Chapter 123
-OLIVIA-
I watched them from the window.
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Roman and Eden walked toward the car like the kitchen had been a minor inconvenience. Like my sweats and my ice cream and the look I had not been able to hide were something you wiped off your shoes on the way out.
Her hand found his arm again. High, familiar, camera-ready even with no cameras.
She leaned in when she spoke. He bent his head a fraction, the same way he used to when he did not want anyone else to hear him.
He did not shake her off. He did not look back at the house. He opened the passenger door first. That was the part that stuck. Not the article. Not the apology at my door. Eden sliding in like she belonged in the seat I had ridden in a few times without thinking it meant anything.
Ethan stayed on the porch a second longer, then went back inside, clueless in the way only an older brother could be.
He had introduced her in my kitchen.
He would sleep fine.
I would not.
I could not believe Roman had come upstairs.
Why? Out of pity for me? A stupid apology for bringing her here. As if his excuse of 1 asked Ethan if you’d be home made the rest of it less painful.
He had stood in my hall looking at my mouth and saying sorry like sorry was a language we both spoke.
I did not want his apology.
I wanted his mouth. His hands. I wanted his touch. I wanted so many things that he refused to give to me.
Sometimes I felt like he wanted it too. Then I remembered the terrace. You cannot. You are too young. You are Ethan’s sister.
His rejection was simple and straight to the point. There was no question about it.
Then I remembered Eden in my kitchen looking at my sweats like they were an insult.
I did not like her, not because she was dating the man I was in love with…I just didn’t like her.
Down at the curb, she said something that made him glance at her. Not a smile. Not quite. A nod.
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14:57 Thu,Sep 17
The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife
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She reached up and fixed his collar. The gesture was small and sweet and I felt it in my teeth. He let her.
He let her touch him in front of my window after he had climbed my stairs and said my name like it still cost him something.
He had never dated like this. Not really. There had been one ex-girlfriend, years ago, the only relationship anyone in our house treated as serious. After her, nothing stuck. No headlines.
Now there was Eden, overnight, famous, beautiful.
It hurt.
It hurt in a way I could not force out of my body.
My chest felt tight enough to crack. I bit my lip hard enough to feel it and tasted blood instead of chocolate.
I watched the car pull away. Her profile in the passenger window. His hands on the wheel. No look back. No pause at the end of the driveway like he might remember I was possibly still watching him leave.
If he could do this to me-confess nothing, take everything, then parade someone else through my home, then I was done waiting around looking wrecked and hopeful.
I was going to rebel.
Not a cute little sulk. Not another pint of ice cream. Not another night refreshing headlines until I hated my own face.
I was going to do every single thing I knew would piss Roman Vale off.
Short skirts at his games. Other men in rooms he could see. Luca Vescari if I had to, or anyone with a worse reputation and a better willingness to look at me.
I would stop dressing up only when I knew Roman was visiting. I would stop making myself small so he could keep his line and his best friend and his new celebrity.
I would stop being the girl who froze in a hallway because his thumb moved against her waist.
He wanted distance.
Fine.
I would make distance loud.
I sat on the windowsill until the street was empty and the taillights were gone and the quiet in the house felt like a second humiliation.
Then I grabbed my phone before the hurt could turn back into crying.
Blair first.
Then maybe Tessa, who would take the assignment too far and I would let her.
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14:57 Thu, Sep 17
The Hockey Captain’s Unwanted Wife
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I needed outfits. I needed plans. I needed something that was not me staring at articles of Eden on his arm, and not me replaying the way he had opened that car door like he cared. Even without the cameras around. He clearly truly liked her if he brought her here.
My reflection in the dark glass looked angry.
Good. Angry was better than pathetic. Angry did not wait at a window for a man who had already chosen the easier way out.
He had come to my door and said sorry like that was supposed to fix my heart.
I did not want sorry.
I wanted him to feel a little of what I felt when that car door shut. When her hand stayed on his arm. When he did not look up.
I was tired of acting pathetic while he walked around parading random women.
I was done playing nice.
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14:57 Thu, Sep 17
Dex Morgan
Dex works to elevate each story with clean writing, emotional balance, and thoughtful flow for readers.