“What do you think about this dress?” I ask Kelsey, holding it up to my body while looking at it in the mirror.
“That color does nothing for you, which surprises me, since Huxley seems to be perfect at picking out clothes that showcase your best features.”
“This is one of my dresses.”
“Then that makes sense.”
Rolling my eyes, I toss the dress at her, which makes her laugh.
“Remind me why you’re getting dressed up for dinner, again? Isn’t it just another normal night in this crazy, dreamlike life you’ve been living?”
I pick up a purple dress that has a deep V-cut in the middle and hold it up to my body. This one makes my eyes stand out, and it’s sexy—just what I want.
“No particular reason.” I smirk and take the dress off the hanger.
“Uh, I don’t believe that for a second.”
Not caring if my sister sees me in my bra and underwear, I remove the shirt I borrowed from Huxley and toss it on the bed, then slip the dress over my hips and up my torso. I situate the straps on my shoulder, adjust my boobs, and then look in the mirror.
Yup. This is it.
“Can you zip me up?” I move my hair to the side so Kelsey has easy access to the zipper.
She stands from the bed and grips the zipper of my dress but doesn’t pull it up right away. “What are you planning tonight?”
Then she zips up the dress, and I watch as the fabric clings to my silhouette. God, it’s perfect. Huxley will tear it off in seconds, no doubt in my mind.
“Nothing,” I say, even though that’s not the truth.
Kelsey, being the intuitive sister that she is, turns me to face her and grips my shoulders. “Talk to me, now.”
Sighing, I lie back on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. “I love him, Kels.”
“What?” she asks, her voice coming out high-pitched. “What did you say?”
I lift up to look her in the eyes. “I love him.”
Her jaw drops as she blinks a few times. “You love him. As in, you love Huxley Cane, your fake fiancé?”
“Yes, exactly. I love him.”
“What? When? How? I mean, I know you’re dating and things have progressed, but love?”
I nod, totally sure of it. “Yeah, I love him. It feels as though it came out of nowhere, but there’s no doubt in my mind. You were right—there’s a thin line between love and hate. I crossed that line.”
“Wow, just . . .” She pauses, and when my eyes connect with hers, she smiles and then reaches out and pulls me into a hug. “I’m happy for you, Lottie.”
“Thank you.” I return her embrace.
“Are you planning on telling him? Is that why you’re getting all dressed up?”
“Yeah.” I bite down on my lip, nerves shooting up my arms. “Do you think that’s too forward?”
“No.” Kelsey shakes her head. “Because I think he has the same feelings for you.”
I perk up. “You think so?”
“I’ve seen him before you two were together and since, and I’m telling you right now, I’ve never seen a man so into a woman as Huxley is into you. He worships you, Lottie.”
“I think worship is a strong word.” But I still smirk, thinking about how he was reluctant to leave me this morning after I played with him in the shower. I can still hear his deep groans as he came on my chest while I ran my vibrator along his balls.
It was one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen, his godlike body contracting, straining. Every muscle vibrating as he lost control of all his senses. I’ve been replaying the visual in my head all day, to the point that I sent him a dirty text letting him know exactly what I wanted to do to him when he got home. He hasn’t replied yet, but then again, he’s a very busy man.
“When is he supposed to get home?”
I glance at the clock on my nightstand. “Any time now.”
“Really?” Kelsey jumps off the bed. “Then I should get going. I don’t want to be the one who interrupts a special homecoming.” She snags her purse and then snatches me into a hug. “I’m happy for you. Huxley is a good guy; I’ve said it from the beginning. You both are lucky to have stumbled upon each other.” She chuckles. “Still can’t believe you went looking for a rich husband and actually found one.” With that, she gives me one last hug and then takes off.
I take another look at myself in the mirror. There’s no doubt this is the dress I should be wearing. Huxley is going to love it. The only question is—do I pair it with shoes or do I go barefoot?
Knowing Huxley, he’d want heels.
I walk into the expansive closet and try on a few pairs before settling on a pair of strappy black heels I know he’ll love. I walk over to my dresser where I keep my perfume and spritz myself a few times. I hear the front door open and close.
He’s home.
Butterflies erupt in my stomach, knowing this is a huge step for me. I’ve never told a guy I loved him before, let alone be the first to acknowledge feelings. But there’s something about the way Huxley talks to me with such honesty. He instills confidence . . . comfort, a safe place to be able to express myself. And I don’t think there’s a chance in hell I’ll be able to go another day without telling him how I feel. Lord knows I told the man I hated him several times.
It’s about time I told him I love him.
I head down the stairs, being careful not to slip in these heels, and work my way to the entryway, where I catch Huxley staring down at his phone.
“Hey, you,” I say, walking up to him. I place my hand on his chest and curl against him as I press a kiss to his jaw.
Instead of wrapping his arm around my waist like he normally would, or forcing me to kiss him on the lips, he stands there stiff, almost unwelcoming.
Nervous, I pull away and ask, “Is everything okay?”
Slowly, he lifts his head until his eyes connect with mine, and that’s when I see it: the disconnect in his gaze. The same disconnect I saw early on, when he barely talked to me, when he wanted nothing to do with me.
This is not the man I left this morning.
This is not the man who texted me this morning saying how he wished he didn’t have to go into work.
And this is not the man I planned on telling I love him.
“Huxley,” I whisper. “What’s . . . what’s going on?”
He stuffs his phone in his pants pocket, and I watch as the muscle in his jaw tenses as his eyes narrow on me.
“What did you say to her?”
“Say to who?” I ask, completely confused. “Say to Kelsey?”
Oh God, she didn’t tell him anything we talked about, did she?
No, she’d never say anything.
“No, to Ellie.”
“To Ellie?” I feel my face contort with complete confusion. What on earth is he talking about?
Growling, he says, “Yes, Lottie. What the fuck did you say to Ellie?” His voice sounds like venom, lashing out at me, spitting in my direction.
This was not what I was expecting when Huxley came home. Honestly, if he hadn’t been looking down at his phone when I saw him, I would’ve leapt into his arms, so excited to see him. But the anger vibrating off him, the hostility . . . I have no idea what’s happening.
“I . . . I don’t know,” I answer, my voice stumbling with nerves.
“You must have said something,” he yells, pushing past me while gripping the back of his head. “Because Dave knows.”
Dave knows . . .
“As in, he knows about us?” I ask.
“Yeah, he fucking knows, and guess who told him? Ellie. So, tell me what the fuck you said to her, because whatever it was, I need to know so I can assess damage control.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Huxley. I didn’t say anything to her about us.”
“Don’t fucking bullshit me, Lottie,” he yells. His eyes are devoid of any loving tenderness toward me. They’re empty, as if . . . as if he’s already written me off. “You’re the only one who’s been alone with Ellie. You’re the one who hated me so much at the beginning of all of this, so I wouldn’t put it past you to say something to her in confidence.”
Wait . . .
Wait a goddamn second.
Is he actually accusing me of telling Ellie our entire engagement is a hoax? He can’t possibly be doing that.
But when I look him in the eyes, take in his heavy breaths, the steeliness of his jaw, the emptiness of his eyes . . . I see that’s exactly what he’s doing.
“You think I said something to Ellie?” I ask, just needing to confirm his assumption.
“Yes,” he says in an exasperated tone. “Dave is telling people about our fake engagement, ruining my reputation, and I want to know what you told Ellie so I can see how fucked I really am.”
Yup, he’s blaming me.
He thinks I’d go behind his back. He thinks I’d so easily betray him like that.
After all of those conversations about the contract, after all those threats, he really believes I wouldn’t care, that I’d say something anyway.
Not only does that make me incredibly angry, but . . . a wave of emotion clogs my throat, because that breaks my heart. That he’d think so lowly of me.
Unable to muster up the courage to have this conversation with him, I turn on my heels and walk away. The early signs of a panic attack start to surface as my breath shortens and my chest tightens.
I can’t believe that he thinks I’d say something. That he doesn’t trust me.
I stalk up the stairs.
I hear him call out, “Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I don’t stop, I don’t even stumble as my feet move faster than my body.
Instead, I propel myself forward, and when I reach my room, I slam my door and reach behind my back for the zipper of my dress. I struggle to reach it for a few seconds, and just as I grab it and pull down, unzipping my dress, the door to my bedroom flings open.
“Are you going to answer me?” Huxley asks as I step out of the dress and heels, leaving them on the floor.
I turn to the closet and throw on a pair of jean shorts and the only simple T-shirt in there, which is the Fleetwood Mac shirt he got me. It’ll have to do. I slip on a pair of my sandals and grab my phone from my nightstand. I’m about to storm past him when he blocks the door.
“Lottie, I need to fucking know.”
“Why do you need to know?” I ask him. “It seems to me as though you’ve already made up your mind.”
“Are you saying you didn’t say anything?”
“The fact that you even have to ask that is so incredibly insulting.”
“That’s not an answer,” he says.
“You want an answer?” I reply, trying to hold on to my composure as best as I can. “Fine, here’s your answer. No, I didn’t say anything to Ellie, because, despite what you might think of me, despite how horribly you treated me in the beginning of all of this, I still found it within myself to be loyal and keep our secret just that . . . our secret.”
I go to move past him, but he stops me. His facial features have softened now, and so has his voice. “You . . . you really didn’t say anything, Lottie?”
“No. I didn’t.”
His eyes search mine and his expression slowly turns to one of regret.
“Shit, Lottie. I’m—”
“Don’t,” I say, holding up my hand. “Don’t even bother.” Able to catch him off guard, I slip past him and head down the stairs, him trailing behind me.
I barely register his pleading for me to stop over the pounding of my own heart, over the sound of it cracking, shattering.
I thought we trusted each other. I thought we’d established a connection, a bond so strong that nothing could penetrate it. I thought we were moving toward more, but apparently, I was wrong, because, with the flip of a switch, he turned on me.
How could he possibly ever accuse me of such a thing? Have I not proven myself? Have I not done everything he’s asked, and done it exceptionally well? Have I not shown how he can trust me?
I charge toward the front door, where Huxley catches up to me.
“Lottie, wait.” He steps in front of the door, his breathing labored. “I’m sorry. Okay? That was stupid of me to ask.”
“You didn’t just ask, Huxley, you accused.”
“I know.” He pulls on his hair. “I was thrown off, okay? I wasn’t expecting to hear that Dave knows about the fake engagement.”
“So, the first thing you do is blame me?”
“No, I mean—hell, I was told Ellie told him. What was I supposed to think?”
“What were you supposed to think?” I ask incredulously. “You were supposed to trust me. You were supposed to approach me with the problem so I could help you find the solution. But you shouldn’t have come charging in here, blaming me. Not when I was—” I catch myself before I admit to what I was going to tell him tonight.
“Not when what?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing.” Raising my chin, trying to be calm, I say, “I should’ve known this was all too good to be true, that you were going to end up hurting me somehow.”
He takes a step back. “Talk about fucking assumptions.”
“Uh . . . did you not just do that? Did you not just hurt me?”
“Not on purpose. I’m kind of fucked right now, Lottie. In case you haven’t noticed. This could ruin my entire business.”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you started lying to everyone about having a fiancée and baby on the way. This is no one’s fault but your own.”
“I’d do anything to secure that deal,” Huxley says, snapping back at me.
“Including blaming me for something you should’ve known I never would’ve done.”
He scrubs his hand over his face. “You hated me early on, Lottie. It was a question I had to ask.”
“No, it wasn’t.” I close the space between us and poke his chest. “You should know I’d never screw someone over, especially when it comes to business, not after I was fucked over by someone I thought I could trust. I lost everything, Huxley. Angela took away the one thing I thought I was good at, made me feel small and not worth a goddamn penny. She denigrated me. After being treated so poorly, having everything ripped out from under me, do you really think I’d turn around and do that to someone else?” When he glances down at his feet in shame, I say, “No, I wouldn’t. I might have disliked you in the beginning, but that dislike would never have enraged me to do something as low as tell Ellie the truth about us.”
I move past him and open the door.
“Lottie, stop. Where are you going?”
I type out a text to Kelsey telling her to come get me. I know she won’t ask any questions, she’ll just show up and ask questions later. I just need to get out of here. I can’t possibly be around him.
“Kelsey is coming to get me.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I lost my cool. Let’s talk through this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about, Huxley.” I continue to walk toward the gate.
“So, you’re leaving? Just like that?”
I turn to face him. “Do you think I can stay here?”
“It was a miscommunication.”
My eyes nearly bug out of my head. “How can you be so apathetic about this?”
“I’m not being apathetic. I’m just trying to wrap my head around this.”
“Well, wrap your head around this, Huxley. I was planning on expressing my feelings for you tonight, and instead of me being able to do that, you placed blame where it shouldn’t have been placed, tore down the trust we built between each other, and you broke my heart.”
“Wait . . . what?” he asks, his eyes going soft with regret. “Your . . . feelings? What feelings?”
“Doesn’t matter anymore,” I say as a tear falls down my cheek. I didn’t even know my eyes were leaking. I quickly wipe it away, but not before Huxley catches sight of it.
“Fuck, Lottie. I’m sorry. I’m really fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said tonight.”
I move toward the gate, unable to listen to him over the roaring of my heart.
“Please, stay. We can work this out.”
“I can’t.” I shake my head. I feel so fragile in this moment. “I need some space.”
“Space?” He catches up to me as I walk through the gate and onto the sidewalk, where I wait for Kelsey. “What do you mean, you need space? Lottie, please, don’t do this. Don’t leave me.”
Kelsey’s car comes into view.
“Lottie.” Huxley reaches for my hand but I pull it away.
“Don’t.”
“Just fucking talk to me, please. We can work through this. We don’t need space.”
I turn around to face him as the tears gathered start to fall again. “I can barely look at you right now, Huxley. What makes you think I want to stay with you?”
Caught off guard by my tears, he rears back, and it’s all I need for my escape when Kelsey pulls up. I open the car door and start to get in, but Huxley says, “Please, Lottie. Babe, don’t leave.”
I don’t listen. I get in, shut the door, and buckle up.
Kelsey doesn’t say a thing, just drives away. We drive in silence all the way to her apartment.
Even when my phone blows up with texts from Huxley, she doesn’t say anything.
It isn’t until we’re in her apartment that she opens her mouth.
“GOD, LOTTIE, I’M SO SORRY.”
My eyes are puffy at this point.
I have no more tears left to cry.
And I’m curled in a ball on Kelsey’s floor, wrapped up in one of her blankets.
“I don’t understand,” I say quietly. “I thought . . . I thought he trusted me.”
“Sounds like he was caught off guard.”
I glance at her with a warning stare.
She holds up her hands in defense. “I’m not giving him an out, I’m just trying to understand where he’s coming from. I mean, could you imagine hearing that? He’s worked so hard, and for it all to just blow up in his face, he must be stressed.”
“He most likely is, but that doesn’t give him the right to lash out at me. He should’ve come home and asked me for help rather than accuse me. He basically threw everything we built between each other right out the window, as if . . . as if his business is more important than me.” And then it hits me. “Maybe . . . maybe his business is more important than me. Maybe I didn’t matter as much to him as I thought I did.” My lip trembles. “Maybe I liked him more than he liked me.”
“No.” Kelsey shakes her head. “That’s not the case. He likes you, Lottie. He came after you. I saw his face. He was devastated.” I wish that were the case.
“Maybe outwardly he acted as though he cared, but someone who cares about another person doesn’t treat them the way he treated me.”
Kelsey sighs and leans back on her bed. “Can I say something and you not hate me?”
“No. I have all the right to hate you for whatever comes out of your mouth.”
Kelsey grumbles something under her breath and then says, “I think you need to look at this from his perspective. He just found out his secret wasn’t a secret after all, that word is getting around that he’s a liar. He most likely blacked out and had a one-track mind. He didn’t think, he just reacted.”
I sit up from my balled-up position on the floor and look Kelsey in the eyes. “But that’s the thing you’re not getting, Kelsey. He reacted without thinking, and his reaction was to not trust me. I was about to tell him that I loved him. That he makes me so incredibly happy and every day I’m grateful to wake up in his arms.” Tears flow down my cheeks. “But to him, I’m something he’s willing to throw away over an assumption. Do you see the problem?”
Slowly, Kelsey shakes her head. “Yes, I see the problem. I wasn’t thinking about it that way.” She gets down on the floor and crawls toward me to scoop me into a hug. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I can’t imagine how much you’re hurting right now.”
“Too much,” I say with a sniff. “Way too much.” I wipe at my tears. “I wish I’d never agreed to any of this. I wish I’d called his bluff. I wish I’d never gotten involved, because now I feel more broken than ever, rather than put together.”
Kelsey brushes her hand over my head, which brings back the tears. What I said to Huxley about Angela wasn’t wrong. Her betrayal cut me deeply, even though she was simply acting according to her character. She’s a spineless, manipulative liar. But I had trusted in Huxley’s character. His determined, intense nature. Unrelenting, yet decent. Now I should be wondering how I could fall in love with someone who paid people to lie for him. Who wrote contracts to cover up his barefaced fiction, because his business meant everything to him. There’s something very wrong with me that I could look past that. That was our foundation.
And yet, my heart and soul feel destroyed.
Sniffling against her shoulder, I ask, “Why did he have to break me, Kels?”
“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “But you need to remember just how resilient you are.”
“Not this time,” I say as I wipe at my cheek. “I don’t think bouncing back from this will be easy. Not in the slightest.”
THE GURGLING SOUND of Kelsey’s coffeemaker wakes me up from my spot on the ground. Just from an attempt at opening my eyes, I know they’re puffy from all the crying I did last night. And the ache in my back is from the lovely mattress of pillows I attempted to sleep on as well.
“Did my coffee wake you?” Kelsey asks from the kitchen.
“Yeah,” I answer, my voice sounding as if I smoked an entire case of cigarettes last night. “But I should get up.”
Knock. Knock.
“Was that your door?” I ask her.
“I think so,” she replies before going to the door to answer it. When she props it open, I hear her ask, “Huxley, what are you doing here?”
Crap.
“I was hoping to talk to Lottie.” I glance behind me and make eye contact with him. When he takes in my appearance, concern quickly washes over his face. “Baby, please, can I talk to you?”
“Uh, you know, I really need to get in the shower,” Kelsey says. “And I don’t know how to handle awkward situations. I want to be a good sister, but I also can’t handle it when guys do that whole puppy-dog-eye thing, and he looks so pathetic, so basically, I’m just going to bolt.”
And she does just that.
She takes off running to the bathroom, shuts the door, and turns on the shower.
When I hear the door click shut, I know Huxley has stepped into the apartment, but I refuse to look up at him, not when my eyes are starting to water all over again.
I don’t want to see him, I still feel too raw, but he has other plans.
He kneels down next to me and places his hand on my cheek. When our eyes meet, his are not only bloodshot but also heavy with concern. But is he concerned about his career, his business, or is he concerned about me?
“You slept on the floor last night?”
“There are pillows underneath me.” Which happened to shift when I shifted, leaving me partially on the floor, but he doesn’t need to know that.
“Lottie, I’m sorry.” His voice is tight. “I know what I did last night was inexcusable. I should never have treated you the way I did, and I’m ashamed.” He swallows hard. “I’m just really fucking scared I fucked over my brothers. I took my fears out on you rather than leaning on you.” His thumb brushes over my cheek. “And I’m sorry.” He picks up a bag from his side and sets it closer to me. “I wasn’t sure if you had any clothes or overnight things here, but I thought I’d bring you some of your things.” That’s annoyingly thoughtful. “I have to get to the office to do some damage control, but I wanted to see you first. Can we have dinner tonight?” When I don’t say anything, he says, “Please, Lottie.”
I slowly nod as a tear slips down my cheek.
He growls in frustration and wipes it away for me.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.” He stands and makes his way to the door. “I’ll text you the details.”
All I do is nod.
Once he’s out of the apartment, I unzip the bag he packed for me, and right on top is a printed picture of me and him at the Fleetwood Mac concert. He has his arm around me possessively, his hand tucked into the front of my pocket, and I’m leaning against his broad chest, with one arm up, my hand gripping the back of his neck.
I remember taking this and the exact feeling I felt while taking it. I was completely overjoyed.
Now, I’d give anything to feel that feeling again. Instead, all I feel is . . . empty.
