“Why not? It sort of makes a fool of me, doesn’t it? Everyone knew we broke up because I wanted to get married and he didn’t.” I wasn’t sure if I wanted to tell him about last night yet.
He took another swallow and shook his head. “He still doesn’t. But Deuce changed the conditions of his inheritance because he’s such a fuck-up with the gambling. He owes like three hundred grand or something. And if he wants the money, Deuce said he has to quit dicking around, get married and settle down.”
My jaw dropped. Quit dicking around and get married? That sounded way too familiar. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. I heard it today from some guy who works for Deuce and heard him talking to the lawyers about it.” He laughed. “What an asshole. You dodged a bullet, as far as I’m concerned.” He clinked his glass to mine. “Cheers.”
Fuming, I tipped back the rest of my drink. “Excuse me.”
I set the empty martini glass on a passing server’s tray and went directly to the bar to order another. Locking myself inside the first floor powder room, I took a gulp of my drink, set it down, and leaned on the marble vanity. I breathed heavily, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Scolding myself. Hating myself.
You fucking idiot! Of course he didn’t want you! He told you last year he didn’t! He just wanted his money and you were the ticket. You ridiculous, stupid, gullible woman, thinking of giving him another chance.
But I hadn’t. Thank God I hadn’t. Except now I was filled with gin and frustration and rage—with Tripp, with myself, and even with Amber, for being so blind to his deceit. For once, I wished I was the kind of person to unleash my feelings in public, to go out there and publicly shame him for what he’d done, call him out on his slimy desperation and his lies, expose him for what he was. I wished it so hard I was shaking.
But I couldn’t.
That is, I couldn’t until I discovered Tripp and Amber holding court in the dining room, regaling yet another crowd of bystanders with the romantic story of their surprise engagement.
“He didn’t even want to get married before me,” she bragged. “Did you, honey?”
“I sure didn’t, baby doll.”
Baby doll. What an asshole. I set my third empty glass down on the floor—at least, I think it was the floor. Levels of things were a bit hazy at this point.
“I guess it just took finding the perfect woman to make me change my mind.” He gazed at Amber with wretchedly fake adoration. “And when you find her, you know.”
Perfect woman. I think I snorted at that, because a few people turned around and looked at me. But I ignored them, looking over the desserts laid out on the table and sideboards, pretending to search for the perfect after-dinner treat.
“The ring’s gorgeous,” someone said.
“Isn’t it?” Amber said delightedly. “He had it custom made for me.”
Custom made for her. My hands started to shake as my eyes alighted on a silver tray of scones. I wrapped my fingers around one and eyeballed the possible trajectory.
“That’s right.” Tripp kissed the back of her hand. “Just for you.”
A second later, I hurled the first scone, which missed its target—his smug face—and hit him in the chest.
Startled, he looked up just about the time the second scone pinged off the chandelier and landed at his feet. “What the hell?”
People started looking around, some getting out of the way. Good thing, because the third scone knocked a vase off the table, and it crashed to the floor at Tripp’s feet.
He finally made eye contact with me. “Margot, what the hell are you doing?”
I wound up and launched another. “Three years!” I exploded as it beaned him on the forehead. Finally! I tried again, but that one curved toward Amber, who ducked out of the way. “Three years I put up with your boring golf stories and your pants with the little whales on them and your tiny clueless dick!”
A titter went through the crowd. Tripp was stunned motionless, and I took the opportunity to pelt his chest with another scone.
“Ouch!” he said, which I found hilarious. “Stop throwing things! And my dick isn’t tiny! Or clueless!”
“Yes, it is!” I flung another one at him, but he was moving now, so I missed him completely and it bounced off the wall. “You don’t know the first thing about a woman’s orgasm! I used to have to get myself off after you took me home, asshole!”
I heard muffled laughter as I threw the next scone, which tipped over a skinny pillar candle that, unfortunately, happened to be lit. It burned a hole in the white tablecloth before someone nearby blew it out.
“Margot, have you lost your fucking mind?” Tripp yelled from across the table, hands in front of his face like I was throwing grenades, not scones.
“Maybe,” I seethed, reaching for another one but feeling nothing but an empty tray. “Maybe I have, because I was going to tell you tonight that I’d decided to think about your shitty proposal.”
Tripp’s face went white.
“What proposal?” Amber asked, looking from him to me.