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20
Kristen
Two Months Later
I stare at the dress my stylist helped me choose for the party I’m holding this weekend. It’s the annual party I throw each summer at my Hamptons home. It’s one oftheparties of the season to be seen at and almost everyone who is anyone always attends. This dress is all kinds of wrong. I’m sure of it.
I should have asked Jenna to style me. She always offers, but I never want to take up too much of her time since I know how busy she is with her work. Right now, though, I feel sick over not asking her. She would never have left me with this horrible dress.
Johnathon walks into our bedroom and past me into the bathroom. It’s nine p.m. and he’s just arrived home from work, and like he’s done for the last few nights, he barely registers my presence.
“Oh, hello, Kristen,” I say, unable to stop my bitter tone. “How was your day, darling? Good? Mine too.”
He stops and turns back to me, his face a picture of irritation. “Is this how tonight’s going to go?”
“I’d prefer it not to, but it’s quite awful when your fiancé comes home from work and doesn’t even say hi to you.”
“I need to take a shower and eat some dinner before doing some more work. I don’t exactly have the same kind of time you do, Kristen, to have a fucking conversation.”
My eyes go wide.
My self-worth feels like it’s been slapped.
“The same kind of time I do? What do you mean by that?”
“Fuck.” He shoves his fingers through his hair. “Can we not get into this tonight? I’m days behind on this project and really need to get through a lot of work tonight.”
“You’ve worked late every night for weeks, Johnathon. Why are you days behind?”
“You wouldn’t understand.”
Oh, no he doesn’t. “What, because I don’t have a paid job?”
He shakes his head. “No, I’m not doing this tonight.” With that, he enters the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
My dress is the furthest thing from my mind now.
Now, I’m angrier than I’ve ever been with him. I’ve had almost three months of this and I think I’ve reached the end of my patience. I think I’m finally done with being made to feel likeI’mthe problem. I seem to excel at finding men who are good at twisting everything around to that.
Deciding I need a stiff drink while I wait for him to finish his shower, I go in search of one. I’m on my way when I hear a succession of text messages come in on his phone. Somewhere in my messed-up mind and anger, I do something I have never done with any man. I locate his phone and read the messages sitting on his lock screen.
Julie: That meeting was hectic at work today. But you made everything all better.
Julie: I’m looking forward to seeing you tomorrow.
Julie: I’m thinking about wearing this.
My hands shake as I take a guess at his pin to unlock his phone.
Who the fuck is Julie? And why is she texting my fiancé?
I guess his pin on my third attempt and suddenly my whole world lies in front of me. If I tap the Messages button, I’ll have access to every conversation he’s ever had. I’m not sure I’m ready for that.
A man who doesn’t respect the trust his partner gives him is not a man who treats you well. I would never lie to you.
If I ever manage to get Bradford out of my head, it’ll be the best goddamn day of my life. And if I read these messages and find he was right, I’m left with the biggest decision of my life. Stay or go. I never ever imagined being a woman who thought therewasa choice, but here I am.
In spite of the nerves rushing me, and in spite of my fear of what lies ahead, I tap the button and open Johnathon’s messages.
