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Feeling like shit, I wait patiently until the French lesson is over. As the crowd streams out into the hallway, I venture into the room to seek out Nadia’s grandmother.
“Hello Mrs. Chester,” I dare to say. “I was wondering if you know where I can find Nadia today.”
The woman gives me a scorching look that makes my nuts shrivel up. “She’s meeting with her realtor.”
I blink. “Her realtor? She’s seeing a realtor? Is she…is she selling her house?”
Nancy’s lips are flat with displeasure as she nods. “Bet you didn’t know she quit her job, too.”
My heart drops to my feet. I feel my windpipe closing up. “Nadia quit her job?”
“Thanks to you!” she says accusingly.
“Thanks to me?”
“That’s what I said,” the woman responds sassily.
Oh, shit. Oh, shit. Oh, shit.
“I…I have to go stop her,” I blurt out.
“First smart thing you’ve said all day,” Nancy snaps out, rightfully annoyed with me.
“Thanks,” I rush out. “Thanks, Mrs. Chester.”
Then, I’m running out the door and across the parking lot toward my car. I need to get to Nadia. Nothing has ever felt more urgent. I need to get to her.
Fuck. I hope I’m not too late.
51
NADIA
In my rear view mirror, I peer at the shopping bags crowding the backseat of my car. I’m really not sure why I bought all these groceries. It’s not like I even have an appetite these days. Or a husband to cook dinner for.
I guess I just needed a distraction after the realtor left. I had to find a way to keep myself busy so I wouldn’t drive myself crazy in the quiet house all evening.
I resisted the urge to book a session with my therapist to talk this through. This is something I have to work through on my own. Grocery shopping is as good a distraction as any, but I guess I may have gone overboard. Yeah. Definitely went overboard.
But in my defense, I made areallybig decision today. One of those decisions that change the entire course of your life. Now I’ve got the nausea and a wicked case of anxiety to prove it. But I’m not changing my mind.
Having the rug yanked out from under you really sets your priorities in order. Despite having a better sense of clarity than I’ve had in, well, freaking forever, I still feel dreadful.
I want to be mad at the person who gutted me, but I’m too logical to misplace the blame on Harry. He didn’t do this. I did. He didn’t deserve to be lied to. I was too scared to woman up, sit him down, and tell him everything. How I thought I was protecting him by keeping him in the dark is ridiculous.
If I would have told him, maybe he could have done something to stop it. If I would have told him, maybe he could have been mentally and emotionally prepared. If I would have told him, maybe I wouldn’t be staring at this sparkly ring, wondering if he’s going to ask for it back.
You couldn’t have told him, Nadia.
Telling him the truth was never an option for me. And as my granny always says, it’s too late for shoulda-coulda’s in any case.
I’m angry at myself.
I’m angry at Liam.
I’m angry at Harry's sports agent, who didn’t think to negotiate a no-trade clause in his rookie contract. Granted, those are rare for rookies, but still, Harry deserves to have someone in his corner.
I’m just hoping I can prove to him that that person can be me. That that personisme.
