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I came here to tell him one thing:We’re done. He’s not even taking full responsibility. He’s sorry for “what happened,” as if their affair was some act of God.
“I’ve already made an appointment for us to get financialssorted with the banks. I want our accounts separated. As far as the wedding?—”
“No.”
Excuse me?Blood fires through my veins. He doesn’t get to reject my breakup.
I pluck the engagement ring off the coffee table and meet him where he stands, toe to toe. “You made your choice in Vegas.” I hold the ring out for him to take.
His jaw tics. “No. We are going to work this out.” Smirking, he takes the ring from me, grabs me by the neck, and walks me to the dividing wall between the living room and bedroom hallway.
“You’re hurting me.”
“You’re hurtingme,” he says. Alarm bells ring. His voice is monotone, but his actions are firm and calculating. Menacing. “Do not try me, Jordana. This marriage is happening. We are walking down the aisle in a month. And you’re going to do it with a smile on yourfat fucking face.” He pulls my neck forward and slams my skull against drywall three times to punctuate his last words. “Understand?”
My vision blurs. I want to run, but I can’t move. The instant headache has me seeing stars. I roll my lips together and breathe through my nose, trying to stay calm. He’s got me standing on my tiptoes. I go into self-preservation mode and nod. Every inch of me is trembling. He moves his hand to the back of my neck.
“Now go get ready for the fundraiser. We’re showing up together, and you’re going to play nice with me, aren’t you?”
Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry.
I nod again; he’s not giving me much range of motion. He encircles my shaking wrist and holds it up, offering me a bemused smile. His other hand releases my neck as he holds the ring.No, no, no. He shoves the ring backon my finger. It doesn’t fit, so he pushes until it scrapes harshly past the knuckle. My brows squish together as I plead with him. It’s not only excruciatingly painful, it’s like having my old collar put on again. My hand itches to yank it off.
“Obviously, the diet is back on.”
A tear escapes, I blink to stop the rest, but it only makes another one fall.
“Don’t be sad. Good wife, good life. Remember?” He swipes his thumb over my cheek, and my stomach turns. I resist slapping his hands away. The touch makes me squirm.
My answer is clipped. “Mm-hm.”
He smiles, tracking another tear as it cascades down my cheek. “You’re ugly when you cry.” His gaze returns to mine, and he waits to see if I’ll give him more tears.
Nothing. He releases me, and I suck in a breath.
“Get dressed. If you look fat in what I’ve laid out for you, find something else. Hair down.”
He always tells me to wear it up. He must have left marks.
This is the last time I will wear my hair for him.I just need to get through tonight. Wait until it’s safe.
A four-piece orchestra plays in the corner while people wander the Safehouse fundraiser for—get this—domestic violence victims. The irony makes me want to vomit. I’m such a fraud.
I didn’t even realize it was Camden Teller’s charity. I knew he was involved but didn’t grasp he was the founder. He tried to tell me at the coffee shop, and I dismissed him. I never thought it would escalate to this. Tonight was the first time he put his hands on me for more than a firm grab. I’mso lost and empty inside—ashamed I’ve put myself in this situation. When did I lose control of my life?
As Bryan parades me around, I put on a happy smile and make small talk. He didn’t let me out of his sight for the first hour and a half, or throughout the dinner I wasn't allowed to eat. Now he’s lengthening my leash. I want to shove his hand away from my lower back. Every so often, it drifts to my ass, making my skin crawl.
Everything in me says to run, but it’s not so simple. Not yet.
I have to be smart. He can’t suspect anything. As I was getting ready tonight, I heard him tell his father over the phone that spouses can’t be forced to testify against one another. I think his words were in reference to me. I don’t know what he’s hiding. Does it matter?
For now, I need to focus on getting myself out of this mess.
Every conversation with our acquaintances is more dull than the last. Career successes, real estate, investments...
“... From what I heard, the initial investors did very well. Who have they chosen for the board?”
“... We summered in Deauville this year. Seychelles has become so overrun by tourists.”
