Page 13 of Faking It with my Billionaire Grump

“No, Bryan. I’m done. We are done. It’s over.” My hands gesticulated wildly to get my point across. “We’ve given this relationship chance after chance, and nothing has changed. You can’t honestly tell me you’ve been happy in the last six months. We’ve done nothing but fight.”

Bryan continued to look remorseful. “Maybe. But I can be better. I’ll change. I know I can be a little overbearing—”

“A little?” I cried. “You had me text you every hour when I was out with my friends. You opened my mail. You read my emails. I felt like a prisoner on probation. You can’t change, Bryan. It’s just who you are. The bottom line is, I just can’t live like that any longer. It’s over. You need to accept that.”

His expression changed then, and his brow furrowed. He shook his head fervently and said, “I won’t accept it. I don’t want to accept it. In fact, I’m not leaving this town without you.”

“What?” I balked.

“I mean it, Tilly. I’m staying in a hotel in Culling; it’s only five miles away.”

“I know where it is,” I spat.

“Good. Then you know how determined I am. Whether you like it or not, I’m going to win you back.”

“Have you heard yourself?” I cried. “This is exactly what I mean.”

“You don’t understand what you mean to me.”

At that point, I was nearly shaking with anger and so frustrated that I couldn’t take any more. I turned and headed back into the house. Gripping the door tightly so I wouldn’t punch him in his smarmy face, I growled, “Go back to New York. You don’t belong here, and I don’t want you here.”

“I’m not leaving,” he yelled back.

And that was when I slammed the door shut and walked back into the house.

Mom and Dad were up in arms, of course, Mom worrying, Dad asking if I wanted him to go out there and have words. It took a good half an hour to settle them both down, but as I headed upstairs for my bath—the relaxing, soothing bath I was supposed to take—I had a horrible feeling in my stomach. I know what Bryan is like. Like I told Mel, he can’t take no for an answer.

Which means I have a problem.

When I get back to the house, I don’t go inside. Dad is in his huge workshop at the far end of their property, but Mom’s in the house, and I know she’ll want to quiz me again about last night. I just don’t have the energy for that right now.

Instead, I take my tins of paint into the barn, kicking the door closed behind me. I need a distraction, and while painting the walls an eggshell blue is hardly the most exciting thing in the world, it might help take my mind off things.

Four hours later, Mom is at the door. I wave her in and move across the room to turn the music down.

“Oh, that color is lovely, darlin’,” she says, admiring my handiwork.

“It is, isn’t it?” I nod, gazing at the freshly painted wall.

I’ve only got one wall done, but even that has made a huge difference to the living area.

“I came in to tell you that dinner’s ready,” she says, smiling over at me.

“I’m going to eat in here tonight if you don’t mind,” I reply, waiting for the inevitable disappointment.

Mom’s face falls, like I knew it would, and then she tries to pin on a smile. “Sure, sweetie. Whatever you want.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

I know she doesn’t get it. She’s never really understood me. Probably because we’re about as opposite as apples and oranges. Mom delights in talking about everyone’s business. Not in any callous way. I think it just gives her something to talk about. Me? I prefer quiet. Time alone. Space to myself. Which is ironic, seeing as I gave all that up to move in with Bryan.

Idiot!

I’ve always wanted to be my own person. I don’t like feeling trapped, controlled, owned. I don’t think that Mom is any of those things, but she relies so much on Dad. She defers to him for every decision, from what dress she should wear when they go out to where they should go on vacation. Maybe I’m the opposite because growing up, I saw how powerless her personality made her.

I join them for breakfast the next morning, partly because I don’t want Mom getting upset, and partly because I need to ask Dad a favor.

“Can I borrow the truck again today?” I ask while he bites into his bagel.

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