The First Taste(107)

“Except sex. You wanted that badly enough to jeopardize your marriage.”

“You’re deliberately trying to piss me off.”

It is satisfying to see him squirm. When I think I’m starting to get over the pain, I remember how it felt to see them together, tangled in my sheets, the ones I picked out from Restoration Hardware, paid for, carried home, washed, and made the bed with. I remember learning the affair had been going on almost a year—like I’d been walking down the sidewalk and had had an anvil dropped on my head. It was a one-two punch, getting it from both sides. “You’re the one who came into my home,” I point out. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Our home,” he says.

“Not anymore.” I take a fortifying breath. Though Andrew’s no longer around to help me through this, I know I still need to give up the apartment. While I’m here, I’m holding onto Reggie, and that’s the last thing I want to do. Reggie won’t like losing even more control over me than he already has, but that’s partly why I need to go. “I’m getting my own place. You can have the apartment back, and you can keep your money. I don’t even want alimony.”

He tilts his head. “Excuse me?”

“I give up.” As I say it, I straighten my back. It feels nothing like surrender. The opposite even. It’s a form of liberation. “You win.”

“I don’t think so,” he says with a dismissive wave.

“The only thing I want is my business. I’ll buy you out. You get to keep alimony and recoup your investment. You get it all.”

“I don’t get you.”

“That’s not up for negotiation.”

“I’ve had a long time to live with my regret,” he says. “Every day that goes by, I feel it more. I don’t like myself without you. I’m a jerk.”

“You were always a jerk,” I say. “But neither of us noticed, because we were in love.”

“Are in love.”

I shake my head slowly. I’m not sure how many other ways there are to say it. It was nice to gloat for a few minutes, but he’s bordering on pitiful.

“I have something for you.” He sets his drink down carefully, as if he suddenly wants to appear sober, and takes an envelope out of his suit jacket pocket. “What if we just start over?”

I frown. “What is that?”

“Tickets to Paris. I’m taking you back to where it all began, only this time, I want to spoil you even more. Champs Elysées. First class seats. My secretary booked us a suite in the same hotel.”

I stare at him. “You can’t be serious.”

He shows me the tickets with a half-smile. “This is how serious I am. I know I’ve made my intentions clear, but I want to prove that I’m ready to do this for real. Let’s make love on that moonlit balcony again. Marvel at the Eiffel Tower, eat pastries, sip café crème.”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. It’s a happy memory, that first night we spent together in Paris—he hadn’t showed me yet how consumed he was by money and status. But that’s all it is. A memory. Reggie has made a living on his persistence, but this is borderline delusional. In the last year, I haven’t given him any indication I want to get back together, much less spend a romantic vacation with him.

“You are serious, aren’t you?” I ask. “After everything you’ve done to me, and after everything I’ve said, you actually think we have a chance.”

“There’s always a chance. No door is ever completely closed.”

“No. Reggie, you’re starting to worry me. You need to accept that this isn’t going to happen.”

“I can’t.”

“You have to. I’m already making arrangements to move out—”

“You aren’t leaving this apartment.”

“Yes, I am—”

“You aren’t leaving this apartment,” he booms, snarling as he swipes a glass of bourbon onto the floor.

I jump back as it shatters, clamping my hand over my mouth. He lunges forward to grab my shoulders. “What the hell is your problem?” he asks, shaking me. “I treated you like a queen! I made one mistake. Get over it already.”

“Okay,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Okay. You’re right.”

“Don’t f*cking patronize me.” He pushes me back while keeping ahold of me, and my heel slams against a wall.

“Stop, Reggie—you’re hurting me.”

His expression crumbles, and he releases me. “I’m sorry, muffin. But you won’t listen. We need each other. I just want you to stop pretending we don’t.”

Reggie doesn’t like not getting what he wants from people. I’ve seen him come home and rage over competitors, clients, even the boy who delivers his mail. During the course of our relationship, I started to learn how far I could push him, but it occurs to me—just because we’re not together anymore doesn’t mean I don’t still have to play by his rules. “All right,” I say, slowly moving back so he doesn’t think I’m running away. I just need him out of my apartment. “I’ll listen. You and I can have a long talk. Tomorrow. When you’re sober.”