by Liz Lovelock
“Good. I’ll meet you in the gym in fifteen minutes. Bring your A game, Dylan.”
“You know I will.”
We hang up without saying goodbye; that’s the kind of relationship we have.
Grabbing my gear, I recall the conversation with Lachlan last night. I go into my contacts and scroll right down to the Vs, and there it is: Vegas Husband.
It’s been here this whole time. Of course, not many people would go searching in the V section of their phones. Now to see if it’s really is his number. It’s probably the wrong time, but when is it ever, right? I’m living for me now and no one else.
I type.
Scarlett: Hey, Vegas Husband.
As fast as I type it, I erase it, even though I’d love nothing more than to talk to him, to offload my issues onto him. I won’t do that, though.
I take my bag and leave. I’m ready to sweat out my anger and the frustrations my father brings into my life. Though the thought of Lachlan is still strong, I can’t leave. It would probably lead to so much drama with Dad, and I don’t need that. But I have this strange pull to my first ex-husband even though I hardly know the man. That’s just crazy.
“Nope, not going there,” I mutter and exit my office.
“What are we running off today?” Dylan asks as we both step onto the treadmill. Being that it’s the weekend, we’re lucky to get machines side by side.
I laugh. “Asshole fathers and stupid ex-husbands who go running to said father.”
“At least you have an ex-husband. Most people think this pretty face is probably a receptionist or nurse, but when I mention I give men vasectomies for a living, it’s as though their dicks start doing the thinking for them from that moment on.”
A loud laugh erupts from my chest, and tears well in my eyes. “This is why I love you. No matter what, you can make me forget my problems. Even if it is for a short while. Thank you,” I say while wiping some wetness from my cheeks.
We both set our treadmills and start running.
“So, what did Darth Vader want?”
“Dad wanted me to basically take Craig back and said that cheating was forgivable. I can’t believe he said that. Is cheating forgivable?” I glance over and wait for her response.
Her arms move, and she inhales before speaking. “I’m not sure what your father’s endgame is here, or what Craig wants. As for cheating, I think it’s unforgivable. Just send him to my office, and I can fix it for you.” She winks.
“Noted.” The smile plastered on my face causes my cheeks to ache.
“Are you okay since things with Craig have finalized?”
“Yeah, it’s as though there’s a weight lifted off my shoulders, but I have a feeling it’s not over because my father is the man he is. I’m wondering what vile thing he’s going to do to try to set things back up between us. He was so pissed. Why the hell would I want to stay with someone who’s obviously only there for the money?”
“We could all see it.” A bead of sweat forms on her creased forehead.
“I know. I had to figure it out for myself. The cheating was the final straw,” I say, a tickle of wetness sliding down my back.
“Wow! I wonder what happened with the job with his dad. Did he tell you?”
“Nope. Never did. I asked and asked, daily, and then he started getting angry at me for asking. Thankfully, I have Vivian who made sure all my assets were safe with the prenup.”
Dylan wipes her face with a towel before saying, “I’ll be hiring her when I eventually find myself a man. If I find a man,” she huffs.
“I have no doubt there’s a special guy around the corner for you.”
“Well, I wish he’d show up sooner rather than later, because these reproductive organs have a time limit.” Dylan slaps her hand over her lower abdomen.
“I couldn’t agree with you more on that one. I’m sure Theo will probably have a kid before me. Although, he’s most likely already got one walking around out there and doesn’t even know it. The way that man goes through women, I’m surprised he’s not hated by most of them.”
A low whistle blows through Dylan’s lips. “Perhaps he should come see me so that he doesn’t have little Theos walking around the streets.”
We both erupt in laughter. I press the button on the treadmill, and it slows to a stop. Dylan does the same, both of us panting as sweat slips down our faces.
“I highly doubt he’d go to you for that. If anything, he’d probably try to sleep with you.”
Dylan’s eyes brighten. “Well, you know I wouldn’t mind either way. Your brother is hot, and I wouldn’t mind having a piece of him.”
“Trust me when I say you really don’t. The way he goes through girls is unfathomable. Plus, you’re a friend, so he wouldn’t sleep with you.”
She purses her lips, giving me a weighted stare. “I can handle one-night stands. It’s the date and questions beforehand that kill the mood. I swear their balls shrivel up and die the moment they hear what I do. I kill my own sex life.” She laughs while wiping a towel over her long brown hair.
“What if you just said you’re a surgeon?”
“Then they ask what’s my specialty, so I tell them.” She shrugs.
“Just omit the truth a little on your next date and see how it goes.”
Dylan taps a perfectly manicured red fingernail on her chin. “It’s worth a try. Let’s go get some food. I’m starving.”
I shake my head. “You just need to get laid.”
“Yes, yes I do. I have no doubt when I finally do open my legs, moths are going to fly out, and he’ll have to find his way through the cobwebs.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Don’t be dramatic. Oh, did I tell you I ran into the guy I married in Vegas all those years ago?”
Dylan gives me a pointed glare. “No, you haven’t. Do tell me, and please let me know if he has some friends.”
“Let’s get some food into our bellies, and I’ll fill you in.”
“Okay, at least I get to live vicariously through you since my love life is dismal.”
When I finally get home after spending the day with Dylan and the pressure headache my father gave me is now completely gone, I’m ready for anything. Refreshed and pumped for the new week. Time to push men out of my mind and focus on work. Of course, I can do that. That’s my safe place. Living in a world of fairytales is so much better than real life.
Stepping off the elevator onto the floor of my apartment, my feet become like concrete. Craig sits at my door. I sigh. I don’t want to deal with this man.
He turns his head to the sound of the elevator, so I can’t even escape.
“What do you want?” I ask, bags weighing down my arms.
Shadows loom under his eyes, and an unkempt beard mars his face.
I flinch; Craig doesn’t normally grow a beard.
He shoots to his feet and scratches his head. “I wanted to talk.” He even sounds broken and remorseful.
“No. We’ve said all we need to say. This entire situation has been going on for too long. I’m done. We’re divorced now, and I just want you to leave. If you don’t, I will.”
He holds his hands up. “Please, Scarlett. I’m sorry about everything.”
“You’re only sorry you got caught. Next time don’t sleep with someone from my workplace. People gossip, and things always find their way back to me. Go sort yourself out, Craig. I’ve got no more time or energy to waste on you.” I stare him dead in his dark, bloodshot eyes. Are those tears? When did he learn to cry?
“Please, Scarlett,” he begs again. “My father won’t help me.”
“Go see my father; he obviously has a soft spot for you.”
“That wouldn’t be right.” He shakes his head.
“Don’t tell me your morals have risen. Just get off my doorstep. There’s nothing belonging to you in there.”
He sighs, his shoulders slump, and he hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Scarlett. I should have been a better husband. I can do bette
r. Give me another chance.”
An ache forms in my chest, so I put down my shopping bags and take his hand in mine. “I can’t, Craig. Our marriage is finished. It’s time to move on.” Letting his hand go, I pick up my bags again and step around him. “Please leave.”
Silence fills the hallway.
“Craig, I think you should see a professional. Talk to someone about what’s happened.” I look down at my feet then back up at him. “It might help.”
He simply nods, steps around me, and leaves. I exhale the breath that’s been caught in my throat. He isn’t the man I knew, and it frightens me. I unlock my door and rush through it, locking it as soon as I’m inside.
I’m greeted with a wave of loneliness. Bookshelves full of love stories fill my living room. When will I get my happily ever after? Perhaps I’m meant to be a spinster for the rest of my life. Little lonely Scarlett can only fall in love with characters in books. If only Mr. Perfect was out there.
Of course, no one wants to be alone. We all dream of our future husbands and all the things we want.
I remember when Dylan and I wrote a list of what we wanted in our future husbands back when we were kids. We both said someone with money. Now, neither of us need a wealthy man; we’re successful on our own. My dream husband had to have blue eyes, while Dylan wanted a man with green eyes. They had to have big muscles. They had to cook for us and, of course, take us shopping and love us immensely. Of course, those superficial qualities of eye color and muscles don’t matter as much now. I wish I had the carefree attitude I did when I was seventeen again, though.
My shoes click on the shiny wooden floors as I walk to my bedroom and dump my bags of new clothes and shoes I certainly don’t need. It still felt good to do something for myself.
I grab my phone from my handbag and type a message to Vivian.
Scarlett: Want to come over for dinner? I’ve got wine.
Kicking off my shoes, I grab my gym bag and take its dirty contents to the laundry hamper in the bathroom. When I step in, my reflection stares back at me—the worn-out look of messy gym hair and a reddened face. My head feels like a puzzle, all those pieces trying to fit together but never do.
“You are smart. You are beautiful. You are loved,” I chant to my reflection. My watch vibrates, alerting me to a text message on my phone.
Vivian: Have you messaged Lachlan?
Only she would go there.
Scarlett: No. Are you coming or not?
Vivian: Sure. Be there soon. We can work out a message together to send him. LOL
She’s going to be sorely disappointed.
I turn on the shower and strip off my clothes. When I glance back in the mirror, my reflection slowly fades behind the steam coating it. I should message him. What have I got to lose? Another marriage? Wait, why am I even thinking of marriage again? That isn’t going to happen.
I step into the shower, and heated water slides over my sensitive skin. A vision of Lachlan leaps into the forefront of my mind. He’s like a Greek god with that body. The power in his kisses were enough to make any woman feel wanted. His taste was magical, and his touches were a force to be reckoned with. A sorcerer of sorts. He surely used his powers on me that night in Vegas.
“Can you come to this charity event with me this weekend? I’m going to ask Dylan to come with us as well. Let’s make a night of it,” I say to Vivian as I take another sip of my white wine.
Plates of a number of different pasta meals are spread out in front of us on the coffee table.
She pauses with another breadstick in her hand. “If it means I get to wear a gorgeous dress, heels, and a massive hairdo and makeup, then you know I’m totally there. Plus, there’ll be guys.”
“I knew I could count on you, and yes, there will be plenty of rich men with fat wallets.”
“I’m there. Will Lachlan be there?”
I throw her a puzzled look. “I don’t know if he supports this charity or not.”
“You could easily message him. I can’t believe you gave him a number short.” She shakes her head and puts more food in her mouth.
“In my defense, I could have been intoxicated still. I drank a lot, and, if you remember, I got married by an Elvis impersonator. Of course, my judgment was impaired. If I had been sober, it might have been a different story.”
Vivian gives me a pointed glare. It’s one she’s really good at. It means don’t talk rubbish. “Whatever. I bet you did it on purpose. I think you should message him.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why not?”
I sigh. “Because I’ve just gone through my second divorce. Obviously, bad relationships or off-the-cuff ones are my specialty.”
Vivian waves her non-caring hand, as if to wipe away what I’ve just said. “Who cares?”
“I’m not ready for anyone, Vivian.” I pause and debate whether or not to tell her about Craig showing up. I decide I better. “Craig was at my door earlier.”
Her mouth falls open, then she composes herself and her brows furrow. “What did he want?” Her tone is icy.
I run my fingers through my loose hair. “He came here begging for another chance. I told him no. He looked broken, Vivian. He hasn’t shaved, and his hair was all over the place. He didn’t seem himself.”
“Hmm . . . I’m sure it’s all just to make you feel bad and to take him back. I see it all the time when women leave their husbands. Their husband could be abusive, but they turn up all sorry, and the woman is already vulnerable and scared of being alone. So, they take them back, and after about a month, it all goes back to the way it was—only worse—and then they feel even more trapped. It’s a vicious cycle.” She reaches over and rubs my arm.
If only she knew how I was feeling. I’m so accomplished, yet I’m so alone. Yes, I have amazing friends and a booming business, but I have this apartment. It has three bedrooms I’d love to fill. And there’s that house in the Hamptons I hardly use because I want to take a family vacation there. My heart hurts, and I’m afraid this loneliness is all there’s going to be in my life.
“Scarlett, are you okay?” Vivian’s concerned voice pulls me from my depressing thoughts.
I plaster a smile across my face. “Yeah, I’m good. I’m just not ready to date at the moment. I’ll mess it all up again, and I don’t want to do that. Anyway, that’s enough about men. Tell me what you’re going to wear this coming weekend.”
“Oh, my goodness, I’ve got this perfect shimmery gold dress. You remember the one I bought a couple of months ago?”
I nod.
“I think that one would be perfect. What about you?”
I purse my lips and do a mental flip of all the dresses in my closet. “I have a cream silk one that I think would look nice. But you know me—I’ll probably change my mind through the week.”
“Of course,” she says before grabbing one of the pasta bowls and stuffing a forkful in her mouth. This girl eats whatever she wants and doesn’t care about carbs. I guess that's one of the reasons we’re such great friends.
For the rest of the night, I try and pay attention to the conversation and questions Vivian throws my way. A lot are still about Lachlan, which I brush off. He did want me to message him. Perhaps I should. No, I can’t. And the battle of my heart and head continues.
I tug at the bow tie that strangles me. “As much as I support this charity, I really am not a fan of wearing these suits.”
Wyatt stands behind me, straightening his own bow tie. “Quit complaining. It’s just for a couple of hours.” He claps me on the back and turns away.
“Hey, do you remember the woman I married in Vegas?”
“Something like that isn’t likely to be forgotten any time soon. That party-boy phase of yours was one I’m glad you grew out of. I have that girl you married to thank for that. It was like it scared you enough to stop doing things your fellow teammates are doing now. If I see her again, I’ll have to thank her.”
“I saw her again
recently.”
Wyatt’s head snaps up. “What? Really? What does she want? She can’t come after you for money all these years later.”
I hold my hands out to stop him. “Whoa, it’s not like that. She has money of her own. Trust me, I’m good. I saw her, and we spoke. No alcohol involved this time.”
Wyatt is silent as he stands there, his brow creased. He’s gone into work and protective mode. “Be careful, Lachlan. She might have some agenda.”
“I highly doubt it. She doesn’t come across as the type of person who would do something like that.”
“Are you a people reader now?” he snaps.
“Will you settle the hell down? All I’m saying is that we saw each other and said hello. There’s been no other form of contact.”
I leave out the part where I told her to contact me. It’s been a week, and she hasn’t. Disappointment floods me. I’d really hoped she would. I’d love to get to actually know her.
Wyatt hands me my jacket. I take it and slip it on over the crisp white shirt that I want to tug off.
“Let’s get out of here. There’s a car out front,” Wyatt says, and I throw a quick glance around the large area of my living room. It’s very much a bachelor pad. Simple with sleek furniture.
The first thing I purchased with my contract money was a house just on the outskirts of the hustle and bustle of the city. Sometimes the lifestyle can be too much. Being under the spotlight and scrutinized for each and every thing I do.
I finally say, “Okay, let’s go.”
Wyatt hands our invitation in, and they check off our names. The lady standing at the door, assisting, blushes when she sees me. I gift her a smile and keep walking.
“That’s what gets you in trouble,” Wyatt mutters under his breath.
I roll my eyes. “It was one simple smile, Wyatt.”
We enter the room that’s been glitzed with shimmering gold, pearly white, and black balloons. White tablecloths cover many large round tables positioned throughout the room, fancy gold flickering candles as centerpieces. I scan a couple of tables, but there are no name cards like there usually would be. The invitation did say there was going to be a different spin on things tonight.
