The Romeo Effect

by Monroe, Lila

  I blink. “You followed her?”

  “Obviously I had reason to,” James says, looking smug.

  I have to clench my fists to keep from lunging at him. “You’re way out of line,” I warn him, my voice low. “You had a crush on her and I tried to set you up. That’s all I ever promised: to create the opportunity. April doesn’t owe you anything. She chose not to be with you.”

  Thank fucking God. Her instincts about him were dead on.

  “Yeah, because you took her for yourself when you were supposed to make her mine,” James argues.

  “That’s not how it works,” I tell him. “Believe me, April isn’t someone who can be taken. She’s her own person.”

  But his face gets even redder. “You stabbed me in the back! You took her from me. I bet Winston wouldn’t be very happy to hear how you’re treating your clients,” James adds, scowling. “Using them for your own hookups. All it would take is a phone call from me and you’d be fired.” He pauses, a mean look coming over his face. “And I will. You break it off with April, or I’m calling him.”

  I snort. “Go ahead, asshole,” I say, crossing my arms. “I don’t give a flying fuck.”

  And as the words come from my mouth, I realize it’s true. Which is even more surprising than James’s ridiculous tirade. I don’t feel the loyalty to Winston and the agency I once did. I mean, I’ve been proud of the work I’ve done—the happy couples I’ve helped connect—but April means way more to me than any gig.

  My job is replaceable, but April?

  She’s one of a kind.

  When James realizes I’m serious, his face changes. “You really think you care about her? Then fine. I’ll ruin her instead. I’ll run April’s business into the ground. You don’t think I can do it?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “I know people at City Hall. I’ll report her for health and safety violations. Make sure all her clients leave. She’ll be buried in no time.”

  “Are you a fucking psychopath?” I demand. Because seriously, is this guy for real?

  Clearly, the answer is yes, because James stares at me with pure hatred in his eyes.

  “No, I’m just a guy who knows what he wants, and I’m not going to let anything stand in my way. It’s up to you,” he taunts me. “What’s it going to be? Stand aside and let me be with her, or watch her whole life fall apart? Everything she’s worked to build, that stupid flower shop of hers, destroyed. Because of you.”

  I punch him in the face.

  Before I even realize what’s happened, James is on the ground, blood trickling down his lip from his busted nose. That my hand suddenly really fucking hurts is the only thing that tells me I made it happen.

  “I guess that’s my answer,” I say. “Get the fuck away from me or I’ll break both of your hands. How would you like that, doctor?”

  He scrambles to his feet even as the blood keeps pouring down his face. “She’ll regret ever meeting you!” he blurts.

  “Not as much as meeting you. Get. The fuck. Away.”

  James takes off. I watch him go, my entire body shaking with anger.

  And worry.

  Because I saw the look in his eyes when he threatened April’s career. And a guy like that?

  He’s not bluffing.

  I head straight over to April’s shop to tell her what happened. But as I step inside, I stop. The shop is crammed wall-to-wall with people. April and her friends, Remy, and a bunch of people who I don’t know. The mood is electric, excited.

  “We made it!” April greets me, shrieking. “We made it onto the Bridal List!”

  I swallow back my unease. “Of course you did,” I tell her, sweeping her into a hug. “I said you would. I’m so proud of you, April!”

  “I never could have done it without you,” she says, handing me a flute of champagne. Everyone’s celebrating, and I don’t have the heart to bring down her mood right now. “Ahh! I can’t believe it!”

  “The phone’s already ringing off the hook!” Remy announces. “And traffic on your website is through the roof.”

  April clutches my arm. “Isn’t it incredible?”

  “Incredible,” I echo, proud.

  “I’m going to have to hire more people,” April cheers. “And give Remy a raise,” she says as he answers the phone, putting a finger in his other ear as he struggles to hear over the din. “And maybe even expand into the space next door! I’ll even have money left over at the end of the month to set aside for savings and a 401k! I never thought I’d be so happy about a 401k!” She laughs, her face lit up with excitement.

  “Take a deep breath,” I tell her, smiling. She’s overwhelmed with happiness. I love seeing her like this.

  But there’s a ball of dread sitting in the pit of my stomach. James isn’t going to let this go. After what I’ve seen of him, how conniving he is and what he’s capable of, I know he’s going to follow through.

  If he can’t have April, he’ll ruin her life instead.

  Because of me. Because I couldn’t stay away from her. Because despite all my rules, I’m falling in love with her.

  I can’t let that happen. She deserves all this success, and so much more.

  “April . . .” I start, before I can talk myself out of this. “Come here for a sec,” I say, leading her into the back room.

  She grins at me and moves in for a kiss, but I step back.

  Fuck.

  I can’t believe I’m really going to do this.

  I shove my fingers through my hair. Hating what I have to do. Hating myself. “I don’t think this is working.”

  She blinks. “What do you mean?”

  “This. Us.” I gulp, avoiding her gaze. “It’s not you,” I hastily add. “It’s me. I’m just not cut out for the whole relationship thing. I . . . I should have said something sooner, but, anyway. There it is.”

  I am the worst kind of asshole. And when I finally force myself to look at her, the expression on her face makes me loathe myself even more.

  “No,” she says, realization dawning. “You are not breaking up with me. Today. Here. This isn’t happening.”

  “I’m so sorry, April.” I swallow hard, wanting this to just be over with, but April folds her arms, stubborn.

  “You care about me, I know you do. You’re just freaking out for some reason. Maybe you have seasonal affective disorder or something. We’ll get you one of those happy lights.” She laughs, but it’s panicked, almost hysterical laughter. “But Seth, we’re good together. I’m not sure what’s happening but . . .”

  “You’re a great person, April,” I interrupt, wishing the ground could swallow me up. “And we had some good times, but I’m not the guy for you. You have all these artificial feelings for me because of what happened with James and how I saved you at the cabin and helped you with all this.” I wave my hands around.

  Her eyes widen. “And now you’re telling me my emotions are manufactured? That I don’t know what I’m feeling?”

  I hate that she’s pissed. And that I’m the reason why, but it actually makes my job easier.

  If she hates me, then at least she won’t be sorry to see me go.

  “What do you think?” I ask. “I’m good at what I do. I created this thing between us so we could have some fun. See how well it worked? But it’s not real, April. You just got caught up in the props and staging. There was never going to be any future for us, this was all just supposed to be a bit of fun.”

  Her face crumples right in front of me. I have never in my life felt worse. I tell myself it’s for the greater good. It’s for her.

  As she gapes at me, I turn and leave out the back door. I’m too much of a coward to face her friends. Soon enough they’ll see the carnage I’ve left behind.

  And that pit in my stomach? It’s nothing compared to the giant hole in my chest where my heart used to be.

  22

  April

  So, this is what heartbreak feels like.

  I’ve been dumped before. Hell, I thought I
could write the book on it: awkward ghosting, crappy texts, and worst of all, the whole “well, we technically weren’t in a relationship at all” routine.

  But this?

  This is a whole new circle of heartache hell. It’s been a week since Seth dumped me, and I still can’t think about it without tearing up. Because as brutal breakups go, letting me down on what should have been one of the happiest days of my life ranks way up there. The absolute top spot in shitty breakup stakes.

  I made the Bridal List . . .

  . . . and I lost my chance for love.

  Ironic, huh? Alanis would think so, which is why I’ve been blasting her nonstop. Alanis, and Lizzo, and Pink, and my girl, Kelly Clarkson—queen of the “screw you, too” independence song. They’re supposed to make me feel better about facing the world without Seth’s sizzling kisses, but all they do is leave me feeling empty inside.

  I don’t want to move on and wave him goodbye in fabulous fashion.

  I just want him back.

  “Easy on the carnations, boss,” Remy speaks up. “In fact, ix-nay on them altogether. I thought that was supposed to be a luxurious bridal bouquet, not a seventh-grade prom boutonniere.”

  I look down, and sure enough, he’s right. Yellow carnations, of all things. Yikes. This is how I know I’m in trouble. “I’m sorry,” I sigh. “I can’t focus.”

  “No kidding. But you have to get your shit together, the big Bridal List party is tonight!”

  I wince. It should be an awesome event: the official celebration for this year’s issue, with all the lucky vendors gathered for a swanky party. But instead of being excited, I want to dive face first into my couch cushions.

  And not come out until, ooh, the next season of The Crown drops on Netflix.

  I trade the carnations for some roses and try to focus on the bouquet. After all, I don’t have time to hang around. Orders have been through the roof ever since the list dropped, and I barely have a moment to myself. I should be glad: way more money coming in, and way less time to wallow over my broken heart. But clearly, my melancholy is seeping into everything, and soon, the bouquet looks more like a funeral arrangement.

  Remy clears his throat. “Why don’t you go up front and serve the customers? I can whip this one into shape. But, smile!”

  I leave him to fix my work and head up front. I busy myself with dusting vases and glass shelves. Not that there’s much dust—we’ve been busy enough that stock isn’t sticking around very long. But the mindless task allows me to zone out and replay the whole breakup in my head.

  What can I say? I’m a glutton for punishment.

  But it still doesn’t make any sense. The things he said, the things he did, just don’t line up with the things he said to me. He had feelings, I’m sure of it. All those nights we spent wrapped up in each other . . . all those mornings snuggling, trading in-jokes and kisses . . . It had to mean something. I know it did.

  It’s not real, April. You just got caught up in the props and staging.

  Seth’s words haunt me, twisting the knife. Is he right? He always said love was about setting the scene, and I guess we had a good one. A great story, brought together against the odds.

  Did I fall for him, or for the way I felt?

  Is there even a difference in the end?

  I sigh, dusting aggressively enough to make the vases rattle. Does it even matter what happened? He’s clearly done with me. That brutal dumping made it clear enough. Whatever his reasons for walking away, he hasn’t looked back, and meanwhile, I’ve been thinking of him constantly. It’s taken everything in me not to text, call, send smoke signals. Something to tell him how much I miss him.

  I mean, why not throw my dignity on the trash-fire of our relationship, too?

  Only my friends have kept me from making that particular humiliating mistake. Katie practically keeps my phone on lockdown from the moment I step through the door.

  “You’ll just hate yourself even more! The key to a healthy breakup is going total cold turkey. No calls, no emails, no showing up at his apartment weeping after five shots of tequila.”

  I’m not about to argue with the breakup artist herself. She would know. But if only it was that easy to forget him.

  The door jingles and my heart lurches as I turn, hopeful it’s Seth coming to tell me he’s changed his mind—it was all just a mistake, cold feet, and he’s back to be mine forever.

  No such luck. Instead, it’s a preppy young couple with goopy, lovesick smiles on their faces.

  “Hi!” the woman beams. “We just got engaged, and we saw your shop on the Bridal List! Our date is next June, but OMG, there’s like, so much to plan, we thought we’d better get in here fast and talk to you. Didn’t I say she’d be swamped?” she nudges the guy.

  “You did say that, snookums,” he says to her devotedly. “She said that,” he adds to me.

  “Great, well, now that we’ve established who said what and when . . .” I sigh, trying to muster the appropriate enthusiasm, despite the massive ache in my chest.

  Why couldn’t there be a rush on funerals this week, instead?

  I shake my head, trying to get back in the blissful couple game. “Do you know what your colors are?” I ask, pulling out some of my wedding binders, complete with fabric swatches, samples, and photos of other events I’ve done.

  “Oh look, we match!” the woman trills, producing her own overstuffed binder. “Twinsies!”

  I try to smile. It comes out a grimace.

  “So . . . My colors are blush pink, with dove gray and pearl white,” she chatters, pulling up a stool. “Pearl. Not cream or paper white or snowflake. It’s very important we use the right shade of white. The invitations already got screwed up because they used a winter white instead of a soft, summer tone. Can you imagine?”

  “The horror,” I agree dryly. “Do you have a venue in mind?”

  “Yes! We love the whole Southern Antebellum look, it’s sooo romantic, so we’re getting married on this gorgeous old plantation in South Carolina.”

  I stare at them. “You’re getting married on the site of a slave labor camp?”

  Her smile fades. “What?”

  Remy comes rushing out from the back. “I’m sorry!” he cries. “April here is practicing for her one-woman play. It opens off-off Broadway. Maybe you’ve heard of it? It’s called “Scorned Woman Throws Her Business Down the Toilet”?

  The woman and man exchange glances, seriously confused. But they must be hammered on love hormones, because the woman just beams. “No, we haven’t heard of that one. What theater is it playing at?”

  Remy practically shoves me aside. “April has to run to another job right now. She’s so in demand! But I can take all your info and go through the preliminary design plans.”

  “Which maybe should include a different venue,” I can’t help adding. “Just saying.”

  “April.” Remy scowls as the door jangles again. “Ah, here’s your next appointment now.” He looks relieved, and I turn to find Poppy and Natalie breezing in.

  “What are you guys doing here?” I ask them, confused.

  “Consider it an intervention,” Poppy says.

  “Remy called,” Natalie adds. “Said you were, umm, having problems getting into the right spirit here at work.”

  “I’m fine,” I sigh, turning back to my clients—who are making out right there in the middle of the shop. “Excuse me?” I clap my hands loudly. “Hey! Quit it! Not everyone wants to see you two slobbering all over each other! Some of us find it kind of offensive, to be honest—”

  “April. Out!”

  Poppy and Natalie practically frogmarch me out of the store and to the gourmet donut shop down the street. If this is their tactic to make me sit through this supposed intervention, then OK, they win.

  I reach for a lemony lavender one. “I love you,” I coo at the pastry, making Natalie snort.

  “Don’t laugh!” I blurt through a giant bite. “This is the best thing going on in
my life right now.”

  “Besides us?”

  I shrug.

  “And getting on the list? Your bustling business? Success beyond your wildest dreams?”

  I take another bite, demolishing the donut in one. I reach for another.

  “The business that you’re going to run into the ground if you don’t get your head out of your ass?” Natalie says.

  “Hey!”

  “Tough love,” Poppy says, and then she levels Nat a glare. “But maybe a bit harsh.”

  Natalie huffs.

  “Why don’t you tell us what’s going on?” Poppy asks, more gently.

  “No thanks,” I say, shoving more fried dough at my face. “I mean, it just doesn’t make any sense. I can’t figure out what happened. Why did he dump me?”

  “Well,” Natalie pauses, taking a bite of her maple bacon cruller. “You did have your doubts about him at the beginning. You said he wasn’t exactly the monogamous type.”

  “And that he didn’t believe in love or soulmates, and he made a living manipulating people into thinking they’d fallen for each other,” Poppy added, making a face. “It doesn’t exactly add up to best boyfriend material.”

  “I know,” I sigh, defeated. “I just . . . I miss him.”

  “Hey,” Poppy says, giving me a sympathetic hug. “If he doesn’t see how awesome you are, screw him. You’ll find someone way better, someone who deserves to have you fall madly in love with them.”

  Easy for her to say, she’s already found her someone.

  “Yes,” Natalie agrees. “Seriously, April, there are too many fish in the sea to try to worry about someone who’s not that into you.”

  “We’ll find you someone,” Poppy says. “I can see if Dylan knows anyone—”

  “—And Justin, too,” Natalie agrees. “And we’ll screen them all first for playboy assholes. And guys who steal your fries.”

  “No,” I interrupt. “No setups. Please. I’m . . .” I sigh. “I’m fine, you two. I mean, I appreciate you being all concerned. And honestly this donut is doing wonders for my mood.” I give them each a smile, hoping it’s convincing. “But my business is crazy right now. Just let me focus on that. I’m too busy for dating anyway.”