Page 9 of True Hearts

The ex’s response is almost comical. He jumps up, knocking his chair over, which hits a waiter. The waiter stumbles, his tray tipping precariously. I grab the tray with one hand and push the waiter upright with the other.

“What the hell, Luna? I've been calling you nonstop.” Montclair’s voice is sharp and loud. Enough so that half a dozen people shush him.

He sends Luna a dirty look as if she forced him to shout. “Can’t you see I’m busy here?”

“Like you said, you’ve been calling me nonstop. I want to talk to you, too, so I’m here. You want to talk in front of all your friends, or should we go elsewhere?” She’s going to let him make the decision.

“Not now, Luna.”

Shouts from the crowd distract him. He turns away to stare at the big screen television in the lounge area and then at the ponytail girl, who hasn’t sent a single scrap of attention his way. Undeterred by this disinterest, he places a hand on the girl’s seat back and angles his body close to hers, not in a way that an engaged man would in front of his fiancée…unless he was trying to make Luna jealous. After all, she’d been caught holding hands with another man.

That wouldn’t be my ploy. If Luna were mine, I’d find him, break his kneecaps, and stash him in my basement, where I’d let him rot while I ran off to Vegas to marry Luna.

“I’m here to suggest a change in the prenup.” Attention swiftly moves back to Luna.

Even the ponytail girl moves her neck. A loud groan fills the room, and the gamer swivels back to her game immediately. “Dammit.”

Montclair backs off, his cheeks ruddy, glaring at Luna in a way that sets my back up. I move closer to her. He advances and shakes his finger in her face. “When I call you, answer the phone. You shouldn’t be here.”

“You move that finger or I’m going to break it.” It’s not a threat. Just a statement of fact. Montclair drops his hand to his side but doesn’t lose the mean stare.

“I didn’t take you to be the kind of guy to pick someone’s pocket,” he snipes.

“We don’t know each other enough for you to be making any kind of assumptions. But we’re not here about me.” I don’t know where Luna’s going with this, but I’m here to back her up.

“Fine. You tell me why I got a half dozen texts about my fiancée holding hands with Land Grab Graham Dassault going into The Plate? I know you can’t afford that place. You can barely afford rent.”

Luna’s cheeks are burning, but she stands her ground. “I want a clause in the prenup that says if either of us lies to the other or fakes something, then the penalty clause—the five million dollar penalty clause—kicks in.”

Montclair’s anger turns to confusion. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you willing to make the change?”

“You sound like you’re on drugs, Luna.”

She holds out her hand, and I, dutifully and with a lot of satisfaction that she’s officially ending things, place the cubic zirconia on her palm. “Do you know what this is?”

“The ring I gave you.”

“Thediamondring. When you gave it to me, you said that someone like me deserves a ring like this.”

“Yeah.” His chin comes up. “I gave you what you deserved.”

Luna’s hand flies up so fast I didn’t see it coming. Neither did Montclair. He staggers back, holding his chin. “The fuck was that for?”

“You’re a piece of trash.” She drops the ring and spins on her heel. Montclair starts after her, but I shake my head.

I wouldn’t, I mouth silently. Maybe it’s me or the four bodyguards stepping forward, but either way, Montclair backs off, visibly fuming.

I catch up with Luna, who demands we go to her place. Once there, she points to the four suits. “Upstairs. We’re cleaning out my closet.”

They don’t hesitate. Even Steve trots into the building and carries down a load of knockoffs. The car’s trunk is full when we’re done.

“What do you want to do with all the stuff?”

“Burn it in front of his place.”

“That’s a noisy way to go out.”

---