Page 23 of Echoes of Him

Well, silly you, because as it turns out, you can watch Christmas movies all year ‘round. I do it all the time. In fact, Christmas movies are pretty much all I ever watch. I love the romance of the wintery small towns, the adorable bakeries, the big-city, jaded businessmen who’ve forgotten the real meaning of—

“Are you fucking someone?”

Jonathan’s words stun me senseless, and I recoil with a sharp jerk. “I beg your pardon?”

“Is that what this is about? You’re fucking someone, and you don’t want me to know about it. That’s why you don’t like me coming over. You’re afraid I’ll catch you in the act.”

Zero to a hundred within seconds. “I swear to God, Jonathan, get out of my sight before I lose my shit completely. I can’t believe you just said that to me. Catch me in the act? What the hell are you talking about? I’m a single woman who can sleep with any man she wants, any time of the day or night, without your knowledge or permission. What I do, orwhoI do, is no longer any of your concern.”

“You’re my wife, Mack.”

“I amnotyour wife. I’m not your anything. And if I want to screw half the goddamn city, then I will, and I won’t give you a second thought while I’m doing it.”

If eyes could burn holes into another person, I would look like a sieve right about now. “You’re dreaming if you think half the city’s up for screwing you, Mack. I mean, come on, I see you’ve found the cookie jar again.”

The color drains clean from my face.

Shock pins my feet firmly to the floor, too stunned to speak. A choked breath fills my lungs, lodged firmly inside my heaving chest as I watch Jonathan stomp down the stairs.

I wonder how many years I’d get for murdering him. Actually, I don’t care. It would be totally worth it. God, I hate him so much.

I shouldn’t crumble under his pathetic insults. I’ve heard them all before, many, many times. He’s cheated on me before as well, many, many times, and when we’d argue about it, he’d always bring up my body. Because he knows it’s a sore point. It’s an insecurity I’ve carried with me since I was a teenager, hence his delight in pushing his vile barbs on me.

I eat healthily, that’s the thing. And I exercise every day. Okay, maybe not every day, but definitely everyotherday. I try, and that’s the most important part of all.

But I also like wine. And cheese. The occasional slice of chocolate cake.

I guess I have that going against me. But who cares? I have curves and big boobs. My hips, yeah, they’re a little rounded, and because of the aforementioned penchant for chocolate cake, I’m guessing I’m never going to have a rock-hard stomach or an ass so tight I could crack walnuts between my cheeks. Not that I’d want to. Unsanitary.

But you know what else I have going against me, the egotistical, pig-headed man downstairs who is currently making a hell of a racket rummaging around inmystorage room. The same man I promised all my forevers to, the same man who’s let me down time and time again when all I ever wanted was for him to look at me the same way he looked at all the other women.

I cried for months after we broke up.

At first, I was devastated that I couldn’t make our marriage work. I’d tried so hard, fought the good fight as they say. Well fuck them because trying to save a marriage with a man whose penis prefers the company of skank-whores looking for free kitchen upgrades is a feat not meant for the fainthearted.

The microwave pings so I head in the direction of the kitchen and start dishing up our dinner.

A moment later, Jonathan clambers back up the stairs, dragging goodness knows what across my newly polished floors. “End of the month, Jonathan!”

The front door slams shut.

“Prick,” I grumble and then call loudly. “Bailey, dinner’s ready!”

Sienna

Iread somewhere once “there must be quite a few things that a hot bath can’t cure, but I don’t know of any of them” and dammit all to hell, I couldn’t agree more.

Baths fix everything. Wine, too. But mostly baths.

And the enormous freestanding claw-foot bathtub I’m currently soaking in is the closest thing to heaven I’ve ever known—sleek white, glossy edges and deep enough to drown all my sorrows.

I’ve been soaking deliriously for a good twenty minutes when my cell phone vibrates on the bathroom vanity beside me. I lean over, carefully picking it up and see I have a text message.

Andrea: Any chance you changed your mind?

Honestly, she could be talking about a multitude of things, but my guess is she’s still riding thedating train,and she wants me firmly on board. I tap out a quick reply.

Me: As much chance as hell freezing over by June.

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