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Antoni doesn’t care. “He’s pretty.”
I heave a breath I can feel throughout my entire body. “What are you doing?”
“Catching up,” my ex responds. “I’m hurt. You didn’t invite me to the wedding.”
“Why would I possibly do that?” I ask, unlocking my car with the key fob.
He makes a short sound. “Well, that’s rude. We used to be close once upon a time. Daddy.”
“Don’t,” I grit out. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
He sighs, the sound quiet beside the pounding of my pulse.
“Why are you calling, Antoni?” I ask, my voice surprisingly controlled considering how I feel inside. “Truly, for what reason? Are you not happy with my brother anymore?”
“I love him very much,” he answers.
“Then why are you calling me?”
He’s quiet for a moment, and I have half a mind to hang up. I blocked Antoni’s number for a reason. It’s been over five years since we broke up. Over two since I last talked to either him or Cameron. Neither has a place in my life anymore.
“I miss you, Theo,” he finally answers. “We could be friends, you know. All of us.”
“Yeah, no, not happening. Bye, Antoni.”
“Wait,” he says, his tone making me pause. “You could sell your shares. Then I’ll stop calling.”
I huff a bitter laugh. Of course, it always comes down to money with Antoni. More money, more prestige, more power.
“I helped build that company,” I reply, tone clipped. “I’m not selling.”
With that, I hang up, not giving Antoni a chance to respond. I block his new number, and then I get into my car, gripping the steering wheel so tight my knuckles ache. I breathe in and out slowly, forcing my heart rate to calm.
It’s fine. They can’t hurt me anymore.
So why does it still ache so fucking badly?
I expect the apartment to be empty when I get home, but it’s not. The door is cracked open, and Kipp is standing just inside, a couple of boxes on the floor in front of him.
He looks over at me with a soft smile that instantly has my tension dropping. “Hey.”
“Hey,” I reply, closing the door and stepping out of my shoes. “Why aren’t you at work?”
Kipp brushes his hair back, the strands disheveled. “I was, but Carly insisted I take the afternoon off to finish moving, so I’ve been doing that. My coworkers, uh… They sent me home with a cake.”
He waves his hand toward the kitchen, where what can only be described as a miniature wedding cake sits. The three-tiered structure is covered in white frosting and pink flowers, and Kipp’s face blooms just about the same rosy hue.
“I told them no gifts,” he says. “That would have been too much, considering—you know.” He motions between us. Considering our marriage is fake.
“I understand,” I assure him before pointing at the boxes near his feet. “Need any help with those?”
“I’m on the last one,” he says. “Question. Do you wanna keep separate sex toy drawers or consolidate?”
I bark a laugh, unable not to. “You want your toys in with the Dildo of Death?”
“I mean, sure,” he says with a grin. “It’s not like it’ll rub off on them.” He pauses, considering his words. “You know what I mean.”
“Put your stuff wherever you want,” I tell him, shaking my head in bemusement. “I’m not picky.”
