“She’s not just my friend and you know it. You’re causing trouble. We are not close,” I hiss under my breath. I don’t need to make a scene in front of the porter, Jacques. “We weren’t close when we were engaged, and we haven’t spoken in more than a year.”
She blanches. “I don’t want someone taking advantage of you,” she says stiffly. “That’s all.”
“If you know her name, then you know her family. Ali’s the last person to take—you know what? It’s none of your f*ck
ing business. Why are you really here?”
She frowns at me. “I live here.”
What the f*ck
?
“John and I bought the flat on the second floor a few months ago. Evelyn didn’t tell you?”
Evelyn is my cousin. Soon to be my dead cousin, if my rage has anything to say about it. She might be Maddie’s best friend, but she’s my f*ck
ing blood relation. “No.”
“Oh, Scott.” She sighs. “Go and smooth things over with your friend, and then come ring our bell. We’d love to catch up.”
“Not happening. Change of plans, we’re leaving tonight.”
Her brow wrinkles. “I thought you were here to untangle your bank accounts? Such an unseemly mess, that.”
“My cousin has a big mouth, and perhaps so does my brother. What I’m here to do is none of your business.”
“It used to be my business.”
“That was when you were going to be my wife,” I growl at her. Behind me, I hear a gasp, and I turn around. Ali is standing there. I didn’t hear the elevator.
She gives me a cold, level stare. “Change of plans, Mr. Mayfair. I’m heading straight to the airport. The full charge for our session can be paid directly to my pimp. An extra thousand for giving it to you up the ass.”
Madelyn gapes at Ali as she sweeps past, and I’m tempted to laugh before I realize I need to stop her. I reach the street as Jacques, ever the efficient porter, already has a taxicab waiting for her.
I wave him off and grab the door. “Wait, babe…”
She swats at my arm. “f*ck
you, Scott. You think I’m overreacting? I was f*ck
ing falling for you. You know that? That’s what I realized in the elevator as we came down to the lobby. I was thinking, holy f*ck
, this is something special. And then I find out…nope, you’re nothing special. You’re a giant dick, full of secrets and lies. Which is fine and dandy if we’re just f*ck
ing, which is what I wanted in the first place, but you had to go and worm your way into my heart. That’s off-limits. I’m going home, and you can’t stop me. I don’t want you to try. I don’t want you to do anything, you get me?”
“No.” I ignore the driver, who’s shooting daggers at me, either for holding up his fare or more likely for taking advantage of a young woman, and I lean into the cab. “I didn’t tell you about Madelyn because it’s embarrassing, nothing more. And the rest of it is just nothing. It’s the boring shit. You’re right, we’ve got something between us—”
“No we don’t. That was a lie. A fantasy like everything else.” She turns to the driver. “Can you call the police? The bobbies? Whatever you call them. I want this man away from me.”
“Whoa, stop.” I shake my head. “You are way overreacting here.”
She glares at me. “Get out of my f*ck
ing cab. Is that woman your ex-fiancée? Did you forget to tell me that you’d been engaged? Does she know more about you than I ever will? Get. Out. Of. My—”
I back up. “Okay.” I pull out my wallet and hand over a hundred pounds to the driver. “Take her—”
“I can tell him where to take me,” she snaps. “Get out.”
Numb with disbelief, I step away from the car and close the door. I need to follow her, but I also need to meet with my brother and do something about my bank accounts and not get arrested for harassing a woman right after I’ve just been let back in the country.
Heading back inside, I find the lobby mercifully empty. I’m shaking with rage by the time I get to my flat. It takes me three minutes to pack my bags and head back downstairs.
Jacques, having read my mind, has another taxi waiting. I give him a couple of folded bills and thank him for his help. Then I get in the cab and give the driver my brother’s office address.
—twenty-five—
Alison
The desk clerk at the airport hotel doesn’t blink when I ask to be registered under a pseudonym. Maybe this is how celebrities do it. I hand over my credit card, grateful for the privilege that allows me to not sleep at the airport tonight—that allows me to flee to the airport, passport in hand, knowing that I can just buy the next available flight home.
I don’t cry until I’m behind the locked door of my hotel room, and even then, I wait until I’m in the shower to really let loose.
Doubt is already warring with anger inside my heart. Should I have stayed and heard him out?
Is there anything he could say to make this okay?
He’s watched my family dynamic. He knows how wary I am.