“Yes.” I shove his chest hard, pushing him, yet he doesn’t budge. “You should have.”
“I’ll go.” He opens the door, and the world around me turns black. My knees shake as I try to remain upright. “I wish you the best with your future. You’ll be a kickass doctor.”
“Bite me. I deserve better than you.” I slam the door shut, causing the windows to rattle. Fuck him for pretending he’s all hurt and he’s the victim. I grab a vase and hurl it at the door. Glass pieces splinter in every direction as I sink to the floor.
A piece of glass cuts into my palm, sending a sharp pain through my arm.Shit.For the first time, I understand our clients at the shelter. I still want him to walk back to the door, cradle me in his arms, and say he loves me.
Chapter Forty-Four
Daisy
Two Weeks Later
Zoe sits across from me at my dining room table as we study for tomorrow’s calculus test. Each day is proving to be that much more difficult to pretend I care about anything. We had a pretest last Friday, and I failed. It’s too hard to concentrate. The graduate student they pulled in to finish out the semester is decent. It’s his first teaching assignment, so he’s not an expert, but I should be able to learn. Except I don’t want to.
Damn it, girl. Get it together. The tentative acceptance letter to medical school is lying propped up next to my books. My dad was right. He pulled some strings, got me the interview, and I’m in. All I must do is pass this course.
The words and numbers swim in front of my eyes. But I don’t want to. Alexander is gone. I haven’t been by the shelter in weeks. And nothing makes me happy.
“Stop moping. You’re killing me.” Zoe tosses down her pen and glares. “I can’t concentrate with your negative energy swirling around you like a fog.”
“I told you not to come over here.” I shrug. “You entered at your own risk.”
“Yes, I did. And now I’m regretting it.” She crosses her arms over her chest and tips her head back against the chair. The dim light of the lamp casts a shadow around her. “What is your deal?”
“What do you mean, what is my deal? That should be obvious. I got conned by a con man, and he got caught by my biggest enemy and called out on his bullshit. What else could be wrong?”
“Well, you did sum it up quite nicely.” One corner of her mouth arches upward, and some of the anger seeps out of me. It’s not her fault. Yeah, it is her fault. If she had not gone on that family vacation, she would have been at the wedding and kept me from making the biggest mistake of my life.
She uncrosses her arms, lays her forearms on the table, and leans forward. “Do you regret the night of the reception? You intended it to be a one-night stand. You were the one that left.”
I slowly rub my lips together as I let her words sink in. It’s time to be honest. “No, I don’t regret it. The sex was phenomenal. He ruined me for anyone else.”
“Do you regret the other times you were with him?”
Pressure settles in my chest. Was he a mistake? No. He may have used me, but my feelings were–are–however you look at it–real, and our time together was amazing. Until it ended.
I stare at the clock on the wall. It was more than sex. It was a connection stronger than anything I’ve ever experienced before. Or ever expected to have.
It was his support that meant the most. He went to the shelter and learned about it. He encouraged me to stand up for myself. He came to my rescue. It wasn’t a mistake. All of that was invaluable. Even if he chose business over me. I don’t regret it. I relax my shoulders and sit straighter. “I’d do it all over again.”
“What do you wish would have happened?”
“That he would have chosen me. He should have given everything up for me. He should have moved heaven and earth for me. And yes, I know that makes me sound like a pouty bitch. He quit the university. So why was it necessary to dump me? Unless he never wanted to be with me in the first place. Maybe it was all fake on his part.”
“Do you believe that?”
His touch. His kisses. The way he held me. All of it felt real. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“So, if he had done this imaginary thing and professed his feelings while giving up his legacy, what would’ve happened to you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Medical school? Your parents? Your plan was to hide your relationship until you graduated and then tell people when it wasn’t taboo. Or downright forbidden. But would have happened to you if he hadn’t paid Heather off, and she told everyone the truth?”
I snatch up the envelope and fiddle with its weight. This was my dream–grow up, graduate from high school, go to college, get accepted into medical school, and follow in my father’s footsteps. We’d work side by side, giving people bigger boobs and injecting filler into their lips.
Twelve hours a day, five days a week. God, that sounds excruciating. This was my dad’s dream. Not mine. I never wanted to be a plastic surgeon. Unless it was to go to a third-world country and provide free surgeries to help impoverished children. Now that would be a worthwhile endeavor, but plastic surgery? Not in my father’s practice. He only takes elite clients with more money than sense.