Oh, God damnit!
I run my hands through my hair, letting out a frustrated sigh as I pace the length of the family room. I stop by the piano, hitting the keys like some satisfaction would come from the sound it makes, but nothing.
I groan again and resume my frantic pacing.
Madison Foxworth has been gone less than twenty-four hours, and already the house feels infected with her name...her laugh...her fragrance...her history...her importance.
No one has stopped talking about her, or talking about the possibilities of her coming back. No one has mentioned my name, or considered my feelings as to having my fiancé's old flame back.
It's almost like I've become stale news.
Tch…this is why I hate high society. Anything because stale at their convenience.
Oliver has made scarce, like a c
