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His eyes cut to me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“I saw that marriage license, Reese. And all those pictures. You’re telling me she made all that up?”
“I’m saying that I don’t remember being fucking married, that’s for damn sure.”
“You also didn’t remember sleeping with some woman and getting her pregnant, either, so your memory isn’t really the reliable party here, is it?”
“She’s a fraud,” Reese reiterates. “A liar. A maternity test is gonna prove it.”
I scoff. “You know what? Fine. You can stay in this little fantasy land, but I’m not staying there with you, Reese.”
“What are you talking about?”
I stand up straight. I should have known that things between us were too good to be true. That our little fairy tale tied up in a big, glittery ribbon was nothing but a fake.
“We’re done. I’m not dating a married man. I’m definitely not dating a liar.”
I turn on my heel and storm out of his office. I’ve been through too much with him, put my heart out there too far, to humiliate myself by sticking with him and believing that this is some elaborate lie when there’s tangible proof to the contrary right in front of me.
My eyes sting. Angry, hurt tears blur my vision as I make my way back up the stairs.
“Olivia!” Reese follows me. His steps are heavy. Thunder before the rain. “You’re not serious. You’re breaking up with me over this?”
“Over you being a married man? Absolutely.”
“I’m not married!”
I round on him, glaring at him through my tears. “Tell that to your fucking wife!”
“You’re just gonna believe her over me? What about Violet? You can’t do this to us again, Olivia. You can’t?—”
“Don’t you dare tell me what I can and can’t do.” I draw in a breath. I don’t want to leave that little girl, especially not when it feels like I just came back into her life. “I’m not quitting. Not yet. I need to think about that before I make a decision. But us? You and me? We’re through.”
3
REESE
This shit cannot be happening.
Just when I get Olivia back, happy in my life, something comes swooping in to strike it down. It’s a meteoric catastrophe in a little black dress.
Holly Wilson. What a silly name. So generic. So forgettable that I have to look at the marriage license again and again to remind myself of just who the hell is ruining my life.
The fucked-up thing, though, is that I think I vaguely recognize her. And when I stare hard, I can place some of Violet’s features as coming from her. Same button nose. Same velvet-soft ears.
That does not mean we’re married.
Olivia has other ideas, however. She’s got me shut out of her old room, which hurts way more than it should. When she moved in, she stopped using it. Why sleep there when she could sleep in my room? Our room?
Now, she’s holed up in there again, and I can’t even begin to describe how much I fucking hate it.
I bang on the door. “Don’t ice me out like this!”
“Fuck off, Reese!”
I growl. Were we so flimsy with each other that she will just believe the bullshit coming out of Holly’s mouth? What about what I have to say? I’ve never lied to her, not once. I don’t know the words to say to make this right—I just need her to look in my eyes and see the truth there.
Snarling, I punch the door hard enough to dent it—and also to bruise the shit out of my knuckles. But like everything else I’ve tried to do lately, it doesn’t do a bit of good. So, with a grimace and a sigh, I turn away to leave Olivia alone.
