weekend
getaway in Cape May not two months prior. He jokingly said it was the most ugly
thing he’d ever seen, and I told him if he loved me, he’d wear it sometime.
I dropped the photo in that
moment, my hands flying to my mouth in case the stir of bile in my stomach
decided to rise. The picture fluttered to the ground, landing upside down when
it hit the floor.
And that’s when I saw the
writing on the back.
END IT OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.
“This was a mistake.” I rise
from the table. I should’ve known better than to expect a liar to give me a
straight answer.
“Where are you going? We
haven’t even ordered yet.”
My jaw slacks. “This wasn’t a
date, Trey.”
He stares ahead, his expression
hardening. If it weren’t for whoever the hell was stalking us back then, I’d
probably be staring across the table into his eyes right now like some idiotic
escort who fell in love with her client.
“And stop following me. Do we
really need to go down that road again?” I say to him. “I know you followed me
the other day.”
His handsome face wrinkles, and
his head shakes. “No idea what you’re talking about, Camille.”
“The Melrose, Trey. Someone saw
you there.”
He leans in, his eyes lifting
to mine. “I have just as much skin in the game as you do, sweetheart. The last
thing I want is to be seen in a hotel with my ex whore.”
His words sting worse than I
expected them to, but I hold my head high. I may be a whore, but I’m the
classiest whore this city has ever seen. And besides, it’s just his bruised ego
talking. Deep down, that man is still head over heels in love with his whore .
“Now,” he says. “Tell me, why
would I have followed you to a hotel?”
“Because you still want to be
with me,” I say in a rushed whisper, annoyed to have to state the obvious. Why
else would he have dropped everything to meet me tonight?
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He
scoffs, but he has to be lying. I can hear the uncertainty in his voice
disguised as arrogance. “Don’t think for one moment that you’re not disposable
to any of the men who pay for your . . . services .”
“You loved me, Trey.” I keep my
voice down. “And for a tiny sliver of this past year, I almost thought I loved
you too.”
His eyes roll and his square
jaw relaxes as he smirks. “I could never love someone
like you, Camille. I thought it was all part of the game. We were just a couple
of professionals doing what we do best: pretending to be people we’re not.”
I blink away tears that
threaten to blur my vision. It’s been years since anyone’s made me cry, and
here I am, letting an asshole like Senator Bancroft get right beneath my skin
and vaporize every ounce of strength I have.
“Nobody who hires you is ever
going to love you,” he adds. “It’s like leasing a car. It’s yours for a while,
and it’s shiny and new and fun, and then you give it back as soon as you’re
done with it.”
“Beautiful analogy. Wow.
Lovely. Thank you.”
I don’t know this man, the one
who cried in my arms and sent me flowers every single week for months, the one
who placed his hand on my belly not six months ago and asked if I’d ever
consider having a baby with him someday, the one who said he couldn’t imagine
his future without me in it.
Whether he lied then or he’s
lying now, it all hurts the same.
A crushing, suffocating
sensation fills my chest. His words make me nauseous. I’ve spent the better
part of the last five years learning to read people, and you spend enough time
around politicians that you tend to grow desensitized to their bullshit.
But I thought it was different
with Trey.
I pull in a breath and refuse
to let myself sink any deeper. I’m more upset with myself for believing him.
It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I knew better. There’s a reason Araminta and I have rules, and I threw them all out the
window after a few sweet words and tender nights with this con artist.
Never
getaway in Cape May not two months prior. He jokingly said it was the most ugly
thing he’d ever seen, and I told him if he loved me, he’d wear it sometime.
I dropped the photo in that
moment, my hands flying to my mouth in case the stir of bile in my stomach
decided to rise. The picture fluttered to the ground, landing upside down when
it hit the floor.
And that’s when I saw the
writing on the back.
END IT OR EVERYONE WILL KNOW.
“This was a mistake.” I rise
from the table. I should’ve known better than to expect a liar to give me a
straight answer.
“Where are you going? We
haven’t even ordered yet.”
My jaw slacks. “This wasn’t a
date, Trey.”
He stares ahead, his expression
hardening. If it weren’t for whoever the hell was stalking us back then, I’d
probably be staring across the table into his eyes right now like some idiotic
escort who fell in love with her client.
“And stop following me. Do we
really need to go down that road again?” I say to him. “I know you followed me
the other day.”
His handsome face wrinkles, and
his head shakes. “No idea what you’re talking about, Camille.”
“The Melrose, Trey. Someone saw
you there.”
He leans in, his eyes lifting
to mine. “I have just as much skin in the game as you do, sweetheart. The last
thing I want is to be seen in a hotel with my ex whore.”
His words sting worse than I
expected them to, but I hold my head high. I may be a whore, but I’m the
classiest whore this city has ever seen. And besides, it’s just his bruised ego
talking. Deep down, that man is still head over heels in love with his whore .
“Now,” he says. “Tell me, why
would I have followed you to a hotel?”
“Because you still want to be
with me,” I say in a rushed whisper, annoyed to have to state the obvious. Why
else would he have dropped everything to meet me tonight?
“Don’t flatter yourself.” He
scoffs, but he has to be lying. I can hear the uncertainty in his voice
disguised as arrogance. “Don’t think for one moment that you’re not disposable
to any of the men who pay for your . . . services .”
“You loved me, Trey.” I keep my
voice down. “And for a tiny sliver of this past year, I almost thought I loved
you too.”
His eyes roll and his square
jaw relaxes as he smirks. “I could never love someone
like you, Camille. I thought it was all part of the game. We were just a couple
of professionals doing what we do best: pretending to be people we’re not.”
I blink away tears that
threaten to blur my vision. It’s been years since anyone’s made me cry, and
here I am, letting an asshole like Senator Bancroft get right beneath my skin
and vaporize every ounce of strength I have.
“Nobody who hires you is ever
going to love you,” he adds. “It’s like leasing a car. It’s yours for a while,
and it’s shiny and new and fun, and then you give it back as soon as you’re
done with it.”
“Beautiful analogy. Wow.
Lovely. Thank you.”
I don’t know this man, the one
who cried in my arms and sent me flowers every single week for months, the one
who placed his hand on my belly not six months ago and asked if I’d ever
consider having a baby with him someday, the one who said he couldn’t imagine
his future without me in it.
Whether he lied then or he’s
lying now, it all hurts the same.
A crushing, suffocating
sensation fills my chest. His words make me nauseous. I’ve spent the better
part of the last five years learning to read people, and you spend enough time
around politicians that you tend to grow desensitized to their bullshit.
But I thought it was different
with Trey.
I pull in a breath and refuse
to let myself sink any deeper. I’m more upset with myself for believing him.
It’s not his fault. It’s mine. I knew better. There’s a reason Araminta and I have rules, and I threw them all out the
window after a few sweet words and tender nights with this con artist.
Never
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