Page 102 of Best Man Speaking
“Hallie, you might not want to hear it, you might not want to know it, but when you left, it did break my brother’s heart. The broken nose I gave him was nothing compared to what he did to himself.”
Last week, I might have given up a limb to hear this. Today, I don’t even care.
Well.
I hardly care.
“He’s the one who pushed me to leave, who’s making it so easy for me to leave now.”
“That doesn’t mean the same thing as him not wanting you to stay.” His words are vague, and boy, these brothers? They are the absolute worst.
My eyes narrow. “That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Sure it does.”
“Explain it to me.”
“Hal, I don’t read minds. I wouldn’t want to even if it was an option. But for all that Marcus is a pain in my ass, for all that he’s thrown himself into his work, leaving very little time for anything or anyone else, he’s not a bad person. All he’s ever done for any of us is provide. He’s worked hard, fixed and restored people’s homes, and helped build people’s dreams. He helped Mom retire. Didn’t like the idea of her working so hard anymore. And the charity he’s built for the young people of our community? The work he does is life-changing.”
My frustration is a living, breathing thing inside me, clawing its way out. “So he’s not the devil? Excellent. It’d have me studying your family tree a little more thoroughly if he was.”
I don’t care how many saintly deeds Marcus has lined up, not after he slept with me, lied to me, and betrayed me. Again.
“Hallie, I’ve seen the books you and Erica read. Don’t try and pretend you aren’t hot for Hades.” Julian’s attempt to diffuse my anger falls flat.
“Your sarcasm is not helping.”
“Oh, and yours was?” Ire drips from the words.
I think longingly of my darkened room, of the packing I need to do, of the smile I’m going to need to force onto my face over the next few days. I think for just a moment of the man who sleeps in a bed only yards from mine. I wonder if he slept as atrociously as I did last night.
I hope it was worse.
Everything in me is tired. “I sold him the house.”
Jules’s sigh is heavy, his smile small. “And yet you’ll always have a home here regardless.”
The house is silent as I close the door behind me, tucking the spare set of keys Erica had given me for Marcus’s place into the back pocket of my jeans. Kicking my shoes off, I don’t bother to turn any lights on as I make my way through the front hall, the late-afternoon light doing a good enough job. The bare floorboards don’t make a sound under my feet, and my heart flutters in my chest at the thought of being caught somewhere I really shouldn’t be.
Nothing I can do about it, though.
When Erica had asked me to pick up the outfits from the tailors last week, the thought of being in Marcus’s house hadn’t been an issue. So when she’d asked me earlier today if I wanted someone else to pick them up instead, it’d been sweet, but I’d said no. Not when the countdown was on, for the wedding and for me leaving. I wanted to be helpful in these last few days, and I didn’t want her worrying about me. And it wasn’t like Marcus would be home anyway.
Only dropping off the best man’s suit didn’t actually require me to go into his bedroom. I could’ve laid the suit out on the couch or the dining table, even.
I do neither of those things.
Instead, I’m walking down the short hallway toward the back of his house, pushing on a partially open door into what is no doubt Marcus’s bedroom. My curiosity, it seems, is to be a curse until the very end.
I’d had time to think about what Julian had said yesterday, about how Marcus pushing me to leave all those years ago was not the same thing as him not wanting me to stay. It’d made me think of what Marcus himself had said—how he’d thought I’d deserved better than to be hitched at such a young age. Closer to thirty than twenty now, I can see exactly how ridiculous it was. It just doesn’t make the old wound hurt any less. It doesn’t make the memory of my first heartbreak any less severe. It doesn’t lessen the betrayal or erase the feeling of being used. Because youth hadn’t meant my love was any less real.
Tiptoeing around the room, garment bag still in hand, I take in the thick gray rug beneath the king-sized bed, dark navy sheets, and matching comforter. I step a little closer to reach out and touch his bedding, and my gaze snags on a small, deep red velvet box on his bedside table.
I drop the garment bag on the bed with such carelessness that it starts to slide off. I grab it quickly, steadying it before it hits the floor, and then head for the bedside table.
The hair on my skin stands on end, a deep-seated nervousness caused by familiarity taking up residence in my stomach. Part of me knows that it’s most likely Erica’s wedding band for the weekend. Marcus is the best man, after all. It’s his job to have the ring.
But as I move closer, I see that that’s not the case at all.
