One of Us Is Dead(32)

“Good.” He tossed a piece of fried calamari into his mouth. “Glad to hear it.”

Just as we finished with our appetizers, our plates were cleared and our entrées arrived.

“Looks yummy,” I said as I dug my fork into my honey-glazed salmon.

Bryce busied himself eating his filet mignon and fingerling potatoes.

I took a few deep breaths, readying myself for what I was going to do next. This was my moment. I had thought about it all day, and after the argument at the salon, I knew this was what I needed. It was going to make everything all better. I set my fork down on my plate and took a sip of my champagne. Bryce hadn’t noticed that I had stopped eating. He hadn’t noticed that my eyes were on him as I reached into my purse and pulled it out.

I stood from the table, with one hand behind my back, shielding his eyes from what I was holding. “Bryce.”

He looked up at me, our eyes meeting, confusion setting in on his face, composure already set in on mine.

“What are you doing? Do you have to use the bathroom or something?” he asked.

“It’s over.”

“What’s over?” He looked me up and down.

“You and Crystal.”

He glanced around the restaurant uneasily and then back at me. “Shannon, don’t do anything crazy.”

Collapsing onto one knee, I gazed up at him, a smile wide on my face, and pulled the object from behind my back—a small box with his old wedding ring in it. I opened it, and Bryce’s eyes grew wide. He was clearly surprised, but it was a good surprise. His face became red. He was blushing. His eyes tightened. He was trying to hold back tears.

“Get up. Get the fuck up,” he harshly whispered.

“Bryce, you are my beginning and my end. I know we got lost in the middle, but let’s not waste any more time apart. Will you be my husband again?” Tears rolled down my cheeks, and my voice cracked, which caught the attention of the other patrons in the restaurant. Whispers ensued. All the attention was on Bryce and me. There were lights shining on us from cell phones. People were capturing our special moment together.

“Get up,” he whispered through a clenched jaw.

“I’ll stand if you say yes,” I whispered back.

He nodded.

I stood up quickly, announcing to the restaurant, “He said yes.” People cheered and clapped. Immediately, the server brought us a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. (I had arranged for that earlier.) I leaned in for a hug and attempted to plant a kiss on his lips, but he pushed me off.

“Enough, Shannon!” The restaurant immediately went silent. “What do I have to do to get it through your head that our marriage is over? This is pathetic. You are pathetic.”

My joyful tears turned to sorrowing sobs almost instantly. “But I love you, Bryce. We’re good together. You said it yourself at the gala. It’s kind of a blur. I swear I was drugged, but I remember you said maybe we could work something out. You called me beautiful.”

“I only said that so you would do a good job of introducing me. I don’t love you. I loathe you. We are not good together, Shannon.” He shook his head and rubbed his temples. “Sometimes, I think divorcing you wasn’t enough.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Bryce looked at me, his eyes darkening. He threw his napkin down and chugged the rest of his champagne. “Trust me. You don’t want to find out. Just stay out of my life,” he said, pointing a finger at me.

I threw my hands on my hips. “Is that a threat?”

“I’m a man of my word.” He leaned into me. “And as much as me being a widower would drum up sympathy votes next election, let’s not have it come to that,” he whispered.

My mouth fell open. He leaned back, placed a hand on my shoulder, and smiled at me.

“Sorry about that, folks. Just an honest misunderstanding and my ex-wife here is off her meds,” he said in his politician voice as he turned toward the other patrons. “How about a round of drinks on me?” Bryce flashed a toothy smile. The crowd clapped and cheered. I stood there stunned, unable to move, unable to speak. My eyes erupted with tears again.

“She’ll be fine,” he assured the server.

I grabbed my purse and bolted out of the restaurant. Everything around me was spinning. I could barely walk straight.

How could I let him do this to me? Do it once, shame on you. Do it twice, shame on me. Do it three times, and I am truly a fucking idiot.





23

Crystal I finished applying my ChapStick and gave myself a once-over in the mirror. I was dressed in a black romper, flats, and a jean jacket. I’m sure Olivia would balk at my choice of outfit, but we were just meeting for drinks—my idea. I had decided to give Olivia another chance at becoming, at the very least, acquaintances. After witnessing Dean put his hands on her at the gala, I understood that she was going through more than meets the eye, and I wanted to be there for her. Plus, anything to occupy my time and my mind was welcomed. Sometimes when I closed my eyes, I saw Jenny on the floor of the salon, bloodied and bruised. Who could do something like that to another person? And for what . . . a purse? That was all they got away with. Police said the robbers clearly didn’t expect anyone to be there, which is why it went south fast and why the other guy fled. So far, they had no leads. All they could go off of was the blotchy tattoo on the back of the man’s calf who ran away. But his voice. If I heard it again, I’d know it in an instant. Goddamn it, I didn’t sign up for this. His words, but sometimes they felt like mine too.