Page 77 of And Then Came You

His words hit harder than a slap. All of our talks, our laughs, our tears—did they mean nothing?

“If you believe that, you’re an idiot. I love you with a love that is reserved for you. Only for you. I’ve always been there, never asking for anything in return. You made me feel like a fool, believing that you felt something for me, and yet, you still want to punish me. You broke my heart, Sam, but you can’t see it, because that would mean admitting you were wrong.”

“Iwaswrong, Lexi,” Sam screams into the phone, the anguish evident in his voice. “What happened that night should never have happened. I own that. I take full responsibility. It was a mistake.”

Collapsing onto the mattress, I feel the last remnants of my heart crumble. Why did I think hearing the truth would help?

That night was a mistake.

Which means I was a mistake.

That’s all I need to know.

“I have to go, Sam.”

“Lexi, I’m not finished—”

“I have to go.” I click off the call, letting the phone drop from my hands.

It’s over. Not that it ever had a chance to begin. My love affair with Samuel Bernard existed solely in my head.

And my heart. My aching heart.

Time to pick up the pieces and move on with my life.

A life that Sam will not be a part of. Not anymore.

Yes, he was honest. He didn’t lie. But in his honesty, I found shards of poison that cut so deeply, the bleeding may never cease.

I’m not sure which is worse. Feeling like a fool or being assured I was right. Going into my contacts list, I block Sam’s number before pouring another glass of wine. I’m going to need every last drop.

Hell, I’m going to need another bottle.

Chapter Thirteen

Lexi

The showing is in full-swing at the gallery when I arrive, and I throw a wave in Damian’s direction as he entertains a group of patrons.

Tonight is a big night for him. The opening of his show at one of the most renowned galleries in Manhattan. Apparently, his schmoozing skills paid off in spades, as evidenced by the guests mingling around his paintings—and him.

I have to hand it to the man, he’s a charmer.

Yet another way he’s unlike Sam. Sam is brooding and moody, refusing to pay you compliments you haven’t earned. Damian is like a high-end salesman—pretty, fawning, and full of shit.

It hasn’t been all bad with Damian. We’ve had a few laughs and some nice dinners, even if our make-out sessions are a bit too rough for my taste. I noted some bruises from his over-exuberant breast fondling last week.

At least he’s into me.

Wish I could say the same.

I haven’t spoken to Sam in two weeks, another fourteen days with no correspondence. I unblocked his number a few days after our latest row, realizing how very childish it seemed, but it didn’t matter.

Sam wasn’t calling.

Caroline has been a doll, checking in almost daily. She claims Sam has been incorrigible these last couple of months, and she knows it has something to do with me. But she doesn’t pry for information, and I’m tired of talking about it.

She rang last night to remind me that she and Sam are in New York for the weekend. She wanted me to join them for dinner and drinks, surprise Sam and put a smile on his face. I politely declined. I’m past pretending.

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