Page 76 of Seven Rules for Breaking Hearts

“I didn’t plan for things to go this way.” My voice was barely audible, more a whimper than anything. “I called everything off. Ask Jo. I’d decided I was going to, that night in the arcade, before anything had even happened between us. The search history, me taking that picture the day of the hike—I promise that was all a coincidence. I didn’t do this on purpose. I wouldn’t.”

“But if things had gone differently—”

I shook my head. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

He tossed his hands up, the calm exterior shattering. “That’s exactly what you’re saying, Margo!” His voice cracked with barely contained emotion. “You planned to use me for the podcast from the beginning, you just didn’t count on actually liking me. What, was I supposed to be the safe option? You said it yourself the night of the bachelorette party. That I should have known I was the last man who—” He broke off in a humorless laugh, running a hand over his face. “Oh my God. Everything your mom said last night … even the fucking Red Wedding comment. It was practically staring me in the face.”

“It wasn’t …” I started to deny, but that was the thing: it was. Everything he was saying about me was true, no matter how desperately I wished it wasn’t.

He shook his head, staring at me in disbelief. “I told you. That first day at the bar, I was straight up with you. I told you I didn’t want to be another story for your podcast and then I walked away. When you kept flirting with me, I thought maybe—” He ran a hand over his face again, cutting himself off. “Fuck.”

“I know,” I whispered, shuttering my eyes against the tears. God, how many times today were my glaring shortcomings going to smack me in the face? “I wanted to tell you.”

“You wanted to tell me,” he echoed with a scoff. “Right. And what about all the days since changing your mind? If you can’t be honest with me, then be honest with yourself for a second. Did you ever plan to tell me the truth?”

“I’m telling you the truth tonight.”

“Like it counts when it’s all over the fucking internet.” He took a step toward me, until we were almost pressed up against each other, and for one wild moment, I wished he would kiss me again. But instead, his voice was deadly calm. “Here’s what the truth looks like from my perspective. You walked into this with every intention of using me. And then you were either still planning to use me for the podcast or you were too chicken to come clean. But either way, you were more than happy to let me keep fucking you in the meantime.”

I was so surprised that I choked on a laugh. “You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m being the asshole?” He laughed too, but it came out hollow. “You know what the worst part is? If you had just talked to me, you would have known that I don’t have a problem with your podcast. Hell, I wouldn’t have cared if you talked about me, even. My problem is with you using this”—he gestured between us—“for a cheap story. Reducing it down to another anecdote about why it’s better to follow the rules. Because the rules are all bullshit, Margo. You know they are.”

“I’m sorry.” There was no blinking back the tears that spilled down my cheeks now. “I don’t know what else you want me to say. I’ve never felt like this. About anyone,” I emphasized, but he only scoffed and turned away. “Tell me what I’m supposed to say to make it better. Because I have no clue. This is all a guessing game for me.”

Declan closed his eyes like he couldn’t stand looking at me. The lights of the Casino danced on the lapping waves below. It should have been romantic, under any other circumstance. “Never mind,” he said after what felt like an eternity. His voice was low now; it wasn’t shaky or desperate to make me understand. It was empty. Flat. The curtain was closed. And somehow, that was worse than if he’d yelled at me. “If you don’t already know, then what’s the point?”

Before I could conjure up a response, he brushed past me, walking away.

“Declan, wait—” I called after him, but he was already rounding the bend without so much as a glance over his shoulder.

I hugged my arms around myself as I stood there alone on the promenade, wounded and angry with no one to blame but myself. The night air turned cool as I stared out at the bay, people drinking on the aft decks of their private yachts or strolling the sea-green pier, tossing bits of fish and chips into the water and watching the garibaldi swarm by the soft glow of the pier lights. Eventually I worked up the motivation to head back inside, if only for the sake of showing face as the maid of honor, even though the best man had dipped out.

The party was winding down. There were still a handful of couples slow-dancing to a classical cover of what might’ve been an *NSYNC song and I’d apparently missed the cake cutting because the dessert table was decimated and Jo had frosting in her hair. But there was still a line trailing from the ill-prepared bar cart, and a second bartender had jumped in to help keep up with demand: Shelley, her hair in a messy topknot and a grouchy look on her face like she’d been dragged here in the middle of her day off.

And suddenly, I’d found an outlet for my frustration.

I stormed over to the bar cart, ignoring the muttered protests of other guests who thought I was cutting the line. “How did you get in?” I demanded.

Shelley gave me a bemused look in the middle of shaking a cocktail. “Renee called me to bring supplies and help out. Said they underestimated the number of bottles.” She poured the drink into a plastic cup, garnished it with a slice of pineapple, and passed it to the person standing behind me.

“I meant into my phone. Did you jailbreak it? Hack it somehow?” I blew out a breath. “I guess it doesn’t really matter. The damage is done either way.”

She made a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a scoff, and looked to her coworker for help, but the other girl was too busy whipping up another Buffalo Milk to care. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do,” I said firmly. “I get that you don’t like people like me. You think we’re rude and entitled and that we expect everything for free, and maybe you’re right. If I’m honest, I don’t always like people like me these days, either. But I need you to get the article taken down. If not for me, then for Declan. Hate me all you want, but he didn’t do anything to you.”

Her brow knit. For a moment, I thought maybe she would keep denying it. But then she mumbled some excuse to the other bartender and pulled me aside. “Look,” she said, and then she paused for a long moment. I got the impression she was trying to work out what she could say without implicating herself. “I’m not saying I took your phone. But whoever did take your phone, it doesn’t matter. It’s out of their hands now.”

“Do you know the person who runs GossipHub?”

She shook her head, almost imperceptible, like to shake it any more would be admitting to something.

“This could cost you your job, you know,” I said slowly. “If I told Renee.” In truth, getting Shelley fired wouldn’t make a difference, so I wasn’t sure I cared enough to tattle. It wouldn’t make me feel any better about myself. But if there was any chance the threat would scare her into fixing this, then I was more than happy to hold it over her head.

“I don’t work for Renee. My company is contracted through hers.” She glanced over at the bar cart. This conversation was already boring her. “And anyway, you can’t prove anything.”

“So it’s my word against yours.”