Ache For You

28

He exhales heavily. “I debated whether I should tell you this, but he looked wrecked. Like he hadn’t slept since the wedding.”

“The nonwedding,” I bite back, furious. How dare Brad stalk Jenner to try to get to me? “And good, I’m glad!”

When Jenner doesn’t respond, I start to get a bad feeling. “What else?”

“He cried.”

I stop pacing abruptly, hold the phone out and look at it, then put it back to my ear. “I’m sorry, I thought I just heard you tell me that Brad cried.”

“I did.”

I scoff. “Brad doesn’t cry! I don’t think he even owns tear ducts! He yawned through his grandmother’s funeral! When the family dog got hit by a car, Brad suggested his mother turn it into mulch for her roses!”

“Well, darling, unless the man recently took up method acting, these tears were bona fide. He sat on my sofa and sobbed like a baby. When I told him your father had died, I thought he’d pass out. He even tried to hug me when he left, if you can imagine.”

I’m so angry I have to stand still and drag deep breaths into my lungs in order to stop myself from kicking the bench over and over and breaking my foot. “Why would you tell him about my father? Why would you tell that asshole anything? Why would you even let him through your door?”

“Because the first thing out of his mouth was that he knew he c****d the whole thing up. And the second thing out of his mouth was that he was the biggest i***t on the planet and didn’t deserve you. Since we were in such agreement about the basics, I thought I’d hear him out.”

“He left me at the altar!” I shout into the phone, my face burning. “He humiliated me! I hate his guts and wish he was dead!”

“Except you don’t,” says Jenner softly.

When I don’t say anything—because I’m too emotional to speak—Jenner continues, “Do you remember what you said when I told you that I’d never seen you so happy after you and Brad started dating? You said, ‘Every time I look at him, I feel like it’s the first time I’ve seen the sun.’”

“I was a fool,” I whisper bitterly, angrily swiping at the tear cresting my lower lid.

“Maybe. And maybe so was he.”

When I growl at this betrayal, Jenner rushes to add, “I’m not saying give him a second chance. I know it’s beyond that. I’m saying maybe just . . . listen to what he has to say. For your own peace of mind. For closure, if nothing else. If he really didn’t care about your feelings, he never would’ve sat there and let me vomit my disdain all over him. He took it for half an hour, darling, nodding and crying the entire time.”

I try to picture it but can’t. Brad was obviously the victim of a body snatcher. There’s no way in hell he’d allow Jenner to give him a dressing down, or cry, never in a million years.

Yet apparently he did.

“I can’t deal with this s**t right now. I’ve got a wicked stepmother, canine stepsisters, and an arrogant, infuriating stepbrother I’d like to do all kinds of dirty things with. I’ve got my father’s funeral to attend, his business to salvage, and my former life to kiss goodbye. I’ve got no money and nowhere to live except under the same roof as the woman who refused to visit my father when he was dying.”

I start to get teary. “I am not living my best life right now, okay? The last thing I need to hear about is f*****g Brad and his f*****g regrets. If you see him again, tell him that if he really wants to make it up to me, he can slice off his balls, put them in a blender, and live stream it on the internet! Then maybe he’ll start to have an idea how I feel!”

I disconnect the call before Jenner can hear me break down.

Then I sit on the bench and cry until I hear Dominic’s car driving up the gravel road to the house. When I stand, wiping my face with the backs of my hands, I happen to glance up at the house.

The marchesa stands at her bedroom window, gazing down at me with an expression of intense concentration. When she sees me looking, she turns and disappears, the drapes swinging closed behind her like the folds of a shroud.

TWELVE

Though Dominic keeps trying to engage me in conversation on the drive to Papa’s shop after I collect my luggage from the hotel, I’m silent. Seething. My hands balled into fists on my legs, I can’t stop thinking about Brad and his visit to Jenner, no matter how hard I try.

By the time we pull up in front of the shop, I’ve got a headache from gritting my teeth so hard.

“You’re quiet today,” says Dominic gently, unlocking the door.

It’s an invitation to talk, but talking is the last thing I want to do. Right now, I need to work.

Dominic hits the switch on the wall beside the door, flooding the room with light. The front of the shop is a small retail space, with racks of elegant dresses in all colors of the rainbow, two small fitting rooms behind hanging curtains, and a counter with an old-fashioned cash register. Lead-paned windows overlook the cobblestone street outside. It smells of new fabric and old wood. The spicy aftershave Papa always wore lingers faintly in the air, like a ghost.

“It’s exactly the same as I remember,” I say, looking around. How did he manage to do all this alone?