“You and your little seven-figure book deal.”She spoke the words with sour rage, staring right at the beautiful face thatappeared so ugly under her veil of envy. “It was supposed to happen forme.”
It was as though a lamp had been turned onsomewhere, and his bright blue eyes widened to take in the light. “Julia, weweresupposedto do thistogether, and that includes when one ofus—”
“No! Nobody can convince me that yourDungeons& Dragonsbullshit is more deserving ofthisthan my work. Youprobably fucked that bitch. I saw the way she looked at you. You probably—”
“Jesus Christ, Julia, you know that’s—”
“Shut up!” Julia’s fist contacted the lumpysurface of the unmade bed, startling him and bringing his mouth to clamp shut.“You want to know something? You want thetruth? Here you go—Ineverwanted this for you. Ihumoredyou, and Ipitiedyou, and now …”She shook her head with a short burst of laughter, and he continued to stare ata woman he no longer recognized.
“You’re jealous of me,” he stated in a lowvoice. The limo honked from the street below, but it no longer seemedimportant. All that mattered in that moment was the realization that everythinghe had ever wanted had destroyed everything he had needed.
“Jealous?” Julia laughed, shaking herhead in protest, although that was exactly how it was. Shewasjealous.She had been jealous ever since he received that letter almost a year ago, andthat jealousy grew as it became more and more evident that his success was onlyjust beginning—but hers? She still couldn’t find a job that didn’t involvewaiting on tables. “No, Brandon. I’m not jealous of you. Ihateyou. Ihate you and I hate everything that is fucking happening for you, becauseyoudon’t deserve it. And you know what else? You and your little dragon booksdon’t deserveme.”
The knife twisted in his heart, and his eyeswatered. He told himself he wouldn’t cry, he told himself he was stronger thanthat, but when she pulled the ring off her finger and threw it at his chest, atear wriggled its way out and slid through his stubble. Theclinkseemedto resonate through the little apartment, and he stared at it, lying betweenhis feet. He saw it then as all that had held his relationship together. Now,with the bond severed, his mouth twisted with anger.
“Fuck you.” He managed to speak around theboulder in his throat.
In the eleven years they had been together, hehad never once wished he could slap her—until that moment. He wanted to use hissize, shove her against the wall, and whip his hand across her beautifully uglyface. But he was a good man, and control kept his hands from wrapping aroundher neck, as she stood from the bed defiantly and walked right up to him.
Her eyes looked up to him, as her fingerprodded his chest, and she found it amazing how easily she could act upon thehatred she felt so deeply. “No, Brandon. Fuckyou.”
He grabbed her hand, startling her. For thefirst time, she saw the seven inches he had on her as a threat, and she pulledherself from his grasp and took a step backward toward the bed. His eyes lookedto her, through his eyelashes, and his lips curled into a snarl. “Get the fuckout of here right now.”
With a smirk, she knelt beside the bed, reachedunderneath, and pulled out two bags she had already packed. How had he notnoticed that? He swallowed at his tears.
“Don’t worry, babe,” she said condescendingly, herblonde brows lowering, “I’m leaving.”
Despite the February chill, she shoved her feetinto a pair of sandals—the only shoes she hadn’t packed—and pushed her way pastBrandon in thatstupidtuxedo. She didn’t bother asking him for helpwith the two large suitcases, nor did he offer as he continued to stareunseeing into the bedroom. She grabbed her coat, throwing it on over herpajamas, and turned to look at the life she was leaving. The stack of books onthe little table—those goddamn books—stood as a symbol of what her life couldhave been; the beautiful house, the luxury cars, the celebrity friends, therich lifestyle she always felt she was destined to have.
But what did it matter if it wasn’t her name ontheNew York Timeslist of bestsellers?
“What are we going to tell everybody?” Brandoncalled from the bedroom, and he emerged with his hands stuffed into the pocketsof his pants. “The wedding is—w-was—in two months.”
Julia cocked her head to the side and feigned apout. His eyes fell upon her bottom lip, remembering all at once the thousandsof times he had bitten it, and his heart seemed to lurch to his throat.
“You seem to be doing fine on your own. You’llfigure it out,” she said, and she opened the door.
“So, this is it?” He took a step forward,hoping he could keep it together for just a few seconds longer. “Ten minutes’worth of fighting, and you’re just going to call it quits after eleven years?”
She laughed, shaking her head. Tears stung hereyes, and he was grateful to see that there was still something human leftinside her. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Brandon. I called it quits a long time ago. Youwere just too busy to notice.”
Brandon hung his head and ran a hand throughhis hair. He thought about all those people waiting for him at the releaseparty; the big PR bash his publisher had insisted was necessary. He thoughtabout the wedding he alone had to cancel and all the people he was going todisappoint. He thought about the career that he had so desperately wanted hisentire life, and how it had pulled the only person he wanted to share it without from under him.
He decided then that he was alone, and foreverwould be, because if he couldn’t have Julia, who else was there?
Then, the door slammed, and the limo continuedto honk.
CHAPTERONE
HOLLY
“Antonio’s @ 8? I’ll meet u there.”
Stephenwas asking me to dinner at my favorite restaurant in the entire city. The samerestaurant he reserved for special occasions only—but why? I flipped throughthe archive of dates stored away in my memory, trying to narrow down what wecould possibly be celebrating on an eyeball-melting day in July. I mean, fiveyears of pre-marital bliss had accumulated quite a few memorable dates, so ittook a while to determine that, nope, there was nothing to celebrate.
Unless…
Myeyes were glued to the phone while my heart began to thump a tune rivaling aMetallica song. The little voice in my head tried telling me there was noreason to get excited, that Stephen had insisted he wasn’t the marrying typeenough times for me to be convinced that he was serious. But it didn’t take toolong for my heart to hammer that conservative little voice right out of there,though, and the naysayer was replaced with the type of excitement that causedme to clap a hand over my mouth and utter a guttural “oh, my God!”
