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I set my phone down, raking my hands through my hair and telling myself to breathe. It was surreal. For so long I’d put off launching my clothes and my designs because Dennis had always said it would hurt when I failed. He’d been so sure I would too.
Damn, I felt like an idiot every time I looked back on the relationship. I hung on to who he’d been when we first started dating—charming and attentive—and ignored every red flag that I could now clearly see. Every time he passive aggressively complimented me—you’re cute, Luna, you don’t need to try and look sexy. Every time he put his needs in front of my own—come on, you have a mountain of cash in your trust fund, I only need eight grand to invest in my buddy’s business. Every time he’d make it seem like I was asking for something outlandish sexually—are you joking? You want me to dominate you? What bullshit book did you read that in?
I clenched my eyes shut, shaking my head at myself. How was it that I’d let him make me believe all those things about myself? How did he manage to get such a hold on me?
Because you were loyal and hoped one day he’d change, hoped he’d go back to being who he was in the beginning. I knew better now. Knew I deserved better. Knew there were men in the world who believed in me, who treated me like royalty and worshiped me like a goddess…
Well, not men, but one man.
Brad.
He’d always believed in me, always made me smile, always put me first, and I knew nothing would ever compare to that kind of love.
Because it had to be love, right? There is no way he’d act like this, treat me like this for just the role. I couldn’t believe that. I wouldn’t.
My phone dinged again, and I scooped it up, fully prepared for it to be another update from my friends.
I was wrong.
Dennis: Saw your site. Don’t let that shit go to your head. It’s just a flash in the pan. What we had was real. I’ll be right here when you figure that out.
Ugh. I rolled my eyes, pain streaking through me despite me telling myself he was full of shit. His texts were getting more frequent and bordering on cruel. I was over it. I hadn’t been texting him back because I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, but I was so done.
Me: Stop texting me. We’re done. Leave me alone.
Dennis: We’ll never be done.
A cold shudder rolled through me reading those words, and I slammed my phone face down, not wanting to read another thing he might send.
I shook out my body like it would rid me of the creeps he’d given me, then assured myself he was just being his usual, arrogant, narcissistic self. All talk with no follow-through.
After a few deep breaths, I noted the time, and sprinted into action. Brad had been at events all day with the owners while I handled things on my website, and he was due back to our room in an hour. It gave me just enough time to order in dinner, change into a floral print skirt and blouse outfit I’d made a year ago, and set everything up on our balcony overlooking the ocean. I’d just finished bringing out our drinks when he walked into the door.
“You’re home,” I said, unable to contain the excitement rolling through me. I’d kept from texting him all day just so I could tell him everything in person.
“And you’re stunning,” he said, eying my outfit. “What’s the occasion? Do I need to leave this on?” he asked, pointing to his suit jacket.
I shook my head, walking up to him and sliding the jacket off his shoulders before tossing it over the chair near us. “I have dinner,” I said, motioning to the balcony before I loosened his tie and slipped it over his head. I took his hand and tugged him through the patio doors.
He surveyed the scene, noting the little table covered in takeout and drinks, the sun setting over the ocean beyond us.
“I don’t deserve you,” he said, dipping down to kiss me.
I melted into his embrace, opening for him as he slipped his tongue into my mouth, curling it against mine in a way that had tingles shooting down my spine. He broke away, grinning down at me before he took his seat and I took mine.
“Tell me,” he said, no further explanation needed as he scooped up one of the tacos on his plate.
“I sold out.”
“All of it?” he asked, a brilliant, prideful grin on his lips. “Not just one piece.”
“All of it,” I said, practically bouncing in my chair.
“I knew you would,” he said. “I’m so proud of you.”
