Page 7 of The Breakup

Fabulous. My cheeks bloomed with color. I guess we were doing this now. I pulled it out of my pocket and tossed it at him. “You left it here and I saw the texts, Bradley. About having sex with someone in the restroom at a bar.” A sob rose but I choked it back. I wanted to be dignified, unlike at my drunken party the night before. Not let him see how hurt I truly was. Never let anyone see you cry. I had lived by that mantra.

Bradley’s jaw dropped. “Bel, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to find out about that. It didn’t mean anything, you know that. It was just a totally meaningless fuck.”

I wasn’t sure what I expected him to say. There really couldn’t be any good reason for it and his response was textbook. An apology and a dismissal.

“That doesn’t make it okay.” Why was that always the justification? Well, as long as I swear it is just about blowing my wad, I can stick my dick anywhere? Technically, that logic could apply to prostitutes then as well. It was a ridiculous rationalization. “There was more than one woman. How long has this been going on?”

It was a question he clearly didn’t want to answer because he instantly shifted tactics. “Like you’re one to talk? I know you and Sophie are tag teaming that guy. Your dad told me he was on the home security video with you and you were both in your fucking underwear.” He shoved his phone into his pocket and sat up straighter. More aggressive.

I gasped, totally shocked. “I wasn’t tag teaming anyone with my sister. That’s so not me and you know it! And I was in pajamas and ran into him in the kitchen. That’s all.”

He acted like I hadn’t spoken. “I don’t care what you do in private. But don’t you dare embarrass me in public. If I ever hear that you were doing what you were doing today out where people can see, we’re through, do you understand?”

Now my hurt turned into full-blown panic. His tactic to turn it around on me had worked, and even though I knew that was what he had done, I couldn’t help myself. I fell for it because his words were terrifying. The idea of losing him, and it not being my choice, dropped on me like a bucket of ice water. “I would never do that! Bradley, please, don’t say things like that.”

I heard the pleading in my voice and felt a hot stab of shame. I was begging him. Him. The man who had cheated on me.

And he knew. And he smiled.

It was the worst kind of smirk. One of satisfaction. He was a man who had sailed through life untouched, arrogant. Getting exactly what he wanted.

He wanted me.

But he also wanted a tight ass and a bathroom blow job too.

My stomach roiled. My face felt hot. My vision blurred, and for a split second I thought I might faint.

Right then, something inside me changed. Forever. The trusting, nice girl got knocked flat on her ass and she couldn’t recover.

Bradley stood up. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, Bel, you know that. I forgive you. Just promise me you won’t see that guy again.”

I didn’t say anything because I was just flat-out astonished. He was trying to confuse me, manipulate me, play me like a puppet. Part of me wanted to allow it. Because that would make things go back to normal. Because I was someone who didn’t like confrontation. Or anything that didn’t meet my idea of a happily ever after. But I couldn’t make this go away and it sat on my chest, heavy and ominous and overwhelming.

He closed the distance between us and cupped my cheeks. I stared into his eyes, studying his expression, seeking an answer. Where was the man I had fallen in love with? Who was this selfish asshole? Or had he been this asshole all along and I had chosen to see only the facade? I felt like I was going to throw up again.

“Having a trust fund is hard,” he said.

“What?” The change of subject baffled me. My heart was racing and I wanted to pull away from him, but I was frozen in place.

“Women throw themselves at me because I’m rich. I’m only human. Sometimes I haven’t been able to resist when I should have. I need to be stronger for you, but it’s really hard. Please be patient with me.”

Oh. My. God.

He wanted me to feel sorry for him? To feel sympathy that he had so much money that there was a constant parade of pussy in front of him vying for his attention? I haven’t had a doughnut since I was fifteen and it’s hard, but I’m not asking for sympathy. If I ate my way to four hundred pounds he would not be forgiving of me.

That thought had me rearing back in shock.

If I was trying so hard to perfect, and he still couldn’t stop his wandering eye and grabby hands, what would happen when I wasn’t perfect? Because at some point I would need support. That was life.

“Just block their numbers,” I whispered, my voice strained.

He seemed pleased with that response. Like he had won and was off the hook. “Done.”

His lips brushed mine and I struggled not to recoil.

“I love you, Bella. I can’t wait until you’re Mrs. Alexander. I’m going to be so proud to call you my wife.”

I blinked at him.

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