Page 4 of Your Coffin or Mine
“Where are you?”
If I tell her where I am, they’ll have a plane here by tomorrow and try to talk me into taking him back.
Shaking my head, I take in a fortifying breath. “I’ll call back in a few days. Bye.”
Breathing out roughly, I hang up and drop my phone onto my lap, my chest churning with equal amounts of hurt and betrayal. I shouldn’t be surprised they don’t support my decision to leave him. No one at home will. He’s the golden boy, Chad Hawkins. Everyone loves him.
Little do they know that he’s a selfish dick and that will never change, at least not for me.
Needing a distraction, I open Instagram and scroll through hundreds of messages, all well wishes for my upcoming wedding day. My stomach flips. What a disaster. I have no idea how I am going to spin this. What can I say?Sike, we aren’t getting married, haha.Or:Men are dicks!Want to see a castle?
It doesn’t matter. Once we get too far from the airport’s Wi-Fi, my internet cuts out, leaving me with no bars. I quickly reset the cellular service on my phone, but it still reads “roaming.”Crap.Maybe it’s a good thing. I won’t be able to doom scroll through my life falling apart.
I am an idiot.Our lives are so intertwined it’s impossible to tell where his ends and mine begins. I thought he loved me. I thought he wanted what I wanted. I thought we would eventually have cute-looking cherub babies and travel the world. Tears stream down my face as sobs rack my body.
“Madam?” the driver calls.
I look up and a white handkerchief hangs from his fingertips.
“Oh. Thank you.” I wipe the tears from my cheeks and blow my nose into a clean corner, sniffing loudly. “Sorry,” I say, attempting to hand it back, but he shakes his head, smiling in the rearview mirror.
“You keep it.”
Maybe chivalry isn’t dead. Or at least common decency.Or maybe he just doesn’t want his snot-covered hanky back.
Nearly an hour later, my heart lodges in my throat when the car rounds a bend and Tepesh Castle comes into view.Wow. We cross over a bridge and head under an arched iron gateway leading up to the castle.
The pictures Bernadette sent do not do it justice. I’m momentarily stunned by the imposing size of it. It’s dark and intimidating, the deep-gray walls of the place almost black against the fresh snow. The castle is set on a cliff’s edge, overlooking the countryside, and it is elegant, but oh so gothic. I rush to snatch up my phone and set the filter I want, desperate to capture the beauty of it.
“Are you sure you have reservations here?” the driver asks uneasily. “I’ve never even heard of this place... never mind—the gates are opening.”
He navigates the long drive and onto what looks like a carriage loop. He parks in front of a fancy entrance on the side of the castle before scurrying to open my door.
I climb out and spin around, trying to see everything at once. Oh, it is gorgeous. Especially with the giant, lush evergreen trees dotted behind it. I try and fail to count all the turrets. The windows are all lancet arched, typical of the gothic times it was erected in.Breathtaking.
“Thank you so much,” I gush earnestly.
I’ve barely gotten out my thanks when I realize the driver is already back in the taxi. His eyes are wide when he tips his head and speeds off like a bat out of hell.
Left to my own devices, I allow myself a moment to let where I’m at really sink in as I snap pictures of the woods with the castle in the background. The snow is falling, but it isn’t heavy, just a light dusting. It covers the trees and dots the cobblestonepavement leading up a set of stairs to the castle entrance. This isn’t what I planned, but maybe it’s going to be just what I need.
Breathing in the crisp air, I close my eyes, enjoying the feel of the snow on my cheeks.
When I open them, an old man stands in the doorway, watching me like I just stepped on his prize-winning lawn. He wouldn’t look out of place at a nursing home, with how the navy silk gown he’s wearing hangs off his shoulders as his sparse white hair blows in the wind.
“What do you want?” A grumpy European accent accompanies his words, and I blink at the hostility in his voice. His eyes crawl over me and his lip curls.
I look down at my outfit. Black leggings, teal-blue turtleneck, my pink Dolce and Gabbana coat, and Uggs. Why is this guy looking at me like I’m the ridiculous one when he’s literally in a dressing gown?
“Hi, I might be a bit early, but I have a reservation,” I say, smiling.
He looks over his shoulder into the castle, and when his gaze lands back on me, I swear there’s nothing but disgust in his eyes. “A reservation?”
“Yeah,” I hedge, taken aback by his unfriendliness. Usually hotels have helpful service, not old men who look like they’re about to shake their fist at a street hooligan. “I’m sorry, if you could just tell me where to check in...”
“Doyle,” he bellows and turns on his heel, disappearing into the castle.
What the . . .?
