through the article. Grace had written about everything—from our first meeting to the blow-up this morning. She recounted in biting detail the fake-out about not having my wallet at our first date and the fact that I strung her along and blew an annulment so that I could collect my inheritance. She wrote that I had pretended to be in love with her so she wouldn’t engage in an acrimonious divorce.
“All my clients are going to see this,” I said in disbelief. “I look like a psychopath, even though she’s the one who was manipulating me. I need to have that article taken down.”
Chris: Can’t you guys do anything?!? What do I even pay you for?!
Josh: And a good evening to you too.
Eric: For the record, we did tell you to leave her alone.
Chris: I’m going to be ruined!
Josh: We’re working on it.
Eric: Just stay away from Grace.
Josh: Take a bubble bath. Look at pictures of puppies.
Eric: Have a drink and something carb heavy so you go to sleep. We should have some answers for you in the morning.
Fuck.
I wished I’d never met Grace.
“I told you not to trust her,” my mother said, punctuating her words with her glass of gin.
I closed my eyes. “I know.”
“Why don’t you come watch a movie with me, baby?” my mother said, head lolling. “I never see you anymore.”
I needed to get out of here.
I grabbed my coat and headed to Antonio’s restaurant. Then I decided I didn’t have it in me to deal with the restaurant owner’s commentary about how I had failed yet again to choose a decent woman.
“Besides, it’s probably better not to eat your favorite food on the worst day of your life,” I decided. Instead I walked to the bodega a few blocks over and bought a single-serve container of Stouffer’s frozen lasagna. At the cash register, I grabbed a beer to go along with my heartbreak meal.
The ache settled around my chest on the walk home.
I hadn’t just liked Grace. I had been in love with her. Even though she was planning on taking my money, I still wanted her back in my life. Our relationship had felt so real. It had felt like she cared about me, not just in a superficial sense, but in the way that she wanted to dig in and make me a better man.
My mother was passed out on the sofa when I arrived home. I preheated the oven and popped the plastic container in to cook while I tried to figure out what I was going to do about Grace.
I liked who I was when I was with her—waking up early, taking my business more seriously, not going out partying every weekend. Being with her, having her not just in my bed and my home but in my life, had felt so right, like that was exactly where I was supposed to be.
Maybe I had jumped to conclusions. Maybe I had gotten it wrong. Was I really about to trust Addison over Grace? Maybe this was all a big misunderstanding. Grace had never lied to me before, after all. She had always been brutally honest.
I cracked open one of the beers and leaned against the kitchen counter. The kitchen was starting to smell delicious, like cheese and garlic. It smelled like that time Grace had made lasagna for me. All the work she had put in, hand-making the pasta. Would someone really go to all that trouble just to land a billionaire? It just didn’t make any sense. Grace didn’t seem to be the type.
“I need to write her an apology letter,” I decided. “And ask her if we can discuss this rationally.”
The timer beeped, and I slid the meal out of the oven.
I huffed out a laugh. This was probably the first thing I had cooked, well sort of cooked, since I had moved into this penthouse.
I didn’t bother with a plate, just dug out a steaming bite. I blew on it and shoved it in my mouth. It tasted amazing. It tasted like…
“This tastes like Grace’s lasagna.”
I took another swig of beer then another bite. It was her lasagna. I knew Italian food, and this tasted just like the dish Grace had made several weeks ago.
Maybe it was a sign that I needed to make up with her.
“Wait a minute. What the fuck am I saying?” I said, cold logic kicking in.
I grabbed the Stouffer’s box, the sick realization hitting me that Grace truly was a liar.