Page 126 of The Love Losers

He responds with a chagrined expression and finally edges out of his side of the booth.

Nina gets out and turns toward our table, ignoring the man she’s been living with for the past two months. “Fuck all of you.” She points a shaking finger at me. “You’re going to regret marrying that little bitch. She doesn’t have as much class in her little finger as I have—”

I get to my feet, and Rosie stands up beside me, her hands on my back, layered over my shirt, my scars. My voice quavering with the rage that’s pulsing inside of me, I say, “Don’t youdare—”

“Let me handle this, Anthony.” My mother steps up to Nina and gives her a withering look. “You don’t know the meaningof the word, girl. You can wear as many expensive fur coats as you please, and youstillwon’t know the meaning. You wouldn’t know it if you spent years at a French finishing school. So don’t youdaretell my future daughter-in-law she’s the one who lacks class. I hope you got money from those necklaces you stole from me and poor Betsy, because you’re going to need it. There’s a network of concerned mothers who want to protect our wealthy sons from women like you.”

I’m sure she made that up, but her delivery was flawless, and from the look on Nina’s face, she believes her.

She flips us off and turns to leave, but Nicole grabs the back of her fur jacket, stopping her in her tracks. “Not so fast. You still have the hot rich guy’s phone.”

“You took my phone, too?” Wilson sputters, a wounded look on his face.

“No, I said thehotrich guy,” Nicole says, waving to Nina’s purse.

Pinching her lips together, Nina pulls out the phone and juts it out toward me. I take it, and resolve to change my password to something more unbreakable than my birthday. I dial in the password quickly and check the text messages, anger burning freshly in my veins when I see the exchange with Rosie.

It looks like she also exchanged some messages with Leigh, the accountant.

I click into the text window and quickly scan it. There are a few follow-up messages from Leigh, asking to meet up and reminding me what a good business opportunity it would be for us to get married on Sunday—followed by a message from “me”:Never going to happen. I don’t know how many ways I can say NOT INTERESTED.

Well, I’ll certainly have to apologize for that.

“I want to leave, now,” Nina says coldly.

“Yeah, it sounds like you might have some packing to do,” Nicole says. “But the Golden Retriever hasn’t told us whether you’ll be leaving here with our friend Officer Richards.”

Rosie snorts, and Wilson adjusts his weight between his feet.

“Maybe Richards can take both of them in,” Damien says, grinning at her. It’s obvious this is a familiar dance between them, and one they enjoy. They’re playing with Nina and Wilson like cats play with mice. “Because this guy likes illegal poker games.”

Wilson gulps, then glances at Rosie. I edge in front of her, glaring at him so intensely he looks away before muttering, “Your friends enjoy holding illegal parties too.”

“Which is why we’re not going to tattle on you to the cops,” Nicole says, giving him a convivial pat on the back. “Merry Christmas. But if you or Nina mess with my friends again, I won’t be feeling so generous.”

He nods half a dozen times like a bobble head.

“It should go without saying,” my mother announces loftily, “but your invitation to the wedding has been revoked. If either of you darken the door of Smith House again, I will be calling the authorities.”

“I wouldn’t want to,” Nina says.

“You’re lying,” my mother replies coolly.

“I hate you.”

She huffs. “The feeling is decidedly mutual. I hope you have the life you deserve.”

They try to leave, but again, Nicole pulls on Nina’s coat. She shoves her phone in Nina’s face. “Tell me the truth. This is your one chance. If you’re lying I’ll know. Did you put together this shitty website to threaten Mrs. Rosings, the woman you just said you hate.”

She narrows her eyes in confusion before studying the screen. “No.”

Then, they turn and leave our lives, hopefully forever.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

ANTHONY

“Well, that’s done, thank goodness,” my mother says. “Let’s go home, Emma. I need to take a bubble bath. Possibly two.”

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