* * *
“Thank you,”I say quietly, handing the taxi driver a bunch of crinkled notes from my purse. “Keep thechange.”
His pupils enlarge when he notices the generosity of my tip. A big tip is the least I can do for exposing him to the daily drama ofmylife.
I slide out of the taxi and walk up to my front door that’s been left open, exposing my home to the chilly midnight temperatures. After ambling into the foyer, I close the door and kick off my shoes. I hang my coat on the coatrack next to Marvin’s and pace further inside, seeking his retreating frame. I discover his dark shadow standing in the middle of my compact kitchen, clasping a glass of hard liquor. Liquor is Marvin’s go-to fix for any dilemma. Mine is a long, hot shower. Deciding I don’t have enough strength for another argument, I leave Marvin to wallow in solitude and head to the main bathroom. Hopefully a good dose of scalding hot water can wash away some of the negativity choking my usually carefreeattitude.
Upon entering my moderately sized bathroom, I remove my dress and place it in a dry cleaning bag draped over the bathroom door. Slipping into a satin knee-length kimono, I pace to the vanity, deciding to make quick work of the heavy makeup suffocating my pores before having a shower. As I run a cotton cloth drenched in makeup remover on the dark shadow on my eyelids, I roam my eyes over the new ringlets sprouting through my hair. Since I had my hair chemically straightened over five years ago, my curls are returning stronger than ever. In the past six months, I’ve made three separate appointments to go and have my hair straightened again. But every time without fail, I neglect to attend my appointment. Although it was well over ten years ago, the memories of Hugo twirling my hair around his finger when we watched re-runs ofFriendswas in the forefront of my mind every time I was working up the courage to walk in my local hairdressing salon. It might have been the smallest memory, but it still has the greatest impact to my sufferingheart.
My reminiscing is interrupted when Marvin staggers into the bathroom. The smell of whiskey and a cheap bottled cologne infiltrates my senses when he stands next to me and props his hip onto the vanitycounter.
“I’m going to head to my place,” he says, his tone low, showing his anger is stillparamount.
“It’s past midnight, Marvin,” I reply, rubbing a wet washcloth over my now makeup-freeface.
“I know,” he interrupts, his tone surly. “But I have some paperwork I have to takecareof.”
“It can’t wait until the morning?” I query, shifting on my feet tofacehim.
“No,” he answers, his reply swift andshort.
Keeping his eyes on the vanity, he leans in and presses a kiss to my temple. When he pulls away, his eyes drift down to the engagement ring nestled on my finger, shimmering in the bathroom light. I'll give credit where credit is due. The ring is beautiful, a princess cut three carat diamond of the highest quality. But just from looking at it, I know Marvin didn’t choose it. He barely has time to look me in the eyes, let alone pick out myengagementring.
Marvin lifts his bloodshot eyes to mine. “There could be far worse options for you than marrying me. You are lucky I came into your life when I did. You shouldrememberthat.”
With that, he pivots on his heels and ambles out oftheroom.
I wait until I hear my front door slam shut before I call Marvin every curse name under the sun. I don’t hold back. Words I swore I'd never speak come out of my mouth in a tirade of cursing a sailor on shore leave would be proud of. My loud rant is highly inappropriate but one hundred percent accurate. Every curse word I’ve heard in my life could describe Marvin in some form.Asshole. Two-faced bastard. Motherfucker.Those are a small handful of the words spilling from my mouth right now. And they are thetameones.
After having a long, boiling hot shower, my annoyance at my exchange with Marvin is still firmly clutching my neck, asphyxiating me. I throw the frilly decorative pillows off my bed like they are missiles before diving under the thick down quilt. Even surrounded by softness greater than a cloud, the tension tightly coiling my muscles is making me restless. My eyes drift to the bedside table on my left. I stare at it, willing it to answer my silent questions of whether it’s able to calm the storm raging inside of me.There is only one way I can relieve this type oftension.
I scoot across the bed and fling open the cherry oak drawer. My heartbeat quickens when I delve my hand inside, hunting through the drawer full to the brim with odd knickknacks and ornaments. My breath hitches when my fingertips brush past a smooth, cool surface. I grasp the item tightly in my hand, knowing it is what I'm seeking without needing to physically see it. I yank my hand out of the drawer, like I’ve been scorched by an ignited flame. My eyes dart around the room as I hold the article close to my chest. Once I'm sure the coast is clear of prying eyes, I slowly lower the shiny glass instrument from my heavingchest.
I snap my eyes shut, urging my tears to stay at bay as I twist the lid on the bottle and inhale deeply. Hot, salty tears roll down my cheeks when the invigorating smell of Woods of Windsor aftershave fills the air surrounding me. Even though it doesn’t have the scent of his skin mixed with it, it is an energizing smell that sends a flurry of emotions coursing through my mind. After placing the smallest dab of the aftershave Hugo left sitting open on my bathroom sink nearly five years ago onto my pillow, I put the bottle back safely into the drawer and snuggle into the pillow. No matter how hard I try, no matter how many days, months or years pass, I can’t forget. My heart will neverforgethim.
When my eyelids become as heavy as my heart, I allow my mind to drift. My very first thoughts go tohim.Hugo.
Chapter Five
Hugo
Five dayslater….
“Hugo!”Izzy squeals at the top of her lungs when I wrap my good arm around her and hoist her off theground.
I’ve just arrived at the annual Christmas Eve party billionaire Cormack McGregor holds every year. Cormack is one of Isaac’s oldest and dearest friends. Even though he is filthy rich, he is one of the most stellar guys I’ve ever met. Just like Isaac, his heart is bigger than his bank account. Although Cormack’s Christmas Eve party isn’t as extravagant as his other numerous functions I’ve attended the past five years, it is my favorite. The atmosphere is always relaxed, focused more on guests having a good time than attempting to drain their pockets for the various charities Cormack and Isaacchair.
When I place Izzy down onto the ground, she spins around to face me. Her jaw is hanging low and her eyes are opened wide. After running her eyes over my face, they drop to vigorously access every inch of my body. She has done the same thing every day for the past week. No matter how many times I assure her my injuries were a result of my lack of due diligence, Izzy still harbors guilt over whathappened.
“Is the sling a necessity, or are you trying to get sympathy points from the ladies?” she quips, her tone playful as she peers at the sling holding my injuredshoulderup.
I throw my head back and laugh. “A little bit of column A, a little bit of column B,” I retort, loving that the guilt plaguing her eyes the past week is diminishing as timepasses.
I drift my gaze from Izzy’s glistening chocolate eyes to Harlow, Izzy’s best friend. “Are you going to share one of those?” I ask, gesturing to the bottle of tequila she is clasping. “Since I’m officially not on duty and can’t get fired by Izzy misbehaving, I may as well have a little bitoffun.”
My deep chuckle booms around the room when Izzy screws up her nose and sticks out her tongue. If I squint, I could pretend she was Jorgie. Harlow waggles her brows before pouring four shots of tequila into gold-flecked shotglasses.
After handing me a shot glass, Harlow playfully winks. “Bottomsup.”
