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Chapter Two
Tru
IPAUSE, MY HAND ONthe door. Then let it drop again. Honestly, I’m being ridiculous.
It shouldn't be this hard. It's just a door. I’ve had enough of them slammed in my face over the last six weeks that I know it can’t really hurt me.
Physically.
I read the stenciled logo on the window again.Ironwing.
Ironwing is a dive bar.
Ironwing is in the middle of nowhere.
Ironwing is the only thing I have left in the world that doesn’t fit in my car.
My secondhand car. With a questionable radiator.
I curse my husband...ex-husband...no...non-husband...one more time.
I have a lot of questions for Richard. And if I ever find him, I’ll be sure to ask: Why did you steal my inheritance? Why did you marry me when you were already married to someone else? Why did you invest 60 percent interest of my money in a dive bar in the middle of nowhere?
Of course, the question that burns my soul every night would go unasked: What is it about me that made me such an easy mark?
Because I don’t particularly want to know.
I’ve never pretended that he loved me. But I always, always thought...noknew...that he cared about me. I trusted him with everything—my money, my reputation, my grief. The man fleeced me and humiliated me, but I hurt the worst for my grandfather. My grandfather loved Richard. He left this world assured that I was cared for, my inheritance protected, his good name unsullied. I can accept responsibility for what Richard did to me—it was my own fault for being naive—but I will never, ever, ever forgive what he did to my grandfather's memory with this betrayal. And I will never forget.
The old Tru is dead to me. Never again will I rely on a man to take care of me. Never again will I be naive and uncurious about my own life. I’m not handing the wheel over to anyone ever again.
But I don’t pull the door open.
I breathe in the slightly tangy salt air. The middle of nowhere is actually quite pretty here on the water. And quite well fortified with snacks. The cupcake I ate for breakfast was delicious. It’s no fault of the baker that I might throw it up.
To the corner and back. That's all I need, and then I’ll go in and see what is to be done with the rest of my life now. Yes, once more to the corner and I’ll—.
“Are you protesting something?”
I jump out of my skin, whirling around with poor Fifi bouncing around in her carrier. In the doorway, holding the door to the bar open with his back, stands a tall, beastly almost, man. His dark mussed hair looks freshly raked through, and his arms are crossed in front of him in that way men have of looking relaxed even if they aren't. It certainly showcases the way his t-shirt stretches tautly over his shoulders.
And he is handsome. Too handsome.
