She promised me a life that I thought was out of reach. I thought I’d be a father, a husband, a good, honest man.
Now? Now, I’m right back to where I started.
The clicking of a camera shutter sends fear spiking through my veins. I glance up to see a reporter hiding behind a tree, seconds before a bodyguard pulls him to the ground and puts him in a headlock.
My eyebrows arch in surprise. I hadn’t even realized the bodyguard was behind me, but I vaguely remember Theo saying something about needing to be accompanied everywhere.
The photographer is hauled away, and my heart sinks.
This is my life now. I’ve exposed my face to the media. I’ve come out of hiding, and now the public only wants more.
I gave everything up for Margot—including my privacy—and she fucking lied.
Lied, lied, lied.
My veins feel like they’re full of fire, burning me from the inside out. I can’t move without painful heat shooting through my body. I can’t breathe without feeling like my lungs are being crushed. I can’t speak without scraping razor blades over my vocal cords.
The sounds of the photographer’s protests fade as he’s hauled away by security, and I still stand in the woods.
Alone.
Tilting my chin up to look at the treetops, a bitter laugh escapes my lips. I used to love being alone. Being by myself was the sweetest joy. Loneliness didn’t exist in my life. Solitude was a gift.
Now, everything is soured.
I’m completely, utterly alone…
…and I hate it.
27
Margot
“Don’t worry about him,” Melissa says as she conditions my hair. “Men are dogs.”
“Prince Dante isn’t a dog.”
“Number one, he agreed to be there for you and to take care of your child, even though it wasn’t his. Then, he turned around and kicked you out. Ergo de facto, he’s a dog.”
“I didn’t know you knew Latin,” I say, too tired to smile.
“Carpe diem, baby,” Melissa responds, rinsing the conditioner out of my short hair.
She moves me to a chair and blow-dries it. I stare in the mirror at my shortened locks, and bitterness fills my heart.
I chopped my hair off in an impulsive moment, thinking I was turning a leaf. I thought my life was changing for the better.
All I’ve done is give myself visible proof that I’m a fool.
“There,” Mel says, turning the blow drier off. “Bangin’.”
“Thanks.” I smile sadly, touching the ends of my hair. “Is it bad that I kind of miss the long hair?”
“You’re just saying that because your boyfriend is an ass.”
“He’s not an ass,” I shoot back. “And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Mark my words, Margot,” Melissa says, pointing a comb at me. “He’s going to come crawling back.”
My chest squeezes. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Mark. My. Words.” She nods to the door. “Come on. Let’s have some food.”
“Thanks for coming back so quickly. I know you wanted to visit more of Argyle.”
“I couldn’t leave you here on your own,” Melissa says, wrapping me in a hug.
Following my friend downstairs, I make my way to the kitchen, where my personal chef has prepared a feast. I smile and thank him before grabbing a plateful of food. Mel and I sit down on the living room floor, eating at the coffee table.
We used to do this together when we first met, before I had a mansion with a dining room and fancy chairs. Somehow, it became our tradition. Eating on the floor with Mel is one of the few things that makes me feel normal.
I fold my legs underneath me and put a hand to my stomach. Soon, I’ll have to sit at the table. Getting up and down off the floor is becoming more difficult.
I push the food around the plate.
I’m empty. Life is meaningless. It’s hard to shake the dread that’s growing inside me, and the feeling like there’s no use in even trying.
I shake the feeling away—or at least, I try to. It clings to me like a bad smell, sending nausea spiking through my stomach.
Then, as if responding to the sensation, my baby kicks me right in the ribs.
I grunt, doubling over.
“What?” Melissa says, dropping her fork. “You okay?”
The baby kicks me again, harder. I wince, nodding. “I’m fine. I think my kid is trying to tell me to get it together.”
“I like your baby already.”
I smile, grimacing. Patting my stomach, I brace myself as another kick lands. Pressing softly at my stomach, I try to encourage my baby to move away.
The baby lands one last kick, and then stops moving. I sigh in