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Her innocent statement is confirmation that she doesn’t remember who I am. It probably helps my last name has changed since I was in Rockland Falls last. Plus, no one would expect Kathryn Elliott-Dunnington to stay at a bed and breakfast when she owns the largest home in the county.
“New enough,” I reply with a smile, not really wanting to tip her off.
“Well, if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. There are several local shops and touristy places to visit while you’re in town, and I always recommend taking a trip out to the falls. Our town was named after it, you know,” she says with a warm, grandmotherly grin as she completes our transaction.
Janice continues to talk about the history of the bed and breakfast as she leads me up the stairs and toward my room. Each one is named after a president and boasts a large four-poster bed and private bathroom. My room has a small sitting area by the window, something I’m sure I’ll take full advantage of.
When she leaves me to my own accord, I place my satchel bag on the small table and remove the contents. Everything the lawyer gathered before my trip, as well as all the legal papers I’ve reviewed a million times in the last six months. Yet, here I am, pulling them out and scanning them again. First, the will. Then, divorce papers.
Those have yet to be signed.
My phone rings again, a reminder of why those papers haven’t been autographed by both parties. The urge to hit ignore again is strong, but I know he’ll just keep calling. When those calls go unanswered, he’ll find another way to get what he wants, and having Charles Dunnington III show up in Rockland Falls is exactly what I don’t want to happen. This is my new, fresh start, and nowhere in that picture is the man I’m trying to detach myself from.
Sighing audibly, I grab the phone and click accept.
“Finally! I’ve been trying to reach you for two days. I was about to send the dogs out for you,” Charles exhales dramatically, making me roll my eyes.
“Well, good evening to you too. No need to send the dogs. As you can tell, I’m alive and well, and also not any of your concern any longer,” I remind for the thousandth time.
Charles huffs another exaggerated breath. “Don’t be like that, Kathryn. Sarcasm and attitude are beneath you.”
“See, that’s where you’re wrong, Charles. It’s exactly where I am.”
Again, a sigh. “I made a mistake, Kathryn. You’ve made your point, now come home.”
My blood starts to boil. “A mistake? A mistake?” I ask, my voice elevating with each word. “A mistake is forgetting to pick up the dry cleaning. Screwing your secretary on your desk isn’t a mistake, Charles.”
I’m greeted with silence.
“You and I both know the love ran out a long time ago,” I whisper, hating how those words still affect me.
“It was never about love, and you know it. We’re a perfect match, darling.”
“On paper.”
“Many couples have this type of marriage, Kathryn,” he says, reminding me of all of the marriages of convenience in our circle of friends.
“And they all screw their secretaries every chance they get,” I state boldly, knowing my words are a billion times true. Most of our friends are accustomed to this lifestyle, where the husband runs around with someone half his age and the wife screws the pool boy. He comes home and gives her a bigger diamond than the previous one, and they all forget no one is happy and they drink their wrongdoings away with hundred-year-old scotch.
The difference was I thought it was love. But the truth is, I just wanted it to be love. I wanted Charles to replace the memories that kept me up at night. I wanted him to prove to me that he was different than all of the other rich assholes out there. Unfortunately, what I wanted and what I got were two totally different things. Charles ended up being exactly like everyone else, including the screwing his secretary bit.
“Listen, I’m tired. I’ve been on the road all day and I’m ready to turn in. We tried, Charles, but it didn’t work. I don’t want that lifestyle anymore. I deserve better,” I whisper, hating I’ve resorted to begging to finalize our divorce. We’ve gone round and round for the last few months, but each time, Charles halts the process with some bullshit filing or delay.
“For the record, I don’t want this,” he says quietly, the resolve evident in his word.
“Well, I do.”
He exhales and I can practically picture him sitting at his desk, running his hand through his hair in frustration. “What am I going to tell everyone?” he says softly, almost absently.
What I want to say is, “Tell them you were caught fucking your secretary and your wife didn’t accept your peace offering.” That she felt relief mixed with her anger the moment she heard the fake moans of pleasure from the bottle-blonde bent over his desk. Fake, I would know. I’ve faked for the last eight years.
Instead, I say, “I don’t care what you tell them. Blame me for all I care. Just sign the papers, Charles. I’ve already given you the company. This is the final step.”
It’s true. I gave him the company I worked for since graduating college. My dad specialized in high-end real estate and his company grew leaps and bounds when we relocated to New York City. He was always based out of there, but we lived in Rockland Falls. Daddy flew back and forth my entire childhood, until one night, it all ended. We moved.
After my college graduation, I took my position beside him in the company. He had several agents beneath him, including Charles Dunnington III. To my father, he was the son he never had. Smart, driven, and wooing his young daughter. My father nudged me in his direction every chance he got until finally, I caved. Dating Charles was like dating any rich asshole. Gifts out the ass and fancy dinners that cost more than some people’s used cars. But deep in my heart, I knew it wasn’t what I wanted. I knew Charles wasn’t the man for me. Yet, I refused to listen. He was a balm, a salve to cover the gaping hole in the chest I received when I left Rockland Falls.
Now, I’m looking to right my wrong.
