Page 11 of Free to Believe
Cassidy silently hands me the folded newspaper flipped open to the Arts and Entertainment section. It appears last night’s hospital benefit had media coverage. And there’s my soon-to-be ex-fiancé on the cover with his arms wrapped around another woman, his head buried in her hair.
Surprisingly, I’m not jealous. I’m…relieved if I have to be honest. I’ve been fighting myself looking for an excuse to end our engagement, but I shouldn’t have needed one. Yet, Bryan just handed it to me whether he meant to or not. I feel like I should send the photographer a bouquet of flowers or maybe one of Corinna’s cakes.
Then I get a glimpse of the caption. And my eyes narrow dangerously.
Dr. Bryan Moser and his date, Dr. Corey Whitacre, as they enter the fund-raiser for the new children’s wing of Greenwich Hospital. Dr. Whitacre, who heads Pediatric Orthopedics, is wearing an original design by local designer Emily Freeman of Amaryllis Designs, a subsidiary of award-winning local wedding and event planners, Amaryllis Events.
“What the hell?” I shout. Slapping the paper in Phil’s lap with enough force to cause him to groan out in pain, I push myself to my feet.
There’s a stillness in the room. “Em, did you and Bryan break up?” Cassidy asks.
“No!” I shout. “I told Cori last night I thought it was tacky to do it over the phone. I was planning on going to talk to him about it today.”
Looks pass between my siblings faster than a Ping-Pong ball at an Olympic match. “So, this anger is about the cheating?” Phil chooses his words carefully.
“I’m pissed because he called me last night to ask me if I was making it to that damn fund-raiser. I’m pissed because he hung up on me when I said I couldn’t make it. I’m livid,” I screech, “because that bastard once again tried to tell me to put my dog down because he was an ‘albatross.’ And I hadn’t even sent the asshole a text yet to tell him we needed to talk until after that photo was taken. So, has he been fucking around on me? Yes, I’m pissed about that. And what the hell is that about me designing that dress?” I throw my hand toward Phil’s lap, who cowers back in fear. “I don’t recognize that woman, and I’m damn certain I’d remember anyone I’ve done a custom design for. I’m done. Completely done.” I let out a ragged breath. “Now, who’s staying here while I shower and get ready, and is driving me to that cocksucker’s condo to shove this damn ring somewhere he’ll need one of his esteemed colleagues to remove it?”
Five hands go shooting in the air simultaneously. I toss the ring back on the table without another word. Striding out of my studio, I call over my shoulder, “Someone make some damn coffee. I’ll be down soon.”
“On it,” Corinna calls back.
Stomping up the stairs, I wonder where I can shove Dr. Moser’s engagement ring that it will cause the most pain.
7
Emily
Quickly getting ready, I throw on one of the spare outfits I keep at the office just in case something like last night occurs. Slipping into a blue Joan Vass dress with a pair of Stuart Weitzman boots, I slide on a silver Tiffany ring on my left ring finger.
God, it feels so damn good to not put on that fucking diamond.
I know I should have ended the engagement long ago, but I told myself my nerves would settle and that Bryan and I would have a comfortable marriage. I snort out loud. How comfortable would it have been with three in our bed? Asshole.
I talked myself into thinking he was a good man. I thought he was solid, stable, conscientious. Now, with the stunt he pulled last night thrown in my face, I’m again reminded of the toddleresque move he pulled right before Corinna’s surgery where he refused to talk to her because she couldn’t make it to the phone.
So, was it our engagement that became problematic and this was his quick way of disposing of it, or was he just punishing me for bad behavior? Either way, I don’t care. He just gave me the final push I need to cut him loose and be done.
After heading downstairs, I stop in my studio to snatch up the ring. I catch sight of Mugsy lying near the window. Fierce bitterness fills me as I remember what my veterinarian said about certain types of pet owners who would have put their pets down long before I did. Bryan would have done that. Mugsy would have been disposable to him.
Bastard.
“You’re not disposable to me, Mugs. You’re irreplaceable,” I say aloud. My throat becomes tight, and I hurry out away from my studio before I have to spend time repairing my makeup.
When I walk into Corinna’s kitchen, I call out, “We have to take the Rover. We won’t fit into any of your cars.”
Corinna hands me my coffee. Taking a sip, I want to tell everyone to get out while I have an intimate moment with my drink. In the time I was upstairs, she made homemade caramel. “Tell me you didn’t give these heathens”—I wave my arm to encompass our brother and sisters—“any of this caramel.”
Corinna laughs. “There’s a full jar in the fridge for you to take home later. I did let Phil lick the spoon though. He looked so pathetic.”
“I am pathetic,” Phil pipes in.
“At least you’re owning it now. That’s the first step—admitting you need help,” Ali says dryly.
“That won’t stop him from begging for your drink by the time we hit the road, Em,” Cassidy predicts. Sweeping up the offending newspaper, she slips it into her bag. Narrowing her eyes at the ring I casually tossed on the counter, she says, “I can’t believe he pulled the wool over our eyes.”
Swallowing another drink of coffee, I shake my head. “Did he? I was remembering upstairs when Corinna was conflicted about him operating on her because of his attitude. He prettied up his apology and we all let it go. Maybe we should have paid more attention then.”
Holly pipes in. “That’s a good point, Em. And when has he hung out with the family since then unless you forced him to?” Murmurs of assent go around the room.
