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He rolls his eyes. “Scroll up if you don’t believe me. Look when the last text exchange was. If I recall, I wasn’t too nice.”
My lips purse petulantly. I want to say that I don’t care. But I so obviously do, and he so obviously knows it. I scroll up. Sure enough, the last exchange is from well over eight months ago, where bitch-cow Janelle is asking Alistair if he wants to “come over and fuck her however he wants.”
Rage shoots through me until I see his reply.
Me:
Janelle, for the last time, please stop fucking contacting me. It was once, almost a year ago, and I’m not interested in pursuing anything. I could be nice and say my work takes up too much of my time. But it is simply that you and I are not compatible. Have some fucking respect for yourself and stop messaging me.
God, he’s being a dick but still being somewhat of a gentleman about it. That’s almost more infuriating, because why is he so freaking perfect.
So—he’s right. This isn’t some ongoing current hookup. And yet, that knowledge does almost nothing to quell the jealousy churning inside of me.
“How many other Janelles would I find in your phone if I looked?”
Alistair’s face darkens a touch as his eyes slide up to mine.
“I don’t know, Eloise. How many current husbands, whom you are fucking MARRIED TO, would I find in yours?”
There’s a cold edge to his voice. I shiver, but I glare back.
“Just the fake one I’m not actually in any sort of real relationship with in any capacity!”
“You’re married to the motherfucker,” he snaps. “That’s real.”
“Excuse me?!” I hiss back.
“It’s a legally binding contract,” he shouts, his face getting angrier, “between you and that fuck-face. So please, Eloise, come after me with your jealous bullshit concerning a woman I barely even remember from over a year ago.”
I bark a cold laugh. “Oh, are there just so many of them that you lose track!?”
Alistair looks away, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve had a shit day, Eloise.”
“I didn’t ask you to fight Ansel Albrecht for me!”
He glares at me. “Look, concerning my dating life, I’m thirty-four years old, Eloise. I’m allowed to have had other adult relationships. And you and I were a long time ago?—”
“Oh, there was no you and I. I was just one of the random Janelles you fuck once and then drop.”
His face turns livid. “I think we’ve covered—at length—what happened in the past.” His lips curl. “And it wasn’t just once, was it?”
“I don’t know, you tell me!” I hurl back. “If you can even remember with all of the girls you’ve plowed since?—”
“Since you got married?!” he roars back. His brow deepens. “Speaking of which, why the fuck have you not filed for a divorce already? Unless the thrill for you in all of this is fucking me while you’re still happily married to that?—”
“Oh, yes, so happily!” I yell. “You caught me, Alistair! This is my kink: sleeping with you while I’m happily married to a sociopath who hits me!”
“Then file! You could do it literally right now, and I’d help!”
“I can’t!” I scream. “What about my father? Or Camille?!”
“Fuck Camille!” He roars. “A, she’s a conniving, manipulative, emotionally abusive bitch. B, she’s got enough money to hire her own security.”
“And my father? I guess just fuck him too, and let Massimo come after him while he’s in a coma?!” I yell back. “He’s my father, Alistair!”
“Yes, you seem to have so much respect for a man who sold you to Massimo fucking Carveli for some smuggling operation. Real class act, that father of yours. I can see why you care so much.”
My face turns to stone as I look at him coldly.
