by Brea Viragh
“No, it isn’t politics.”
“Let me guess. You got a stain on your favorite jacket?”
“Sorry, no.”
“This better be the part where you say you’re making it up to me for being a dick last week.’”
There was no hesitation when he spoke again. “I want to break up.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cold water. On head. Down spine. If I’d suddenly woken up with my body sewn to the floor, I could not have been more surprised than I was right then.
A fissure of ice settled beneath my heart and took up residence. “You have got to be kidding me!” I barked.
“I’m afraid not,” Weston said with nary a drop of contrition. “I’ve given this plenty of thought.”
“You’re doing this now? In front of all these people? What a load of crap.”
The waiter, on his way to check on us, froze and stared at me with wide eyes. Indecision caught him and I noted the moment where he decided to turn around, to bolt in the opposite direction. I didn’t blame him. If given the chance, I would have done the same. But it would seem I had an obligation to duke it out with my boyfriend before I left.
Pardon me. Ex-boyfriend.
Looking around the room, softly lit and romantic, I wanted to throw up. All the antiques and violin music meant nothing. All the flowers and candles in the world couldn’t make up for the embarrassment.
I ground my teeth together and thought of something suitable to say, something that didn’t come out as a flurry of curse words. Definitely should have gone with one of my excuses not to come. This hadn’t been worth the hassle of getting ready. I’d have to apologize to the girls for shoving them into a bra this late at night.
I finally said, “Seriously?” Then I fought the urge to worry my lip till I tasted blood.
Weston stirred from his inactivity and handed me one of the empty plates. Like I had an appetite now? I would never get to enjoy the truly spectacular lamb.
“I’m sorry, River, I am, considering the roller coaster ride I’ve put you through these last few months,” he said, quite unapologetic despite his silver-tongued tenor. “I didn’t mean for it to be this awkward. I’ve never been good with breakups. I feel like the world’s biggest jerk.”
“You are the world’s biggest jerk,” I retorted. The moment called for a bed with a thick comforter in which to bury my screams. A pillow to take the brunt of my ire. Instead I swallowed a moan and shot a killing glance at the water glass. My thumb traveled to my mouth of its own accord and I bit down on the nub of my nail. “How could you do this to me?”
Weston toyed with his knife, butter glistening on the end. “I’ve been thinking about it for the last week.”
“The. Last. Week.”
News. To. Me.
It was knee-jerk shock. For the longest time, I had trouble finding the proper train of thought. Internal babble kept on the inside, I wondered if I had the strength to blacken his eye for pulling the surprise act. Would the servers and diners think less of me for lunging across the table, screaming like a banshee?
I cleared my throat and forced a smile. “Come again? I could have sworn I heard you say for the last week.” My fist dropped to the table and accidentally sent my own butter knife in a swan dive toward the floor.
Weston eyed the cutlery as though he wasn’t sure whether to leave it or pick it up. Either way, he avoided my eyes. “I know this isn’t what you wanted to hear. There’s a job opening for me in Florida and I’m going to take it.”
“You need to hold on and rewind. What the what is going on? You’re breaking up with me because of a job?”
“River, I don’t want to use the it’s not you, it’s me line, because you’ll think I’m an asshole.”
“Yeah?”
“More than you do right now. This is an opportunity I can’t pass up. I mean, it’s a chance to expand my base, reach people with the same forward vision.” He spread his arms wide, picturing the ready group of people waiting for him in the Florida panhandle. Finally, he dropped his gaze to meet mine. “You can understand that, surely.”
“So you are saying it’s not me, it’s you.”
“It happens to be true, and I’m sorry for putting you on the spot. You’re a wonderful woman. Wise and filled with a kind of tenacity one rarely sees these days.”
“You’re gonna stick with that?”
“Um, yes…”
I slammed my fist a second time, setting the glassware tinkling and earning curious stares from nearby diners. “Really explains you shattering my heart.”
It wasn’t shattered. In truth, it was more of a dull ache than an outright snap. But it was the principle of the thing. He shouldn’t bring me to a fancy restaurant for wine and dinner then drop the bomb.
What happened to making nice with me for being a dick? This was taking dick to the next level and beyond.
It was uncalled-for and wrong. I understood the desire to make the break in person, because let’s face it, we’ve all been there. It would be much easier to grab the phone and send out a hastily typed text message. I’ve been both the giver and the receiver of those in the past.
That was rude enough, but there was something even more rude about doing this with an audience. Now, I wished Weston had made a phone call to bring down the ax.
I realized, in a flash, the mistake I’d made by staying with him for so long. This had been a relationship of convenience, not true affection. A way for me to soothe the hole in my heart with a handy replacement. If I hadn’t been so mortified, I might have been ashamed of myself.
“So the seven months we’ve been together mean nothing to you, I gather. You should have told me this earlier, since you’ve obviously known about the Florida position.”
His voice held a wealth of apology. “You moved here wanting to find yourself. I have no right to take that away from you by making you come with me. It’s what I want, not what you want.”
“You don’t want me to come with you?” I asked sullenly.
“This job is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I feel it’s time for me to move on. We’re in two different places.”
“You made me volunteer only to boost your popularity.” I leaned back and pretended to study a painting on the wall. “You said I needed to work on my image because public opinion was negative. Public opinion mattered to you more than my happiness.”
“No, it didn’t,” he insisted.
My thighs itched to rise and pace restlessly in front of the picture window looking out on sleeping gardens. I had no time to pay attention to the view or the unconscious whims of my legs.
I scoffed and fought against the urge to rip my cuticles to shreds. “I did what you asked and you still weren’t satisfied. Not to mention nearly biting my head off for volunteering with a certain gentleman of ill repute.”
Weston leaned forward, expression earnest. “I’m an insensitive prick.” At least he knew his shortcomings. “I should have told you this sooner. I didn’t want to hurt you.”
His admitting to the fact with such ease struck me as inappropriate. “Right.”
“I shouldn’t have pushed, and I shouldn’t have tried to change you. It was my mistake. I can only offer you a sincere apology.”
His version of one, at any rate.
I shook my head. “You say this now, but you were dancing to a different tune for the last two months. When did you find out about the position?”
The answer came slowly. “I was made aware of the opening about a year ago.”
“This has been in the works for a while, then,” I answered with equal deliberateness.
“It was a pipe dream until my secretary received a call from a senator on the Gulf Coast. My parents retired there and have been pulling a few strings so I could relocate. This is a way to get my name out there. I have a good chance of running for senator one day.”
Yeah, a Florida Senator. Nothing sounded better. Or more appropriate.
“You k
new about this before we met?”
“Yes.”
“Before you told me to work on my public image.”
“Yes.”
I slammed my fist down on the table a third time, relishing his pained expression at the outburst. In response to my outrage, the white pillar candle shook free of its silver stick and fell to the floor, splattering wax. I left it there alongside the forgotten knife. “Goddammit, Weston, why don’t you drag me through the mud a little more? You made me feel like I wasn’t good enough for you. Made me feel like my klutzy nature was a hindrance. Are you always this manipulative?”
“No. It seems to be a relatively recent development.”
Much like my clumsiness. “Then you’ll fit in real well with the Florida assholes in their Bermuda shorts and sandals.”
“I don’t have an easy way out of this. I’m sorry,” he exclaimed. “Believe me when I say I never meant for you to get hurt, and I hope we can still be friends.”
Lips pursed, I took great interest in studying my shredded nails and cuticles. “I’m not in a position to be friends with an insensitive ass-wipe.”
He knitted his fingers together, a paragon of remorse. “I didn’t think you wanted to move. I figured it was better to get this out of the way instead of dragging out a long-distance relationship. We all know those never work. You aren’t leaving, and I can’t stay. I don’t know what else I can say to you.”
“You know what would have been better? Talking to me before you made up your mind to move. I deserve that much, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do. I fucked up.”
I shooed the server away a second time when he came to check on our order. It was hard not to paint Weston as a villain in my mind. The breakup blindsided me, along with the mention of the Florida job. If it had been a possibility throughout our entire relationship, why hadn’t he said anything? Why now?
Annoyance took me by surprise when I thought about his adamancy that I stay away from Finn.
“You royally fucked up,” I raged. I felt the heat of eyes turning in my direction when I continued, blocking out the distractions. “You can’t do this to a person, Weston. I’ve been doing my damnedest to make a good impression on these people. Your people. People I couldn’t care less about. If they like me, they like me. And if they don’t, well, I’m too old to worry about it. But you made me feel like I had to get out there and look the part for you. Jump through hoops like a circus performer. Now you’re dumping me? What the hell?”
“I never meant to hurt you,” he repeated with awkward gallantry. “I tried to do this in a nice way when I saw no other option.”
“Said every boyfriend ever when they’ve made a mistake.” I withdrew into sullen silence.
The entire restaurant now had their focus on our window table. Weston’s face paled when he noticed the attention, and he smiled kindly at the nearest couple. I had to wonder. If he knew there would be a reaction—when you’re faced with a female in a breakup, there’s bound to be one—why would he take me to a public place?
Talk about adding fuel to the gossipmonger fire.
Still, here we were. The two of us refusing to speak or make eye contact any more than we had to. A tentative hush had fallen over the restaurant, and in the silence, I made out the sound of my pulse. Slow. Determined. Pissed off.
I could tell he was getting upset the longer we sat. Veins throbbed and the skin near his left eye developed a nervous tic.
Join the party. I wondered if he’d pictured it differently in his head, the River he was used to quietly acknowledging the break and pledging not to let it affect any future friendship.
Yeah. That bitch wasn’t coming back.
“It seems no matter what I say, you’re going to be upset,” Weston murmured at last.
“You think?” I exploded. “Upset tends to happen when you’re forced to sit and listen to excuses. You’ve been a decent boyfriend until this point, and I was willing to go along with your archaic ideas because you made me happy.”
“You’re unhappy now,” he stated, tugging on the end of his tie.
“Yeah. I’m unhappy. I knew I should have stayed away from you. You weren’t ready to be in a relationship and I’ve been the rebound girl long enough to recognize the signs. You’re not a bad guy, Weston, but come on. You are definitely practicing for the Senate seat.”
“You were never the rebound girl.”
“What did I say about using lines on me? Maybe next time I’ll use my head instead of my...” Loins. “Heart,” I finished.
He managed a small smile, showing perfect teeth. “Silver lining? You never have to go back to the rehab house.”
I grabbed a roll from the basket and bit it in half to prove I wasn’t impacted by his humor. “You think I want to hear about a silver lining?” I said through the food. Who cared what people thought of me now? I’d give them all a show. “Better to say, ‘River, I’ve been out of my mind and have no clue what I want. I’m leaving you in the dust for some job opportunity because I’m not good at thinking about other people. I only think about myself.’ Or you can stick with the rehab house bit, if you’d rather.”
I wasn’t sure why I was fighting. Pride, perhaps. Weston and I hadn’t been dating long enough for the emotional investment to take a significant piece of me. Instead, it was the principle. The hours of work I’d put in, trying to help him with his political career, to have him turn around and break it off without warning.
What hurt worse? The fact that he’d dumped me, or that I hadn’t seen it coming?
Weston was a politician through and through. He tried to spin the story around to fit his needs. I saw to the meat and bones of him. I’d been good to have around—until I wasn’t anymore. Useful until something better came along. In this case, a higher pay grade. Something entailing a quadruple-figure raise and four seasons of summer.
“I’m not sure what I can say or do to make you feel better,” he said.
“You can get out.” I pointed to the door. “I don’t want to talk to you. I’ll be happy if I never have to see your face again.”
“Our time together was great, River. Do you want to end it like this?”
“I want to end it with kicking your ass across the dining room, but I’d hate to ruin my shoes.”
“Nothing good can come from me leaving you here. Mad.”
“I’m going to be mad for a long time. Because like it or not, you’ve made me feel like I’m not good enough, and walking out is the icing on the cake.”
“I’m not walking out. Don’t you understand?” He wanted me to. To see things from his point of a view. A point of view I would never comprehend.
“Apparently not. Go before you ruin your image. We wouldn’t want the town to see you with a busted lip and swollen cheek bones.” The bread sat stale in the hollow cavern of my stomach.
“I do care about you,” Weston responded, standing.
“How funny. I don’t anymore. Bye-bye.”
He paused with his fingers grazing the table, sparing a glance over his shoulder. “I didn’t want to end it on a sour note.” Those fingers tapped a small beat. I remembered the last time I’d stared at his hands, those long fingers and well-manicured nails. I’d likened them to an artist’s hands.
A con artist.
“I can tell,” I said at last. “You brought me to a place where an empty plate still costs a Benjamin.”
I hated leaving it with a one-liner. Oh, who was I kidding, I loved it. The tears clogging my throat didn’t allow me much wiggle room. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t let him know how his words impacted me. After what had happened with the string of exes in my wake, crying went against the grain.
Tell that to the beautiful scene I’d just wrapped.
I stayed at the table after he left, resting my head against the tablecloth until the murmur of voices blocked out everything else. Until I was sure Weston wasn’t coming back. Then I allowed the heaving exhale and frantic rubbing of my burning e
yes. The relationship had been a mistake, and this was the result. Perfect.
“Can I get you anything else tonight, Miss?”
I raised my head long enough to blink at the maître-de in his crisp black suit. “A Valium and a shot of vodka?”
He bobbed his head in affirmation. “Very good, Miss.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I’d hardly gotten through the front door and settled down when the tears finally came. The high heels I kicked as far as my legs allowed. They bounced off the wall and left marks. The tiny black dress felt like a mockery, a gesture that should have been appreciated and was spit on instead.
I’d dressed for a celebration. It turned out I’d dressed for a surprise breakup instead. Would have been nice of him to let me know beforehand. A tiny clue to give me the slightest indication. Weston must have thought long and hard about the best way to insult me.
In public. With an audience.
I planned to spend a few hours indulging in a pity party for one before acting like a big girl. Big girls didn’t cry about breakups; they hitched up their panties, slipped into higher heels, and went out to find another mistake before the sun rose.
The prospect sounded grueling.
Thank God my mother wasn’t coming home for a few more hours. There was no way I could explain this to her. She’d be devastated to hear I’d ruined my chance to be a first lady someday. Or at the very least, the mayor’s wife. She would think I’d acted out and botched the relationship to spite her.
Oh, she’d take the opportunity to console me, with a slew of sentiments and wheedling of what I should have done to change his mind. The succor of her trying to be a good parent. Then she’d toss me overboard into a sea of depression.
There was only one problem: I was done trying to please someone else just so I could have a body to warm my bed. Done staying in an unsatisfying relationship with enough chemistry to fill a teaspoon. Funny how I hadn’t realized what I was doing until it was done. I wasn’t sure how to reprogram my brain after a lifetime, but I’d made up my mind to try.
