She’s partially right, I’m running from the bad decisions I’ve made in the name of making my family happy, which is hilariously ironic, because it seems like no matter what I do, I make the wrong decision. I’m also running from the fear that I’m destined to end up like my parents, always pushing away instead of finding someone I can stand next to in this life. But, it doesn’t mean I have any desire to reconcile with Armstrong.
Since I arrived, I’ve talked to my own mother once to let her know I’m safe. My dad was out golfing when I called, but she assured me twice that everything was fine. I don’t want the stress to impact her health, and fights between her and my father can do that. Her major concern seems to lie with me making poor choices while I’m away. She reminded me that we don’t want a repeat of Mexico, especially since I’m still technically married to Armstrong. Something I’ve been trying to forget.
A brief text conversation with Pierce informs me he’s still working on getting the annulment papers into Armstrong’s hands, but he’s having trouble getting past his secretary, which explains Armstrong’s most recent voicemail.
I’m currently sitting in one of the lounge chairs facing the beach. I’ve stopped eating meals in the dining hall. Instead, I order room service so I don’t have to deal with all the happy, in love couples.
I’ve read four books, all of them murder mysteries because I can’t stomach romance. As I bring up the latest one on my e-reader, the crunch of tires on gravel draws my gaze toward the path beyond the hut. I can’t see anything, though, my location is that private. I sigh at the thought of another excessively happy couple coming to join the endless party of love. Screw everyone and their happiness. My bitterness is like a black cloud of doom, blocking out the warmth and sunshine. I hate this fucking place.
The golf cart doesn’t continue past my hut; instead it slows. I already have my breakfast. I haven’t planned an excursion for today—yesterday’s scuba diving was horrible since, as usual, I was the only single one. The worst part of the whole trip so far has been being propositioned by the newly married couple in their early fifties to join them in a threesome.
My stomach does a flippy thing at the possibility that I might have a visitor. What if Lexington has come to check up on me? I haven’t messaged or called him, even though I’ve thought about it every day, multiple times a day. I rationalize that he was nice to me in the airport and on the plane because he felt bad for me, and because he didn’t have much of a choice since he was stuck beside me for eighteen hours.
My phone rings. It’s Ruby. Conversations with her haven’t been easy since the reception is weak everywhere apart from the resort lounge. Again, it’s all couples being coupley there, too, so I try to avoid it. I answer the call, the terrible reception making her difficult to hear.
“Hey, hold on. I’m going to try and find the magic spot.” I push out of my chair and head for the spot where I get reasonable reception.
“Armstrong . . . for you . . .”
“What?” Her tone makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
A blip of static-free reception means the next words from Ruby are clear. “He’s in Bora Bora.”
“But he doesn’t have a passport.”
“Apparently he has a new one. Or a spare. I don’t know the details but I do know he’s on his way to you. He posted on social media.”
“Fuckerdoodles.” I check the accounts he posts to most often. There’s a selfie of him in front of the resort sign. He really is here. As in here, here. I do not want to deal with Armstrong. I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. I’m actually perfectly content to have my brother, or someone from his firm and Armstrong’s lawyer, hash it all out without ever speaking to him again.
“I would’ve called sooner, but he posted it like five minutes ago and Bane saw it so he called me, now I’m telling you.”
As I step onto the deck, the hut door opens and one of the bellhops wheels in Armstrong’s suitcases. He has four. I came with two, plus my tickle trunk. “He’s here. I have to go.”
“Oh shit. What’re you going to do?”
“Mostly I just want to punch him.”
“That’s a fabulous idea. You should do that then, just don’t break anything. Maybe aim for soft spots, like his abs, or his balls.”
I laugh. “I’ll call you back when I get rid of him.” I set my phone on the table, crossing my arms over my chest to stop the tremble in my hands.
Armstrong appears behind the concierge. He’s wearing a pair of khaki pants, white shoes, and a bright pink polo. His blond hair is styled with what is likely the majority of a bottle of some kind of product. A splint across his nose and the black eye hidden behind sunglasses mars his face.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
The concierge’s eyes go wide. Armstrong hurriedly stuffs money in his hand and pushes him out the door.
He gives me his signature smile. “Darling, please.”
“Don’t ‘darling, please’ me, you prickless asshole.”
“Amalie.” That’s his warning tone because my language isn’t to his liking.
“Fuck you, Armstrong. You don’t get to come here and chastise me. I will use whatever the fuck kind of language I damn well feel like.” I stress every curse word. “You might as well turn your ass around and find somewhere else to go, there’s no goddamn way you’re staying here with me.”
“This is our honeymoon. I came all this way for you. I had to jump through hoops to get a passport. I would’ve been here sooner if you hadn’t left me without one.” His tone is accusatory.
“Did you consider that maybe I didn’t want your cheating, lying ass here?”
He takes a step toward me. “You need to let me explain.”
“Explain what exactly? How your dick accidentally slipped into someone else’s mouth at our fucking wedding?” I gesture wildly, as if I’m giving him the floor to speak. “Please. This story has to be amazing.”
He rubs his chest. “I did it for you. I wanted to be able to last.”
“I’m sorry? Pardon?” I must’ve heard that wrong.
“I wanted to last for you. Later. After the reception.”
I honestly feel like my head’s going to explode. I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Are you serious with this? You have hands, you could’ve whacked off in the bathroom if you were worried about your longevity, which by the way, is pretty fucking pathetic at the best of times.”
“I just get ex—”
I point a finger at him. “Shut the fuck up.”
His mouth snaps closed, possibly at my language, possibly because I might look a little crazy right now. “Did you honestly think that coming here and telling me you let Brittany, of all people, blow you during our wedding reception for my benefit was going to win me back? How delusional are you?”
“Amalie, you know how this works. I love you. You’re my wife. I hold you to a higher standard. Everyone needs a mistress or two. They’re what deep throating is for, and maybe anal.”
My mouth opens and closes a few times. I can’t even process what he’s telling me. “A mistress or two?”
“For variety.”
“What about the sanctity of marriage?” I’m starting to feel ill as this new, horrifying reality sets in.
Armstrong shakes his head and purses his lips as he struggles to find the right words. “It’s really just a guideline.”
I sink into the chair, my knees weak. I thought I’d moved past all the anger and sadness into some level of acceptance, but I’ve just been slingshotted back to ground zero. My head is swimming, it feels like I’m drunk, even though I haven’t even had my morning mimosa yet. “Were you ever faithful to me? At all?”
“I’ve never had sex with anyone but you since we’ve been together.” He adds, “I’ve never kissed anyone, either.”
“I don’t understand what that means.”
“It’s just a blow job, Amalie. That’s all. Nothing more.”<
br />
“Nothing more?” I echo. “You let someone who is not me blow you at our wedding. That’s not nothing, Armstrong, that’s cheating.”
“I think you’re working under an antiquated view of what constitutes infidelity. A blow job doesn’t qualify as cheating.”
My shock seems to be boundless. “In what world?”
He rests his palm against his chest. “Amalie, you have my heart. That’s the only thing that matters here. We can work this out. It’s an excellent partnership.”
I can’t listen to any more of this. If I do, there’s a good chance I’ll end up committing murder. I don’t know what Bora Bora’s prison system is like but I’d prefer not to find out. I point to the door. “Get the fuck out.”
“Amalie, you need to be reasonable.” He’s standing right in front of me. His crotch level with my face.
“Or what?” I wonder how many times Brittany has gotten on her knees for him. I wonder if she’s the only one. It seems unlikely based on what he’s just said.
“I’m being nice right now, Amalie. You’ve had a week to adjust your expectations. And people are talking. I don’t think you really want to push my buttons any more than you already have, do you?” His eyes are dark and angry as his fingers wrap tightly around my bicep, squeezing.
“Get your hands off me!” I try to shake free of him, but his grip tightens.
My reaction is instinctual, my years of self-defense kicking in. I cock my fist and punch him square in the nuts, bringing him to his knees.
His mouth drops open in shock as he cups himself and falls to his side on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. “Why?” he gasps.
My chair tips back as I push up to stand. “Because you’re a pussy, and a cheater, and you tried to threaten me with force.” I grab my phone with shaking hands and pull up my contact list, stepping over Armstrong as I scroll to the one and only person who can help me right now.
Ten: Dick Punch
Lexington
“Hi, Lex? It’s Amie. Amalie. Hi.”
I’m shocked to hear her voice so it takes a second before I answer, less than eloquently. “Hey. Hi, Amie. How’re you?”
“I’m fine.” She laughs uncertainly. “I hope I haven’t caught you at a bad time.”
The waver in her voice makes me sit up straighter. “Are you sure you’re fine? You don’t sound fine.”
She sighs softly. “Not really. I need your help.”
Based on her tone, I don’t think this is about being her toy chest beta tester. I’m sitting on my deck with a pile of file folders, crunching numbers between dips in the water. Yesterday was full of meetings, today I’m reviewing the most important things that need to be managed. In three hours I have another meeting at the sister resort a ways down the island. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“Um. I think . . . I think I need to get out of here. Could you come get me? Or . . . never mind. You’re probably in the middle of a meeting. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
I move my laptop to the table. “I’m not in the middle of anything. I can come right now. What’s happened?”
“Armstrong’s here.”
“I’m sorry, did I hear that correctly?”
“Armstrong is in Bora Bora.”
I slip my feet into my flip-flops. “Is he with you right now?”
“He is.”
“Has he hurt you?” I grab the keys for the hotel jeep I’ve been using during my stay and rush down the dock, forcing a smile as I pass a couple of the cleaning staff and resort guests.
“Hurt me?”
“Put his hands on you, touched you, harmed you?”
“I don’t think so. No. I mean, he put his hand on me, but I punched him, so I’m okay.”
This time my smile is real. “Good girl. I’m on my way. Do you want me to stay on the phone with you?”
“I’m okay. I think. I need to pack. I should pack.”
She sounds like she’s in shock. It’s a different kind of shock than the night of the wedding. “Are you sure? I can stay on the line.”
“How long will you be?”
“Ten minutes. Fifteen at the most. I’m not far.”
“Okay. I’ll be fine until then. I’ll see you soon.”
Amalie ends the call. I stare at my phone for a few seconds, debating whether I should call her back and make sure she really is fine. Or as fine as she can be considering the circumstances. Of course Armstrong would come to get her. He can’t stand losing and he hates the idea that people may be talking negatively about him because of this.
Over the past few days I’ve been in constant contact with Bane. The first call I received wasn’t all that friendly. He assumed I’d somehow known Amalie was going to Bora Bora. Armstrong’s honeymoon had never been something I’d cared to hear about. When Bane realized how ridiculous that was he calmed down and apologized. If this had been a few years ago his worry might’ve been valid, but I haven’t fucked with Armstrong in a long time.
Beyond calls from Bane, I’ve been fielding endless messages from Ruby updating me on her best friend’s status, including her hut number, should I need it. The temptation to check on Amalie has been strong, however, I wasn’t going to initiate contact. I will not be the asshole in this situation by taking advantage of her in a weak moment. But her coming to me, well, that’s different. She’s asking me for help. I don’t know how Armstrong is going to react to seeing me, but I’m not about to let him mess with her any more than he already has. I’ve had enough of his bullshit to last an entire lifetime.
I jump into the jeep and head toward the Haven. Once there, I secure a golf cart so I can navigate the narrow paths leading to the beachfront huts. It doesn’t take me long to locate Amalie’s hut. She’s wheeling her suitcases out the door while Armstrong grabs her arm, in an attempt to pull her back inside.
I barely have the cart in park before I’m rushing him. “Get your hands off her!”
He releases her, face scrunching in confusion. Obviously she didn’t mention me coming to get her, and no one told him I was here, which gives me an element-of-surprise advantage. I come in low like a linebacker, jamming my shoulder into his stomach, launching him back into the hut. We land on the floor in a heap.
“What the hell are you doing here? You fucker. This is your fault—” Before he can get another word out I punch him in the mouth.
“You fucked this up all on your own. Don’t get mad ’cause she came to me for help.” To keep him from speaking I give him a shot in the nuts.
He sucks in a heaving, gasping breath as he cups his balls, groaning profanity.
“My bags are in the cart, let’s go.” Amalie comes stomping back through the door and stops when she sees Armstrong curled in a ball on the floor. “What’d you do?”
“I punched him.”
“In the dick?” she asks.
“And the face first, but yeah.”
She smiles. It’s a little manic. “So did I. The dick punch, I mean.” She steps around me to stand over Armstrong. “From now on, any communication you have with me will be through our lawyers. Don’t contact me directly. I have nothing to say to you. Actually, that’s not true. I have a lot to say to you, but I don’t really think any of it matters anymore because you’re clearly a morally defunct asshole. And for the record, I’m excellent at deep-throating, and I totally would’ve been up for anal.”
Now I want to know what I missed before I arrived.
“Amalie. You can’t—” Armstrong tries to sit up, but he doesn’t seem to be able to coordinate the movement.
“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I’m not done.” When he remains silent she continues. “The fact that you wanted me to act like your virgin bride every time we had sex was demeaning and I’ve been faking my orgasms for months. Also, your penis is small. It’s the smallest penis I’ve ever ridden. Or tried to ride. In fact, half the time I wasn’t even sure you were in. And you’re a premature ejaculator. I hope Brittan
y and whoever else you put your dick in enjoy their two minutes of humping followed by your horrifying orgasms. Let’s go, Lex.”
“Sure thing.”
She breezes past me, her hands curled into fists, eyes on fire.
Armstrong pushes to a sitting position and tries to stand, but he can’t seem to manage getting off his ass. His voice is a low, barely audible rasp. “You bastard. You set me up.”
“That would be very convenient for you, and even if it was true, which it’s not, you screwed yourself, not me. Thanks for fucking up, though. I knew you’d never be able to keep her. And it sure makes it a lot easier for me to be the good guy.”
Amalie honks the horn and I flip Armstrong the bird before I turn around and walk back to the golf cart.
I drop into the driver’s seat. “You okay?”
“I don’t have an answer for that question.”
“Let’s get you out of here.” I put the cart in reverse and turn us around.
Just as we’re about to pull away, Armstrong makes it to the door, still cupping his balls. “Amalie, please! We can work this out. You can’t have her, Lex!”
“I hope your dick is broken forever!” Amalie shoots him the double bird as we zip down the path. She drops her head against the back of the seat as we disappear around a corner. “If I never see his face again it’ll be too soon.”
Amalie helps transfer her bags to the back of the jeep even though I tell her I can manage. I’m glad Armstrong hasn’t followed us out to the lot. I don’t want him to say anything else that could give Amalie the wrong impression. Once the bags are loaded, we get in the jeep and leave the resort lot. I remind myself that right now she needs a friend, and I’m literally the only person she has access to. I can definitely understand how Armstrong might assume I set this entire thing up. If I were him that’s exactly the conclusion I would’ve come to as well. Hell, even my brother thought the same thing.
Amalie pulls her hair up into a high ponytail to keep it from whipping her in the face. “How is this my life?”
“Wanna talk about what happened?”
She sighs and drops her head back against the seat, staring up at the sky for a few long moments before she finally says. “The Whore-ton blow job wasn’t an isolated incident. I think he’s been cheating on me this whole time.”
The Shacking Up Series Page 41
