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“We need to talk about something important.”
“I agree.” His tone gives nothing away, and I wonder if Seth changed his mind about letting me relay the bad news. “Let me know when you’re in the lobby so I can buzz you upstairs.”
“Okay.” I await his usual ’Can’t wait, babe’ or ‘Love you babe’” but nothing comes except the soft beep of the call ending.
My anxiety has takenover the steering wheel because I’ve missed the turn to Brett’s place five times in a row. I’ve written about breaking hearts before, had mine torn to shreds, but I’ve never shattered someone else’s.
Taking several deep breaths, I circle the block one last time before pulling into the parking garage. And before I can turn around and change my mind, I step out of the car and rush inside, leaving the drive’s side door wide open.
Tell him now, tell him now…
“Good evening, Miss Edwards.” The elevator attendant tips his hat to me. “It’s good to—” He doesn’t finish his sentence.
He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and hands it to me before hitting the button for Brett’s floor.
He avoids my gaze in the mirrored glass as we ride up, and I wipe away more tears.
When the doors glide open, I don’t recognize where I am.
What the…
A tuxedoed man is sitting at a white Steinway piano, his finger strumming the chords to a love song I can’t name.
Twinkling candles and oversized books are lining the hall, and when I round the corner, Brett is down on one knee, a velvet black box in his hand.
I stop walking and swallow hard.
“Come all the way out here, babe.” He smiles, but I remain still.
He laughs and stands up, moving closer to me and returning to one knee.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you while I was gone,” he says. “I know you said ‘break,’ but I didn’t take it literally. I’venever felt this way about anyone before, and I love you. I want to be with you, Genevieve Edwards. So, allow me to—”
“I slept with someone else while you were in Japan,” I say. “I did take the word ‘break’ literally.”
He blinks, then he slowly stands to his feet.
“Who?”
“Liam,”
“Liam who?” he asks. “I don’t know any—Lauren’s boyfriend?”
The pianist hits a flat note, and seconds later I hear the glass door squeaking close behind me.
He crosses his arms. “Why?”
“I’m going to get to that part.”
“Get to it now.”
“I’ve never stopped thinking about him. I searched for him for years, hoping he would appear in a storefront window or a coffee shop, and when he did…”
“He was with someone else.” He hissed. “Excuse me, he was damn near engaged to someone else.”
“Not exactly.”
“Yes, exactly.” He clenches his jaw. “When exactly were you two dating before? Better yet, was this some type of fuck him one last time to see that you belong with me?”
