Page 90 of A Perfect Fit

A scowl forms on my face. “Forget it.”

I start walking off, but he grabs my arm to stop me. My body flinches, and I shake off his grip, exasperated he can’t take the hint that I want nothing to do with him.

“I was drunk, and I know that’s not an excuse, but I’m sorry for what I said.”

“Like I said, it doesn’t matter anymore!” I jerk my head around to face him, feeling my blood boil. “What are you even doing here? Are you stalking me?”

Oliver hesitates. “I’m in Chicago for a work conference, but I heard about Jackson’s company being nominated and figured you’d be here with him, so I, uh, searched up the hotel for your event and booked⁠—”

“Oh my God, you are stalking me.” My skin tightens, and I shudder as if there were a colony of ants crawling on my arm.

Oliver exhales. “I wanted to apologize in person.”

Not wanting to give him any more of my time, I walk past him, continuing toward the exit.

“You know, Jackson’s only with you now because he couldn’t have you back in high school,” he calls out from behind me. “Once he’s bored with you, he’ll break up with you.”

I stop in my tracks, feeling like the air’s been sucked out of my lungs.

The audacity of him … shocking. Absolutely shocking.

“You know nothing about him or our relationship.” My jaw clenches as I turn around to face Oliver again. “And I see what this is about now. Your pathetic ego can’t take it that I’m with Jackson, which is why now, all of a sudden, you want to talk to me. This was never about you wanting to apologize.”

“That’s not true,” Oliver insists. “You know what kind of person Jackson was during school and how he flirted his way through the female population.” He steps closer toward me, placing his hands inside his pockets. “I’m only looking out for you, Izzy.”

“Oh, thank you so much for looking out for me, Oliver.”

Oliver runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Look, despite what you think, I do still care about you, and I feel bad about how we ended things.”

That’s the last straw for me.

“You want to talk about the breakup?” The bitterness I’ve tried so hard to suppress all these years rises to the surface, demanding to explode like a dam about to burst, and I hate him for that. “Fine. Let’s talk about the breakup.”

My breathing erratic, I force myself to look Oliver in the eye and let out the words I buried deep inside my chest for so long.

“You dumped me over text after six years together without any reason. I texted you so many times, called you so many times, but you never responded. I went to your apartment, and you never answered the door either. Your friends told me you’d moved to San Francisco. I spent days—no, months—replaying every interaction, conversation we’d had, trying to work out if I had done anything wrong and why I wasn’t a good enough girlfriend for you.”

I can hear my voice rising and feel tears threatening to spill from my eyes, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

“Izzy”—his voice softens—“you were good enough for me.”

What the actual hell? Is he high right now? I don’t know why he’s saying all this to me when he’s engaged.

I shake my head in disbelief. “You’re crazy.”

“I wanted it to be you,” he says, solidifying my thoughts that he’s delusional. “And it could’ve been you if you’d never started your business.”

What?

I stumble backward. It’s as if someone had poured a bucket of ice water over my head.

Following our breakup, I came up with a list of reasons why he’d dumped me, and I concluded the most plausible one was he’d found someone else. The reason he just told me wasn’t anywhere on my list.

“I wanted to settle down with you, but the only thing you talked about was your business,” Oliver continues. “How was I supposed to trust that you’d prioritize our relationship and future family over your business? Did you even know that fifty percent of small businesses fail within the first five years? I wish you’d just listened to your mom and gone to law school instead.”

I blink, not believing this is the same person I once cared for so deeply. Maybe there were signs I missed. Maybe he changed after we graduated high school, or maybe he was always like this, and I only saw him through rose-colored glasses the whole time.

“Well, I’m sorry for being excited about launching my business and wanting some support from my then boyfriend.” Sarcasm coats my voice. “I guess that was too big of an ask.”