“We took vows, Eleanor. And now, what? They’re over? They meant nothing? I meant every word. Every fucking word.”
Tears streamed down Elle’s cheeks. She knew what she wanted was repressible, but she was hanging on by a thread, unsure of how long she could continue a charade with such life-changing consequences. She wanted to convince Troy they could still be happy together, despite their current spiral. Despite the way he looked at her, as if she were a stranger.
“We can fix this and still be together.”
“And how would we do that?” Troy scoffed.
“An annulment. We could get one, and just—just go back to the way things were. To being Troy and Rigby, a happy couple who live in separate apartments but spend every weekend together. Who take walks in Grant Park and order moo shoo pork from China Garden—”
“An annulment? Are you serious?”
Elle nodded, knowing that dissolving the marriage was the only way she could survive.
I’m too young. Too immature. Not ready. Not settled.
“I can’t believe this. I can’t fucking believe—I gave you so many chances to say no, to say you weren’t ready, that you needed more time. But you didn’t take them. You let me look like a goddamn fool!”
Elle sat on the bed, taking in his wrath, hoping he’d eventually calm down. That they’d be able to speak calmly to one another. She watched as Troy returned to the edge of the bed, his elbows once again digging into his thighs. His head hanging in despair.
“I’m so sorry.” Her cheeks were covered in tears; her voice cracked in anguish. She was hanging on for dear life, terrified of losing Troy forever. She joined him on the bed, running her fingers through his hair as her other arm wrapped around his torso. “This is my fault, all my fault. But please, please don’t give up on me, Troy. Please. I need you.”
“I don’t know what to say,” he whispered, his voice guarded, lifeless. “Why can’t you just . . . try? You know, give it a few days—see if your cold feet go away?”
Elle swallowed hard. She knew this was Troy’s final act of forgiveness—the only opportunity he would give her to save the relationship. But she couldn’t do it. She’d drown if she did. And she’d resent him for the rest of her life.
“No. I can’t be married, Troy. I’m sorry. This was . . . it was a mistake.”
And for the first time in the many years she’d known Troy Saladino, she watched as he cried. She watched as his eyes grew misty. And she watched as tears streamed down his blood-red cheeks. His hand clutched his forehead as he sobbed. Elle wrapped her arms around him, clutching him tight, and wishing they could go back to the morning in his apartment when everything was sunshine and roses. When their relationship was euphoric and heavenly. Instead, she clung to the man whose heart she’d destroyed. Her fingertips dug into his skin as her sobs matched his.
Elle awoke, alone on the bed.
Troy was gone.
She searched the closets, the bathroom, the drawers.
His bags, his clothes, everything was gone.
He’d left her.
Her heart thumped wildly in her chest as she pinned her hair up, wrapped herself in a fluffy white robe, and grabbed her key card. With reckless abandon, she ran to the elevator, pressing the button again and again. “C’mon, dammit. C’mon.”
Finally, the elevator arrived. A young couple stood, mouths agape at her disheveled appearance as Elle entered the car, pressing the “L” button, despite the fact that it was already glowing. Her pulse raced as she pondered what to ask the front desk. Somehow no question would hide her mortification. When the elevator reached the lobby, Elle sprinted to the expansive front desk. A woman with short, white hair and wide eyes waved Elle to her station. Her name badge said “Geraldine.”
“Young lady, are you all right? Do you need an ambulance?”
Elle looked down at her disheveled appearance, realizing that a bathrobe and bare feet was not the appropriate dress for the Bellagio Hotel lobby.
“No, I . . .” she began, taking in the onlookers around her. “My boyf—I mean, my husband seems to have left. I need to know if he checked out.”
The crease above Geraldine’s nose deepened as she listened to Elle’s request. “Room number, dear?”
“307,” Elle answered. “The reservation should be under Saladino.”
“Oh, yes.” Geraldine studied the screen and sighed. “He checked out about an hour