I inhaled a ragged breath. “Bellamy and I broke up.”
Kind of. I didn’t really know. I just got out before he could do it.
I tipped my drink back again, hating how horribly fragile I felt right now. “Go ahead,” I sighed. “Say I told you so.”
“Darling…” She rubbed a hand over my arm. “Being young is difficult.”
And that was a glittering piece of wisdom from Irina Morgan De Arman.
“It is when you’re me.” I hated that I sounded so pathetic and that I was so bitter. Bitter about my dad, my mom, my shitty yet “privileged” upbringing. My being sent to Dayton, and lastly, Bellamy.
It was all seeping into me, like thick, black tar, until each beat of my heart felt sluggish and drawing air was a chore.
“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I’m here, and I’ll stay until I go to Cornell.”
Just like my dad wanted, just like Bellamy wanted, because what I wanted was never a factor, and it never had been.
On a sigh, she settled back against her lounge chair. “Whatever you want, darling. Whatever makes you happy.” Then she patted my hand.
“Thank you. And thank you for getting me a ticket.”
“Of course, darling.” Then she started talking about random crap, and for once, I appreciated her rambling on and on about herself: The new yacht her husband Pierre had bought, the landscaping she had ordered to be done in the lemon grove, the new purse she’d put on order. It was meaningless, with about as much depth as a puddle, but I needed that because my own shit was so deep I would drown if I thought about it.
My phone dinged. I grabbed it from the table beside me, nearly knocking over an empty wine bottle. Then I steeled myself and opened the new message from Bellamy.
Dickhead: Fuck you, Drewbers.
Then a picture came through of Bellamy, passed out on Hendrix’s couch.
Dickhead: You broke his heart. Congratulations, you Medusa Whore.
Then a picture of Hendrix shooting me a bird popped up.
I pushed up from my chair and crossed the terrace, disappearing into my bedroom. The warm breeze blew through the opened French doors, and I collapsed onto the bed, the first tears breaking free. And they kept coming. Sliding down my temples and staining the pillowcase until it was soaked.
It had been a week since I’d left the States. A week of non-stop shopping and Champagne and parties, but it wasn’t nearly enough to distract me. I was more miserable than ever because I missed him. Everything hurt.
The cherry wood deck of Pierre’s yacht clicked beneath my heels as I approached the stern, my fingers wrapping around the metal railing as the breeze tousled my hair. The sun had long ago set behind the hills of Monaco, the lights of the city a speckling of stars against the dark silhouette of the night sky. The lap of waves against the hull and the tinkle of Champagne flutes almost drowned out the low hum of music from the party around me.
I tipped my glass back before grabbing another from the tray of a passing waiter.
Over the last week, I’d realized that my own company was torture, and yet, I hated everyone. Short of getting drunk and crying some more, I had no bright ideas. Though truthfully, I’d mastered the art of skipping right over an emotional drunk and going straight to numb with a side of “inability to give a shit”. It was the only way to avoid this hollowed-out feeling in my chest, like something vital had been stolen.
My phone beeped, and my heart stuttered, hoping it was Bellamy. He hadn’t made contact since Hendrix had texted me, and that told me everything I needed to know. I wanted him to be every bit as broken and desperate as I was, to share my pain and validate it. To tell me he wanted me. Missed me. Something.
I’d fought the urge to contact him every single day, and every time that urge rose, the word resentment flashed through my mind like a neon warning sign.
I checked my phone, my heart sinking at the sight of Genevieve’s name.
Genevieve: Hey babe. Just checking in on you
Me: I’m fine
Genevieve: Break ups suck. I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but it’s probably for the best. You’ll get over it eventually. I promise. xX
I didn’t respond to that.
I held onto the notion that time would heal all wounds, but I wasn’t healing, I was dying. It had only been a week, and it was the worst of my life. I just wanted to be able to stop thinking about him, stop longing for him, for a single minute.
After I drained another glass of Champagne, I cut through the partygoers dressed in their expensive dresses and tuxedos. The last thing I wanted was to be around these people. Screw this. I was going to steal a bottle, go to my cabin, and drink on my own.
That was until my mother found me.
Her dress clung to her petite frame, making her look every bit the wealthy socialite she was.
“Darling.” She brushed my arm, eyeing the empty glass in my hand.
My father would be disapproving, but Irina only flagged down a passing waiter, procuring me a fresh drink.
“Why aren’t you mingling?” she asked, sweeping a stray piece of hair from my face.
“I don’t want to mingle.” I couldn’t stand my mother’s friends. They were always the worst.
I glanced at the dark sea beyond the railing, wishing I could jump in, just to ruin this perfect dress and wash away the curls in my hair along with the professionally applied makeup. I felt like a doll, a commodity. Shiny and fake. I hated everything about this.
“Henri Valant is here.” She moved to stand beside me as she nodded toward the party. “You see the good looking one, with the dark hair? He’s a European football player. Lots of money. Models for Armani, too.” She shifted to face me again, lifting a brow.
And he had arrogant prick stamped on his forehead.
“Not interested, Irina.”
She rolled her eyes. “You know you could come to university here.”
She was trying to plan out my life for me, from a ready- made, rich boyfriend to college. Just like dad. I wanted to scream.
“I’d love to have you here,” she said.
I shouldered past her, cutting through the glass doors and into the kitchen. After I swiped a mini-bottle from the fridge, I descended the stairs to my cabin that resembled the inside of a luxury hotel suite.
My back hit the mattress, probably creasing the expensive dress my mother picked out for me. Then I opened the Champagne. Every luxury money could buy surrounded me, and never had the saying “money can’t buy happiness” been more true. I was miserable. And drunk. And now I was crying. God, I was pathetic, but I wanted nothing more than for Bellamy to be here. Hiding and getting drunk with me.
I all but polished off the mini-bottle, and now I was so drunk I didn’t care if he hadn’t contacted me. The need to speak to him, to see him, to hear his deep voice. So, I FaceTimed him, closing my eyes as the phone rang, thinking he probably wouldn’t even answer.
Just when I was about to hand up, the call connected. The pixelated colors on the screen focused into Bellamy’s stern face. God, he was beautiful, all ticcing jaw and blazing dark eyes.
He didn’t say a word, just glared through the phone.
“You look mad.” My voice hitched. Tears clogged my throat as I tipped the Champagne bottle up.
“Are you drunk?”
“Yep.”
He dragged a hand over his face, resting back against his headboard. I missed him. I missed that tiny little room… “Why are you calling me, Drew?”
“Because I miss you.”
Seconds passed. The hull of the boat creaked as it rocked over waves. “Then why did you leave me?” he asked.
I turned the bottle up once more, trying to chase away my heartbreak, but I couldn’t. “Because I think you wanted me to.”
“Jesus Christ.” He shifted, a blurry vision of his bedroom coming into view for a split moment.
“I trapped you. It’s okay. I should never have moved into your house--
”
“Stop.”
“And you’re just good. You know, like a really good egg.”
“Shut up, Drew. You sound...I don’t even know. But not like yourself.”
“I’m not,” I whispered. I wasn’t me without him, and could I be any more pitiful right now?
I slumped back against the pillows, feeling the weight of desolation breaking through my drunken haze. Tears broke free once more, and I closed my eyes. I had no idea if Bellamy was even still there, and I refused to look. “I need you,” I whispered.
“You don’t need anybody, Drew…” And I wished that were true. “All I wanted you to do that night was answer one question. I just wanted you to tell me you wouldn’t regret it.”
“You wanted me to say you were a mistake. That you weren’t good enough.”
“Jesus Chirst.” He exhaled. “I wanted you to tell me I was good enough, Drew.”
No one could have been any better for me than him. “I saw the text from your friend. I don’t want--”
“You went through my fucking phone?”
“Don’t be...Screw you. No, I did not.”
“Then how did you see the text?” The smug look on his face made me irate. Even from a thousand miles away.
“Because it lit up the room in the middle of the night like freaking Times Square, and I saw it pop up. I don’t want you to resent me.”
He wanted me to go to Cornell. He didn’t want me in Alabama. And I just wanted him, anyway I could.
“That text wasn’t about me resenting you. It was about you resenting me. For giving up everything.” He stared through the screen. Jaw tight. “I literally want to kill you right now…”
I huffed a laugh. “What am I giving up, Bellamy? Please tell me.”
His head thumped against his headboard on a groan. “Everything. Shit I can’t ever give you.” This boy. He had no idea. He thought this life was so damn perfect and it wasn’t.
“Do you want to know where I am right now?” I drained the last of my Champagne and chucked the bottle to the floor. “I’m on my mom’s yacht, in a four-thousand-dollar dress, drinking Champagne, and I am fucking miserable and empty because it means nothing.”
Even through my blurred vision, I could see the crease in his brow, the hurt in his eyes. “Yeah, well. You wanna know where I am right now? I’m in the bed I used to share with you. By myself, because you fucking left me. Over a text you didn’t even know the context of.”
Fresh tears broke free. “You know it was more than that--”
“You didn’t even tell me goodbye. Give me a chance to explain anything. You just left.” It was like he wasn’t listening to me.
“You are so hell-bent on me going to Cornell, Bellamy, and all I want is you!”
“All you want is me, and still, you fucking left.”
“If you wanted me the way I want you, you wouldn’t--”
“Jesus Christ, Drew. I fucking love you,” he shouted, anger and hurt bleeding through his voice. “And if you loved me, you wouldn’t have just left like that. So don’t you tell me I don’t want you.”
And that triggered a barrage of tears, ugly sobs that lanced through my chest like a machete. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t deal with anything in that moment. So I hung up. And god, I loved him. So much.
I woke up with a pounding headache and the echo of Bellamy’s words in my mind. I fucking love you. Why couldn’t he have said that sooner? It all felt so messy now, but I knew one thing; I loved him, and I realized how stupid I was to leave him simply because he might reject me.
It was because I loved him that he had the power to hurt me, and the second I thought there was even the slightest risk of that, I ran. But I needed him, loved him, and I would take Bellamy over this life any day.
My mother waited on the balcony, the same way she did every morning, at the head of the table, a spread of coffee and fresh fruit sprawled before her. Far more than either of us ever ate. A huge sun hat and sunglasses covered her face, jewelry dripping from her like a walking advert for Cartier.
“You look terrible,” she said, thrusting a cup of coffee at me. “Sit with me.”
“Thanks.” I took the chair beside her, picking at a few pieces of melon.
“I’m all for staying thin, sweetie, but you need to eat more.” The expression on her face was almost a frown, or as close as her Botox would allow.
“I appreciate your motherly concern.” I was pretty sure she just didn’t want me to be ugly, after all, that was the worst thing a girl could be in her eyes.
The scent of citrus wafted up from the lemon trees in the gardens below, mixing with the faint trace of the ocean that permanently lingered in the air.
“Darling, I think we need to talk.”
I let out a sigh. “If this is about last night…”
“You’ve done nothing but get drunk since you arrived here, sweetie.”
“And? You drink with breakfast, mother.” I scrubbed a hand over my face. “I… I need to fly back home.”
“Why?”
“You know why. The same reason I’ve been drunk for five days straight. I need to go back to Bellamy.”
I waited for her lecture, but instead her head tilted, eyes tracing my face with something akin to pity. “You think you love him.”
“I do love him.”
My mother pursed her lips, plucking her coffee mug from the table. “Love is a fantasy of young women, Drucella. And when that fantasy shatters it will take a little piece of you with it. Save yourself the pain, my darling.”
“You sound like you’re talking from experience.” Though as far as I knew, Irina Morgan De Arman had never loved anyone. “When I know you married for money,” I said. “Three times.”
There was a beat of silence where only the distant cawing of seabirds caught on the ocean breeze. My mother swallowed, tracing circles over the side of the mug. “I met your father when I was young and he had nothing.” That took me by surprise. I knew nothing about how my parents met, only how they divorced. I’d always thought dad was from money like she was.
“I loved him deeply,” she said.
“Really?”
A small smile touched her lips. “He wasn’t always an asshole. Money changed him, because he wanted it more than me. More than you. Became obsessed with it. I felt neglected, and I looked for that love elsewhere.” Her shoulder lifted. “Though I never found it.”
“Did he love you back?”
“I believe so. Until he didn’t.” Her gaze shifted to me. “Men are fickle creatures, Drucella. Believing anything else is simply childish. What are you going to do if you go back to this boy?”
The breeze kicked up, sending one of the table linens dancing over the patio. “I don’t know.”
“Is he going to college?”
“He applied to Alabama State. He didn’t get the scholarship.”
“So he’s going to what?” Mom lifted her glass to her lips. “Work a dead-end job for the rest of his life?”
“I don’t care if he does! I will still love him. You can’t change it.”
“Cornell is a long way from Dayton--”
“I don’t want to go to Cornell. I got accepted at Alabama State.”
“I see.” Her lips pursed together. “I think you should go to Cornell.”
“And then what? Get a degree. Forget all about Bellamy. Marry some rich guy I barely like, and do nothing with the rest of my life like you did?” It was harsh, I knew that, but I was frustrated and angry that she couldn’t see, I wasn’t her and I didn’t want her life. I gripped the edge of the table, meeting her gaze. “I love him, Mom. Remember what that feels like for just a second. What if dad had never stopped loving you?”
She smoothed a hand over the pristine tablecloth. “Well, things might have been different. But I don’t regret it. I met Pierre…”
“You don’t love Pierre. You like him, but you don’t love him.” I dragged a hand through my hair, a
ngry at myself and her and the world. I wanted to reach through that cold shell of hers and make her remember this madness. I wanted her to recall what it’s like to feel like another person is your source of oxygen. To have them set your soul on fire. But maybe she didn’t want to remember.
“And if it doesn’t work out?” she asked. “You’re talking about sacrificing a very blessed future for this boy.”
“But what if it does work out, Mom?” I was almost shouting because she did not get it. “What if it does?”
“Oh, Drucella.” She looked out over the ocean beyond, then released a sharp breath.
A few seconds of silence passed between us before her gaze met mine. Then she swept a piece of hair behind my ear, and her fingers gently brushed my cheek. “Love is reckless, and you always were wild.” The faintest smile played over her lips. “Tell me about this boy. I want every detail.”
54
Bellamy
I stared at my wall, fighting the emotions whirling through me like an F-5 tornado.
My gaze landed on Drew’s clothes still hanging in my closet, and the pain intensified. I wanted to hate her, I really did, but I couldn’t. I fell back on my bed, scrolling through the novel’s worth of text messages between us, because I was a masochist apparently.
Me: You working sucks
Baby Girl: It does, but I’ll suck something else later
I scrolled some more.
Me: I can still taste you on my lips
Baby Girl: You’re such a pervert
Me: Fine. I miss you
Me: And the taste of you on my tongue is making it worse.
And then, one of the last ones gutted me.
Baby Girl: I can’t wait to come home
Me: I’m waiting, naked in our bed
She thought I resented her. Jesus. I should have just told her I loved her long before now, regardless of how terrified it made me. She thought I wanted to break up with her, so she went to France. Then she cried when I did tell her I loved her, and she hung up. Because it’s Drew.
No Good: A Standalone Enemies to Lovers Romance Page 31
