Betrayal (Infidelity Book 1) - Aleatha Romig Page 0,68
pissiness.”
I laughed. “He’s pissy even when he’s out of town.”
“No shit! What’s going on with you?”
We talked about everything, except the reason I left Montague Manor and the reason I called. We talked about school and graduate school. He talked about interior design and how he was currently doing an internship with a well-known design firm in the business district. He said the name, but I didn’t know much about interior design and had never heard of it.
It was when he said he lived on the Upper East Side that I perked up.
“Wow,” I tried not to be too excited. “Pat, that’s not far from Columbia.”
“Other side of the park. I can probably see the buildings from my window. Great view.”
“I can’t imagine how much a place like that costs. I have a deposit on a one-bedroom on the Upper West Side, not far from the campus.”
“Girl, we’ll be close. I’m so glad you called.”
I sucked in a breath. “God, Pat, I hate to ask this, but my apartment won’t be ready for another week, and I was wondering…” I let my words trail away.
“Umm, when were you thinking?”
“Tomorrow.”
Whatever Patrick was drinking must have sprayed the walls of his fancy-addressed apartment. From my end, I only heard him choking and sputtering. “That’s not a lot of heads up. Let me… let me call you back.”
The little bit of hope I’d had left evaporated. “No. That’s all right.”
“Little cousin, don’t be all like that. Listen, I know you’ve been all big and grown up out in California, but New York’s not Stanford. It’s also not scary. You lived eighteen years in that house of horrors.”
He had no idea.
“You can make it just fine here. Just like the song says, baby, If you can make it…” His impromptu rendition of New York, New York put the smile back on my face.
“Pat, it’s fine. I’ll come up with something—”
“No. I just have to check with my… roommate.”
“What? No way. Is this a roommate or a roommate?” Patrick was always good looking. At the academy, even though he was older than me, I heard stories. He was well-known for his exploits: womanizer extraordinaire. Yet in private I never had that vibe. As a matter of fact, in private I had the opposite vibe.
“You mean you saw my mother and she didn’t tell you all about it?”
I shook my head. “No, but you know the Fitzgerald code.”
Patrick laughed. “Well, they haven’t disowned me, but I don’t think they’re announcing it at parties either.”
He was doing better than me. I had until the holidays and then I would be officially disowned. The hell with them. I’ll disown them.
“Are you happy?” I asked.
“More than I ever thought possible.”
I sighed. I knew that feeling, briefly. It was the best. “I don’t want to cause any problems.” I really didn’t.
“No problems. Let me talk to Cy. I’m not sure if he’ll be in or out of town. He travels a lot. I’ll call you first thing in the morning. One way or another: We. Are. Getting. Together!”
“Thanks, Pat. Is this thing serious? I don’t want to intrude.”
“Love you, sweetie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow.”
As I disconnected our call, the text message icon blinked wildly. I needed to text Chelsea and let her know that I’d reached Patrick.
I didn’t recognize the number, and no name came up with it. My teeth clenched as I swiped the screen. Of course, I didn’t know the number: it wasn’t programmed into my phone. That didn’t stop the message from popping up.
Unknown number: “ALEX, THIS IS BRYCE. DON’T DO IT AGAIN. DON’T RUN AWAY. THIS WAS ALWAYS THE PLAN…”
There were four messages.
Do I read or delete?
I hit the little icon of a trashcan.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow I was leaving for New York. Tomorrow I was starting a new life. Neither the Montagues, Fitzgeralds, nor Spencers were going to dictate my life. They didn’t own me. If they thought I’d simply give up my dreams because of money, they didn’t know me.
They knew the girl they expected me to be. They knew Alexandria. Alexandria was gone. Alex was flying to New York tomorrow. She had a life to live.
There were millions of people in New York who had made it there. I would find a way.
WHAT THE HELL?
The taxi came to a stop at 1214 Fifth Avenue under a canopy, upon a private drive. “Are you sure this is the right place?”
“Yes, ma’am. Let me get your bags.”
I trailed behind, my mouth agape as I backed onto the sidewalk,