out of it now.”
“I don’t think anyone has said that before now.”
“About breaking up?”
I shake my head. “No. I mean sorry.”
“Maybe you weren’t listening. It’s hard to see the bigger picture, to pay attention to what’s going on around you, when you feel like your heart is breaking.” His expression barely flickers, but I sense some history in that statement.
“Are you speaking from experience?”
“To be human is to suffer.”
“That’s deep but not really the answer to my question.”
“Have I loved?” He slides me that modest-looking smile. I feel like he’s hiding something behind it. “I love. I’ve just never been in love.”
“Been loved?” I’m sure he has many, many admirers.