Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,86
to bed.”
“I’m going.” He stood up and lumbered toward my old bedroom. “I liked you better when you were married.”
I gave him the finger and took another sip of coffee.
Men.
I hid out in my old condo all day, even though I was dying to know how things were going at the Center Avenue house. Part of me wanted to just show up there and get to work, distract myself with good, old-fashioned manual labor and the challenge of a new creative project, but I knew I’d burst into tears the moment I saw Enzo. Ugly crying wasn’t something I wanted to do in front of Griffin and Cole. Or in front of Enzo, for that matter. Bad enough he’d seen me fall to pieces last night.
Instead, I holed up in my office, cleaning out my desk, dusting off all the books and photos and knick-knacks on my shelves, then curling up with a book. But every time I thought about Enzo, my eyes filled. I went through an entire box of tissues and kept having to reread the same pages because I couldn’t lose myself in the story. A thousand times, I checked my phone to see if he’d called or texted, but was disappointed every time. Then I’d get mad at myself for wanting him to reach out—it wouldn’t help. A clean break was best.
But it fucking hurt.
By seven o’clock, I’d given up on reading and was balled up under a blanket on the couch watching a Lifetime movie.
My brother came into the living room and blocked the screen. “Hey. Want to order a pizza for dinner or something?”
“Sure. You’re not going out?”
“I might go out later.” He looked at me closely, probably noticing my bloodshot eyes and puffy face. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Just stuff.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay.” He turned around and walked away, leaving me staring after him.
Seriously. Only a brother would abandon a conversation like that.
Getting up off the couch, I followed him to the kitchen and took a bottle of wine from the rack on my counter. “Want a glass?”
“Nah.” He pulled a beer from the fridge and popped off the cap.
“So tell me about your new girlfriend,” I said, pouring a generous amount of pinot noir into a glass. “Do I know her?”
“She’s not my girlfriend. We’ve only been dating for a few weeks.”
“What’s her name?”
“Reina.”
I looked up at him in disbelief. “Reina?”
“Yeah.” He leaned back against the counter and pulled out his phone. “What do you want on your pizza?”
“Anything is fine.” I re-corked the wine bottle. “Is Reina super young and hot?”
“Yeah, but she’s really into herself. It bugs me.”
I took a sip of wine. “Well, give her a chance. Maybe she’s insecure. Some people come off the wrong way at first because they’re shy or nervous.”
He shook his head and burped. “I don’t think that’s her problem.”
While JJ ordered the pizza, I started unloading the dishwasher. I wondered if Enzo was still at the new house with his friends and what they were doing for dinner tonight. Would they get takeout and keep working? Call it a night and head for the pub? Would they ask Blair and Chey to join them? Would my friends wonder where I was?
“So are you going to tell me what happened with Enzo or not?” my brother asked, sitting at the island and watching me put away dishes.
I didn’t say anything at first, just placed a stack of plates in the cupboard. Two juice glasses. A soup bowl.
“Did you guys have a fight?”
“Not really.”
“So why are you here?”
“I’m here because Enzo and I realized that we might have rushed into marriage,” I said carefully.
JJ belched again. “I could have told you that.”
“We’re taking some time and space to figure out the best way to proceed.”
“Are you going to get divorced?”
I swallowed hard. “I don’t know.”
“Do you love him?”
Yes, I wanted to say, just to finally admit it out loud. I didn’t want to, but I do. And that’s why I’m here. But my answer was, “That’s a complicated question.”
“It is?”
“Yes,” I said irritably, yanking out the silverware basket and setting it on the counter. “And even if I said yes, I do love him, it doesn’t mean we should stay married. There are other factors.”
“Like what?”
Angrily, I tossed forks and spoons and butter knives in the tray lining the drawer. “Like whether or not he feels the same.”