Once I fish the tie out, looking a little wrinkled for its wear, tied up in a knot at the bottom of my messy bag, I smoothe it out as best I can, square my shoulders, and glance at myself in the mirror. Crap. I look like a mess—my hair is frizzing all over the place from the rain, and my skin is red from the facial I got at the spa.
Any sense of calm I might have found there has definitely evaporated by now.
Still, I square my shoulders. Remind myself of what Becky said. I deserve someone who treats me better than this. Someone who doesn’t drive me insane or leave me second-guessing my own sanity all the time.
“This one, right?” I ask him, inanely, as if I have dozens of guys over here potentially leaving ties around my apartment. He arches an eyebrow, and I flush. “I found it the other day. I was planning to bring it back to you, but…” I swallow hard.
He just watches me, his expression unreadable.
Did you ask him about it? Becky’s voice whispers in my ear, an annoying bug I can’t get out of my head. Because deep down, I know she’s right. I should have just had a straightforward conversation with Lark about this, long before now.
I move closer to him. Close enough to catch that infuriating scent. Close enough to see the rise and fall of his chest, the jump along the side of his neck where his pulse beats. I wonder if his heartbeat feels as erratic as mine right now.
I hold out the tie. He reaches for it, but before he can grab it, I draw it back an inch, just out of his reach. I keep my gaze on his when I ask it. “Are you still married?” I ask him.
There. I did it. Point-blank. Straightforward. No way to dodge it.
At least, so I think. Lark’s expression darkens, his brow lowering and the set of his jaw turning hard. “Who have you been talking to?” he asks, his tone low and dangerous.
That’s when it happens. That’s when my heart finally and completely cracks in half. Because that reply is not the sort of answer you get from an unmarried man, when confronted with that question. My stomach sinks. “I can’t believe you,” I say.
He scowls. “Cassidy, it’s not what you think.”
“All this time. I can’t believe it. You told me; you told me you were divorced.”
Lark holds up both hands and takes a step toward me, placating. “I never said divorced, exactly. I said things were over between me and Sheryl, which is true—”
“You’re still married to her, though. That’s kind of a huge thing to hide from somebody you’re fucking.” The moment the words leave my mouth, I watch him flinch. But I don’t care. I’m past feeling sorry for him now. I’m just angry. “You lied to me, Lark.”
“I never lied, Cassidy.”
I shake my head. “A lie by omission is still a lie. You knew what you were implying to me when you told me things were over. I thought that meant they were really over, not that you two were still seeing marriage counselors and the lot.”
I don’t realize what I just admitted until the words slip past my defenses.
Lark’s eyebrows shoot upward. “What did…” His brow lowers. “How did you know about that?”
“Because I saw you there, okay?” I blink hard, embarrassed to realize there are tears stinging at the backs of my eyes. I fight with all my might to hold them in, because the last thing I want to do is break down in front of this liar right now. “I was going for a consultation with my new therapist, and I got lost on the wrong floor, and I saw the two of you coming out of a counselor’s office. It said couples’ counseling right there on the door.”
“When was this?” Lark asks, with long slow spaces between the words, as if he’s piecing something together in his head.
“Right before I told you I had to call things off,” I say. “Because I don’t do that. I don’t do the whole being the other woman thing. I don’t want to be some homewrecker.”
“That home had been wrecked long before I even met you,” Lark replies, his voice hardening. “So that’s why you broke things off with me out of the blue? God, Cassidy, I thought I’d done something horrible, hurt you somehow, or—”
“Lying to me did hurt me,” I snap.
“So your plan was just to never even speak to me about it?” He crosses his arms, his eyebrows lifting. “Why didn’t you ask me about what you saw? You didn’t even give me a chance to explain.”
My stomach knots. It sounds far too similar to what Becky asked me at the spa earlier today for comfort. “Because that’s not the sort of thing you can explain,” I reply, trying to hold onto my own fury. I’m the one being done wrong here. “Maybe, maybe if you had been upfront about your situation with Sheryl in the first place, I could have trusted you—”