“Lowell.”
Hearing my date’s name coming from Mr. Calvetti surprises me. “Lowell? What about him?”
“Maybe you should take a seat, Arietta.” With a broad sweep of his hand in the air, he points at the couch.
I glance over to see Dudley napping. “No, I’m fine.”
Dominick rubs a hand over his chin. “I’m sorry I have to be the one to tell you this.”
I brace myself because those words are rarely followed by anything but bad news.
“Tell me what?” I ask, still standing in place.
Since he doesn’t know Lowell, the worst it can be is that Lowell called the office to cancel our date. I should feel a twinge of sadness at the prospect of that, but I don’t.
Dominick steps toward me. “Lowell is married. He has children.”
The flowers tumble from my hand. Mr. Calvetti surges forward to grab them the moment they hit the floor. I glance down to see him on one knee, looking up at me.
He abruptly straightens until he’s standing in front of me. He’s so close I can feel the heat from his body.
“That’s not right,” I say slowly, looking up at him. “He’s never been married. He doesn’t have kids.”
“We arrived in the lobby at the same time. We rode the elevator up together,” he explains in a soft tone.
“That wasn’t Lowell,” I say to convince myself that I didn’t misjudge him. “It wasn’t him.”
“He was headed to the twentieth floor. Your name came up, Arietta.” He rubs his forehead. “It was Lowell. He’s married.”
Speechless, I stare at him.
Exhaling harshly, he goes on, “I spotted his wedding ring. He slipped it off.”
My gaze drops to my feet. “He had a ring?”
Anger fuels the fisting of my hands in front of me. He lied. He fucking lied to me for weeks. I told him things. Personal and private things that I thought I was sharing with a single guy.
“He dropped it into his pocket before I pushed him against the wall.”
My head snaps up. “You what?”
“Lowlife bragged about cheating. He mentioned his boys.” Dominick’s tone is calm, controlled. “I told him to get lost. He’ll never contact you again.”
As relieved as I am by that, I’m shocked that he did that for me.
“You’re too good for him.” He places the flowers in my hand again. “You deserve better than a cheating asshole, Arietta.”
Cheating.
Lowell was cheating on his wife.
We never slept together or kissed for that matter, but I shared secrets with him. Those secrets weren’t meant for a married man with children.
“I had no idea,” I confess with a tremor in my voice. “When I looked him up on social media, everything was set to private.”
Mr. Calvetti is a rapt audience, stuck on my every word.
“He told me he’d abandoned those pages years ago.” I look away from Dominick’s intense gaze. “His Facebook profile was a picture of him holding an infant. He said it was his nephew.”
But it was likely his son, one of them since Dominick mentioned sons.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes. I’m not emotional from my loss since the connection I felt to Lowell was still burgeoning. It may have fizzled out after tonight.
My sorrow is for his wife.
I don’t know her, but I feel guilt for having dinner with her husband and spending all those hours on the app talking to him.
“He was scared shitless that I was trailing him for his wife.” Dominick crosses his arms. “He accused me of being a spy. He was panicked over the prospect of losing his sons over this.”
I wipe a tear before it can fall down my cheek. “I feel bad for her. Every woman deserves honesty from her partner.”
Silently Dominick stares into my eyes.
I break the gaze again when I glance down at the bouquet in my hands. “Thank you again for the flowers, sir, and for telling me about Lowlife.”
The corners of his lips edge up. “You’re welcome. You should put the flowers in water before we leave.”
Narrowing my eyes, I ask the obvious question. “Where are we going?”
“The one place that will make you forget about Lowlife.”
Being this close to him has virtually erased Lowell from my mind. “Where is that?”
“Calvetti’s. You haven’t eaten. I’m starving, so let’s go.” He flashes me a mega-watt smile just like the one I saw this afternoon.
Flowers, a dinner invitation, and a heart-stopping smile.
This may feel like a date, but it’s not. It’s a pity plate of pasta.
I’ll take it since the man I was supposed to be with tonight is a cheating, no-good bastard. Besides, it will give me time to craft a message to Lowell in my mind. I have every intention of sending him a ‘you’re-a-fucking-jerk’ message before I block him on the app.
Once I’ve done that, I’m contacting the legal department of the company that owns the app. Their guarantee that they screen every potential client means I’ll get back the twenty dollars I spent when I signed up for their service.