myself over it. I rolled onto my back and read Bridget’s message.
I hate men. Let’s never get married. Let’s be strange old ladies living in the Hamptons together. We can talk to cats and garden.
I grinned. What was going on with her? What’s going on? And Kit is the one who has to be mad. I did the leaving.
Oh, I’ve just been in love with the same man practically my whole life, and he couldn’t care less that I exist. No big deal. Ignore me, I’m drinking.
She was? That would mean Bridget was day drinking, and I’d never seen her do that. Plus, it looked like we had more in common than even I knew. When I get back home, we can get started on that whole gardening thing. I can’t say that I’ve ever touched a plant. Have you?
I finally made myself look at Justin’s text. Are you just going to ignore me? Fucking answer me. Are you alive? Dead? I mean wtf? Why can’t you answer me? Like you’ve never done something wrong? Why are you such a holier than thou bitch?
Okay. I read it once and then a second time. Justin had never spoken to me like that ever. And he’d left me with no money in the middle of a place where I couldn’t speak the language. How had I become the holier than thou bitch?
I grabbed a pillow and smacked the bed with it. Once and then again. And then a third fucking time. There were times in life that I just had to beat the shit out of something, and my pillow always served that purpose. Oh, my dad had forgotten to include me on birthday flowers he’d sent to Hope and Bridget because it had been an oversight. No problem. I’d beat the hell out of my pillow. Justin totally screws me over and makes it my fault in exactly one day? Sure. Zeke’s guest room pillow would have to do.
My phone dinged, and I looked down at it expecting Bridget to have answered the gardening question. Only it wasn’t her. Kit had finally responded.
There he was in a picture with two beautiful women, one under each arm, both of them topless. He was in Bali. I recognized the pink and blue roof. Oh wow. He’d gone on our honeymoon. Well, good for him. Someone should be using the room. And the one on the right had really big nipples. Were they real?
But it was the words he’d sent with it that made me feel cold, not the accompanying photo. Drop dead bitch.
Twice in one day I’d been called a bitch. Maybe they were on to something, and I just didn’t know it.
I bit my lip to stop the tears that threatened and went to take a shower. I’d just get busy getting beautiful. If I were a bitch, and Kit had every right to call me that even if Justin didn’t, then I’d be a pretty one.
Halfway to the bathroom, I stopped. This was like a bandage I needed to rip off. I hadn’t checked social media, which had to make me the worst so-called influencer there ever was. I opened up my Instagram and started to take a look. It took almost no time to find myself. There I was, everywhere.
Most of the shots were of me running in my wedding gown. I’d left it in the closet but now I wanted to slash it to pieces. I scanned through fast. Swipe. Swipe. Swipe. Was there anything else? Why yes, there I was with Zeke. In the café helping Renee. Talking to Isobel. I hadn’t been wrong, the ants on the back of my neck had told me I was being watched and photographed. And then it went on. Someone had gotten us in Montmartre getting our sketch done. They hadn’t bothered us and there was only one. The final one was us running before we went to eat.
Sure, there were real paparazzi all over, but anyone with a cell phone and an interest could do the same. Every human being was on display to every other human being at all times. It could have been worse. Or at least I thought that, until I found Amanda Hill. Gossip vlogger extraordinaire. She had been really invested in my wedding and even more so in the demise of it. Oh, she had a ton of things to say about me and none of them were kind. Ugly. Not worth Kit’s time. Has