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Ripping open the package, I scanned the single piece of paper.
“What the hell?”
It was from a lawyer in Boise representing Duncan Pounder. God, why couldn’t my stupid ex leave me alone? He tried calling last week and I ignored it. Deleted the message he left. Ignored the other few calls, then blocked him, the asshole.
I scanned the letter. It ordered me to return the engagement ring–oh shit, that ring–Duncan had given me by the end of the month, or I was going to be sued.
End of the month?
The jargon was very legalese so after three read throughs, I understood it to mean that Duncan gave me the ring as a conditional gift, dependent on marriage. Since the marriage didn’t happen–as fucking if–the ring was not mine to keep. Since I had yet to return it, I was liable for the value of the ring which was–
“Holy shit!”
Fifty thousand dollars.
I leaned against the wall. “NOW YOU WANT IT?” I shouted. So much for zen.
I buried a fifty thousand dollar ring in the woods two years ago and now he wanted it back?
Once I walked out of those woods with the intention of leaving my past behind, I did just that. Left Duncan and my old ways of choosing shitty men behind. I hadn’t had a serious relationship since, regardless of my friends’ attempts at matchmaking. Ronald had been yet another example of why.
I didn’t have the ring. Hell, I didn’t know where the ring exactly was. Shit. I’d buried it by a rock that looked like a bulldog. I had no idea if that was true or if my wine buzz had made me see things.
Fifty thousand dollars? I didn’t have that kind of money!
That meant–I scanned the paper once more–they could get a civil judgment against me, and it would garnish my wages. But I owned my business. Could they take it away from me? Shut me down?
Sure, my family was rich, but I wasn’t. My parents hadn’t given me any money since I was twenty and made the stupid mistake of getting pregnant out of wedlock. Oh, and keeping the baby, which meant I gave up any chances of a ballet career that they’d pushed me toward since I was six. By pushed, I meant ballet boarding school in Canada at twelve and was given a soloist role in Spain when I graduated. I’d been good. Really good–because I’d loved it and there really hadn’t been any other choice–but my life as they’d planned it ended with a broken condom one night with a guy I met at a bar. His name was Hans and he was Swiss, but that was all I knew of him. We’d had sex in a bathroom stall. Sexy, right? I had no idea how to track him down and never saw him again.
I’d quit, because one thing a pregnant woman couldn’t do was perform for a world-class ballet company pregnant, and moved to Hunter Valley, made my own little life working at the community center as a dance and fitness instructor. Sierra had gone into the babysitting center while I worked. After scrimping and saving and a solid business plan, I’d been able to get a loan for my yoga studio–since there was already a successful dance program in town–and I was doing well. I wasn’t going to the Caribbean for vacation anytime soon, but I had a little rental that was perfect for me and Sierra. A quiet, politics-free life.
The only time my parents butted their heads into my life was if they needed me for a family first bill she was pushing in Congress or a photo op for reelection, but it wasn’t either of them that contacted me, but her press secretary. Every time, I turned her down. Fortunately, election year was a while off.
Me going to them to say I’d been dumb enough to dump a guy who had enough money to give me a fifty thousand dollar ring, then bury the thing in the woods, wouldn’t go over well. Mom and Dad were definitely out.
I was on my own. I was fucked. I didn’t know how much money could be garnished or if they could shut down my studio, but I really wanted to pay my rent and eat. Sierra was growing like a weed and needed new hockey shin pads and those things were expensive.
Duncan Pounder. The guy had been a total fake, into me solely for access to my mother because of his family’s business needing tax exemptions or a trade deal or something political and schemy. The guy was one hell of an actor. I’d believed his bullshit–sadly, for months–and that was what hurt the most. After being raised in the political spotlight, my every move under the microscope for optics and… gasp, voter approval, I should have known better. But wait, besides him being a DC social climber, there was more! Yeah, he cheated, too.
After a night with Luke and an aching pussy to remind me of what we’d done, I realized Duncan had no clue when it came to sex or pleasing a woman. Whomever he cheated on me with deserved a medal and a thank you letter. I couldn’t imagine being married to him. She could have him and his mediocre abilities in the bedroom.
I deserved sex like I had with Luke.
Every night.
Except a guy as amazing as Luke was surely a one time thing. Wham, bam, gone.
But an asshole like Duncan? He was back like a bad rash.
I laughed, which was better than crying.
Crumpling the paper in my fist, I shook my head. I had to find that ring. The one I buried in a stupid empty tea tin. I remembered the path I took up into the woods but I veered off-trail and I wandered with my wine. It had been two years!
I had no idea where the ring was. I would have to start traipsing through the forest to find it and a rock that looked like a bulldog. How long would that take? I had two weeks. GAH!
I took a deep breath, filled my back lungs, let it out. I did it again. Repeated my mantra.
I am brave and confident. Strong and resilient.
