Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 432(@200wpm)___ 346(@250wpm)___ 288(@300wpm)
She wiped at her cheeks and stared at the floor. "You've… I… It was a mistake, but you're not innocent."
What the…?
I shook my head, wishing I'd heard that wrong. But it kinda helped. Rather than becoming unglued, something in me died. I grew numb and was able to look at her without either throwing up or getting violent.
A chuckle escaped me, 'cause this was surreal.
"You gotta be kidding me," I said.
She got angry. "No, I'm serious. You're never home, and—"
"One more word." I was in her personal space in an instant, a finger in her face. "One more fucking word about my job, and you'll regret it." Her fear satisfied me. It was evident in her eyes. "You gotta make up your damn mind, Emma. You bitch at me for never being at home, but who found my last project? It was you. Who promised me we'd be a team and try to get gigs on the same sets? Also you. But I can't even remember when you last worked. All you do is sit around the house and spend the money I make when I'm gone so much." I grinned darkly and took a step back. "My bad, I guess there's more you do. How long have you been spreading your legs for others?"
She dropped her jaw, looking like I'd slapped her.
It was only the beginning of the shitshow that would sum up my first night home in two months.
*
"You never listen to me!" she screamed.
"Oh, I listen, all right." I glared at her as she started throwing clothes in bags dramatically. "It's kinda impossible not to hear the shit you say; you're always yelling. I listened when you told me you wanted to be the industry's most desired costume designer. I listened when we visited Tennyson and Sophie and you said you wanted this—a nice house away from LA—"
"Ugh, fucking Tennyson and Sophie this, Tennyson and Sophie that!" she ranted. "Do you think I'm blind? You're always comparing us to them. They're your friends, not a relationship guide!"
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I was getting heated again. "I've given you everything, and they have nothing to do with this!"
"You haven't given me you!"
"Bullshit! I don't make a single decision without your opinion, and…" I stopped there, thinking back.
Holy hell, I hadn't asked for her opinion when I'd had work out of town lined up. I'd asked for permission. For other reasons, that was worse. I'd always been my own man. Sharing my life with Emma had been eye-opening in the best ways, but at some point, I had started obeying instead of having a damn say myself.
And she had the balls to say I hadn't given her all of me?
*
After packing an overnight bag, she moved on to the living room downstairs, and I followed her.
"I've told you over and over what I want, Noah," she said angrily. She grabbed a couple photo albums from her childhood and tucked them into an empty bag. "I want us to settle down and raise a family—away from LA. But no matter how much you say you want me, you can't commit."
"Can you fucking blame me?" I asked incredulously. "You've bailed on everything we've talked about. What happened to traveling back and forth between our house here and the loft in LA? When did you become so caught up in spending my money? Since when did you have to have the latest goddamn Mercedes? What happened to compromising? You didn't bring up children until I turned forty a few months ago, and it was right after you had told me to pursue my last project. A kid can't fix us, Emma. And you're outta your fuckin' mind if you think I'm gonna propose when we're having problems!"
I didn’t know why we were still at it. There was no way I'd forgive her cheating ass. Looking at her made my skin crawl.
I was blown away by all of this. I knew we had shit to solve, but the thought of her stepping out on me…it was unbelievable.
"Am I not allowed to change my mind?" she spat out.
"Not every five minutes," I snapped. "You can't encourage me to go after my dream gigs when I'm at home and then call me when I'm on the road and complain about me not being here."
At that, she had nothing.
*
More bags of fancy brands piled up in the hallway. Clothes, keepsakes, a mountain of beauty products.
I was over the fight. Sitting down in the living room, I poured a whiskey and took swigs as she continued turning the house into a war zone.
What was she waiting for? Me to ask her to stay?
"Who's the guy?" I asked.
She cringed and took down a photo of us from the wall. "A mistake. I met him at the grocery store."