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Chapter Eleven
Corentina
I thought I heard them wrong, but I didn’t. Félix mentioned a woman named Brittney, and all I heard back at the club was the word wife. Rémy has a wife and he’s been seeing me. He’s been fucking me. God, I feel like I’m going to throw up. I continue walking down the street and make a sharp right into the only coffee shop I see open. I need a dose of caffeine right now, and I need it stat.
I even doubted how perfect he’d been thus far, because with men, there’s always some sort of catch. Well, this is it. This is the giant red flag I knew he must’ve had. I get in line behind a woman and wait for my turn, unsure what to do with the knowledge I now have. The woman in front of me orders, pays, and moves to the left where the other customers are waiting for their drinks.
“Hi, miss, how can I help you this evening?” the barista asks me.
I glance over their menu and decide to go with something basic. “Can I get a medium chai latte with a bit of cinnamon on the top and a warmed cheese danish?”
“Certainly. That’ll be eight dollars and twenty-three cents,” the barista tells me as she presses buttons on her tablet.
I fish out my card from my crossbody purse and insert the chip reader. Once the lights flash green, she smiles. “Okay, you’re all set, and what was your name?”
“Cora, and I’ll be eating here if that’s all right?” I don’t know what time they close, but seeing as they’re in the inner city, hopefully, it isn’t too soon.
“Of course, go ahead and take a seat. I’ll bring everything out to you when it’s ready,” she tells me, and I head over to a booth. It’s tucked away in the corner of the cafe, but it’s right against the aged brick wall. Goodness, the architecture in New Orleans reminds me so much of my time in France and Spain. Since being here, I’ve done a lot of reading and it turns out their design styles were influenced by the French, for obvious reasons, and even the Spanish styles as well.
To my right there’s a watercolor painted flower on canvas. The canvas is older and isn’t white anymore, showing its age. Instead, it’s a muted yellow, not quite gold, but not bronze either. The vibrant greens of the leaves and stem pop, and then the petals of the flower are painted in a deep orange. It reminds me of the sunset in Bali. I flew out there a couple years back to do a private event for a multi-millionaire, and it was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a vacation. Before the show, I’d sat down on the dock and watched the sun disappear from the skyline. It was absolutely gorgeous, and one day I hope to go back to Bali and enjoy the beauty.
“Here you are, Cora,” the barista says as she places my warm cheese danish and my chai tea latte down on the table.
“Thank you so much,” I say to her, and she walks off.
I pick up my latte and take a sip, and it’s great, but it doesn’t comfort me in the way I thought it might. Why would it, though? Like, really? I found out the guy I’ve been seeing, the man I thought I’ve been dating, has a fucking wife. It’s unbelievable.
I’m such a fucking idiot. Closing my eyes, I take another sip and try to keep the emotions from coming through. I want to cry. I want to scream. But I can’t do either of those in a public setting. There’s no denying it anymore, I’m caught off guard by this entire situation, and it makes me detest Rémy in a way. Most of all, because he’s the one who put me in the middle. He’s made me the other woman, and I’m here struggling to understand why this is happening.
Upon opening my eyes, I run a hand through my hair, and a flash of blonde hair walking toward me makes me glance to the left. Sure enough, I see the devil herself—Ursula. I take another sip and put my latte down.
Ursula slides into the booth across from me and smiles. “Imagine that, I found you while I’m out on a stroll. How funny.” Nothing is ever funny with Ursula. There’s no such thing as coincidences with her. She’s like a falcon who stalks the mouse from above, waiting to swoop down and rip its throat out.
Tightness forms in my stomach, but I won’t show her I’m uncomfortable. I’ve had a bad enough day and it’s not going to get worse. “Why are you here, Ursula?”
She smirks and leans back in the booth. “What do you mean?”
Great, she’s playing dumb. Now I need to spell it out for her. “Why are you still here in New Orleans? We parted ways, don’t you remember?”
The smirk falls from her face, and she cocks her head to the side. “You don’t think I’d leave my baby sister behind in a foreign country, do you?”
“Save me your excuses. I can handle myself. I’m a big girl, remember?” My German accent comes out thicker because I’m growing a bit angrier. It pisses me off when she acts like she cares, because we both know she couldn’t care less. I’m simply an easy paycheck to her, and someone she can master manipulate into doing whatever she wants.
Ursula’s eyebrows furrow, and she feigns being insulted. “I would never leave you behind. You’re my sister. Why can’t you accept the truth?”
I’ve had enough of her lies, so I’m going to put an end to it right now. “No, you don’t give a flying crap about me. All you want is the money I bring your way, and now you’ve realized what kind of mistake you made. You’re only around so you can crawl back and get your easy paycheck,” I grumble, frustrated with her more than I’ve ever been.
“Easy paycheck? I made your career!” Ursula snaps, causing everyone in the cafe to turn and look at us. Employees and patrons alike are interested in what’s going on between the two of us.
“No, don’t even start that with me. You managed me, but my hard work, my talent got me to where I am today. You weren’t the one who broke bones, had your body screaming at you to rest, stayed up for twenty-seven hours straight to learn the last-minute booked routine in Istanbul. You haven’t made nearly as many sacrifices as I have, so don’t you stand there and act like you have. You’ve profited off my talent for my entire life, and I’m done. You aren’t my manager anymore. You no longer represent me, so you have no excuse to be hovering over me like some creep. Leave, Ursula. Just leave.”
Ursula scoffs and shakes her head. “You don’t mean any of this.”
“I do. I mean every word.”
“You’re ungrateful, so fucking ungrateful.” Ursula shakes her head as she walks away, heading toward the door, but she stops just as she stands in the frame and looks right at me. “This isn’t the last you’re going to be seeing of me.”
If she was trying to be threatening, she wasn’t. I’ve dealt with her my entire life. I know what the woman’s capable of, and what she isn’t.
