by Thea Dawson
Just focus on getting this off and then you can get out of here and break down somewhere private.
Finally, the ring slid painfully over her knuckle and off her finger. Feeling sweaty and disheveled, she handed the greasy diamond to Steve, who took it with the faintest air of distaste and began wiping it off with a linen napkin.
Holly looked down at her bare, red finger. It hurt from all the tugging. She should have gotten it off with soap in the ladies room, away from all the prying eyes.
Then she could have flushed it down the toilet.
Steve put the ring in his pocket. “Come on. Let me get your coat, and I’ll drive you home,” he said, standing up.
An awkward, silent fifteen-minute drive back to her mother’s house would, naturally, be the perfect capper to the evening.
“No,” she replied.
“How are you going to get home?”
Somewhere below the medieval-torture level of hurt that was scorching her insides, angry little thoughts were buzzing. If you’d had the decency to break up with me somewhere private … If you hadn’t insisted on picking me up … If you’d given me some kind of warning—anything …
“I’ll call Sav or Rachel,” was all she said.
“Why don’t I wait until you’re sure she can pick you up,” he suggested, sliding back into his seat.
She met his gaze firmly. “I’m not your problem anymore, Steve. Please leave.” She was proud of herself for saying at least that much.
Steve had the grace to look a little ashamed of himself. “Sure.” He stood up again. “I’m really sorry it had to end like this, Holly. Like I said, I really do hope we’ll be friends.”
She’d eaten too much at dinner, and her dress felt uncomfortably tight. Her ring finger ached, she was damp with sweat, and her entire life had been rearranged without her say so.
She looked him in the eye. “Fuck you, Steve,” she said quietly.
He accepted her words with a resigned nod and turned away.
She forced herself not to watch him go. Instead, she dug her phone out of her little black evening purse with trembling fingers and called Savannah.
Holly rolled over and groaned.
Each heartbeat felt like a hammer blow to her head, and she was pretty sure she was going to be sick to her stomach. She considered the situation for a few minutes before deciding.
She was definitely going to be sick.
She scrambled out of her queen-sized bed and made it to the en-suite bathroom just in time to throw up the remains of last night’s expensive, humiliating dinner. She flushed the toilet with a shaky hand, her eyes drawn again to her swollen and naked ring finger, then she wiped her mouth with a wad of toilet paper and slumped on the floor, her aching head pressed against the cool tile.
Savannah and Rachel had come through for her in true three-amigas style, taking her straight from the fancy restaurant to a dive bar the next town over and getting her wasted. Rachel had made all the right sympathetic noises and had gotten drunk right along with her, though she probably hadn’t done quite as much damage as Holly. Savannah, a little too gleeful, had paid for the drinks and driven them both home.
Holly had always known that Sav was lukewarm on Steve, but the enthusiasm with which she had clinked her soda water to Holly’s multiple cocktails made her realize now that she had actively disliked him.
“Someday, you’ll look back at this as the luckiest day of your life!” Savannah had crowed somewhere in the depths of the hazy, inebriated evening, her Southern accent breaking through the way it did when she got excited.
Note to self: from now on, Savannah vets all potential fiancés.
Even if her definition of luck is a little twisted.
Holly pushed herself up to a sitting position and leaned against the wall next to the toilet for a long time, physically exhausted and emotionally spent. In her head, she revisited her last conversation with Steve again, kicking herself for not having had the presence of mind to ask him more questions. What did he want out of life that she didn’t? She’d have been willing to negotiate.
She stared blankly at the sliding glass door of the shower until eventually, she became aware of sounds from downstairs. A footstep. The clunk of drawer shutting. The soft suction sound of the refrigerator door.
She sat up a little straighter, a spike of alarm penetrating the fog of misery. Sophie wasn’t due in until this evening, and Holly couldn’t think who else would be moving around in the kitchen at 11 am on a Saturday morning. Unless Sophie had changed plans and come in early, which sometimes happened.
She pushed herself carefully to her feet. She still felt delicate, but the worst of the hangover seemed to have left her along with her last meal. She tiptoed back to the bedroom and pulled her phone out of the little black purse, careful not to make a sound. If there wasn’t a message from Sophie, she’d lock herself in the bathroom and call 911.
But there was a message. It had arrived last night, probably around the time that tequila shots had started to look like a good idea.
Taking the red eye. Home around 6 am. Will try not to wake you.
Another message had followed right after.
Bringing you a special engagement present! Can’t wait to show you!!! xo
The hangover was momentarily suspended by the flood of relief that washed through her—not burglars!—then it was reinstated in full force by the dread that followed. She’d have to tell Sophie about Steve and confess that she’d been dumped. The thought of enduring her mother’s disappointment or, worse yet, pity, was almost worse than being dumped in the first place.
No, not worse than being dumped—just a special humiliation all its own.
And what kind of present was she bringing? Knowing Sophie, it could be anything from a set of steak knives to the property deed for a brand new mansion. Whatever it was, it was a good bet that it was something Holly didn’t want or need. Maybe the silver lining to being unengaged would be that she wouldn’t have to take it.
Better to just get it over with. Shakily, she washed her face and brushed her teeth, pulled her frizzy hair into a supposed-to-be-messy bun, threw a cozy robe over her pajamas, and made her way down to the kitchen.
When she got there, the refrigerator door was wide open, and someone was crouched behind it, pulling things out. The island countertop was piled high with leftover containers, half-empty wine bottles, cheeses, bags of sliced bread, and various and sundry condiments
Holly rubbed her bleary eyes. Sophie thrived on being unpredictable, but she drew the line at housework.
“Mom, what are you doing? Don’t tell me you came all the way from LA just to clean out the refridg—”
The words froze in her mouth as the person behind the door stood up and shut it.
It wasn’t her mother. Not by a long shot.
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Other Books by Thea Dawson
FREE on Kindle Unlimited
Gentlemen, Inc. Series
Man of the Moment
Man of the World
Man of Matrimony
Man about Town
Silverweed Falls Series
Doubts & Desires (FREE novella)
Desire by Design
Acting on Impulse
Love and Coffee Adventures
Wanderlust
Asking Angelina
About the Author
World traveler, vegetarian, salsa dancer, film fanatic, lover of happy endings. In an alternate steampunk universe, Thea travels by dirigible and gets in sword fights with dashing villains.
In this one, she lives in the Pacific Northwest with her husband/salsa partner, three antic children, and an agenda-driven cat. She writes at the intersection of sweet and steamy, with the goal of melting your heart and brightening your day.
If you'd like to keep up with her and learn more about her books, please visit her website at www.thead
awson.com or find her on Facebook at fb.me/TheaDawsonAuthor.
