Page 171 of The Catalyst

Anything he could’ve said would’ve been better than that. He could’ve said that he was just done with me and came for a fucking booty call, and that wouldn’t have been as bad.

My eyes water as fresh tears fall down my face. “Go home and sleep it off. You can keep on pretending I don’t exist.” Then, I slam the door in his drunk face and lock it even though I know he can’t get in without a keycard.

I fall to the floor, and my knees hit hard on the ground as I cry right there, and Oliver slams his fist against the door.

“Beth, please, let me in. I’m sorrry, okay?”

But I don’t let him in. I don’t answer his pleas anymore, and I spend the rest of the night like I have for the entire week since he abandoned me.

Crying over him.

* * *

I was forcedinto attending dinner at the Gray house, and that call from Nolan was something that really hit a nerve because of the whole “you have nothing better to do” line he gave. I couldn’t refute that.

Judy can’t spend all her time keeping me company, and I’m not on speaking terms with Martin or Oliver.

As a change of pace, Oliver has been blowing up my phone since the night he showed up plastered to my hotel and finished ripping my heart out. There wasn’t much left of it anyway.

I was forced into the seat between Martin and Michael at the table as Nolan and a blonde woman sit beside him, looking as posh as I would expect from Nolan’s wife.

Martin hasn’t looked at me or spoken to me once and it fucking guts me. I know he’s still mad at me and I deserve some of his anger, but the selfish part of me is desperate for some of his attention, even if it’s just a simple look. That would be better than him pretending I’m not sitting next to him.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Bethany,” the woman says in that drawn-out way people do when they’re about to insult you. “I was expecting you to look…” she searches for the right word before she settles on “different.” The tone lacing that word is full of disgust, as if she couldn’t force herself to be nicer than that.

“Likewise, Mrs Gray.” I smile viciously, and the shocked look on her face says she didn’t expect me to have teeth or claws. “The word you probably couldn’t find was trailer trash based on the permanent sneer from all the botox treatments I’m sure your husband insisted were necessary. You think I should look like trailer trash because I dated Nigel O’Reilly. Contrary toyourbeliefs, Nigel has very high standards, but they’re different from your own. He values character above looks. You see, you can take a drug addict out of a drug house and turn them into the next Miss America, but you’llstill worry if they’ll hock your finest crystal dishes at the first chance they get. My high quality comes from the things I value, like loyalty. I’m more than just a pretty face. This pretty face didn’t just attract Nigel but also your eldest.”

Though Mrs. Gray can’t seem to speak, Nolan is cackling like a hyena at what I said.

“Shut up,” Michael hisses under his breath as he lightly pinches my elbow to get my attention.

I understand she’s his mother, but based on her attitude, I can tell she’s a major bitch. His father is a dick, too.

“Why did you invite this miscreant to dinner?” Mrs. Gray asks angrily. “First, you’re forcing this marriage onto our son, who clearly doesn’t want it. She doesn’t even come from a respectable family. Her mother is a drunk, and her father?—”

“Choose your next wordsverycarefully,” I warn, my eyes turning to slits as I glare at her. “I can accept a lot of things, but I will not tolerate anyone trying to badmouth my father, who isn’t here to defend himself. My father was a highly respected psychiatrist who helped as many people as he could, including assisting in several high-profile cases that took dangerous and sometimes sick people off the streets. He believed in rehabilitation instead of locking someone away and throwing away the key.” My glare slides to Nolan, who studies me like he did the day we met.

Michael hisses in my ear again, but I ignore it. I don’t know what his issue is, but it won’t interfere with me standing up for my father.

“I was going to say he isn’t in the picture,” Mrs. Gray mutters with irritation on her tongue.

“You make it sound like my father is a deadbeat. He’s not. He’s just dead.”

The entire room goes silent, and the only thing that breaks it is the soft whistle that comes from Martin.

“Mom’s a brat. You’ll get used to her,” he whispers in my ear before he grabs the salt shaker from in front of my plate.

It’s the first time he has even acknowledged me and it makes me relax as a smile pulls at my lips.

That’s an understatement.

“When are you expecting us to do this thing?” Michael asks, sounding like he'd rather chew rocks than be involved in this.

Me, too, Michael.

“What are you referring to, Mikey?” Mrs. Gray asks. “This sham of a wedding or the heirs you’ll be expected to make?”

At that moment, Michael sprays white wine from his nose and tries to cover it with his hand, but the shock of it has all of us gaping at him.

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