Stay(69)

Bex signals, and large men thread into the crowd in Burt’s direction, pushing bodies between me and The Dick. Fuck. I’ve got to get to Emmy.

Burt sees the men, and he grabs Emmy’s forearm. “In case you think I’m making it up, we have Emmy right here to confirm it.”

He leans down to her, and she turns her face away. He pulls her arm around, and I see red. Now I’m shoving people, fighting to get to my girl.

“Tell them, Emmy. Miss Emily Ann Barton. Don’t lie to all these good people. Did you marry Stephen Hastings because you loved him? Or did you marry him to pay your bills?”

He holds her steady, and her face lifts. White light illuminates her features, and her expression is pure defiance. “I would do anything for my son.”

Burt smiles down at her like some comic villain. “Then answer the question. Love or money?”

The mic is in her face. Emmy blinks at him. The whole room holds its breath like this is some kind of gross reality show.

Emmy’s pretty lips part, and she speaks. “I married Stephen because I needed the money.”

The room erupts into voices, and Burt beams with triumph. He lowers the mic, but I hear him loud and clear telling her, “Because that’s what you are. A lying whore.”

I’m finally through the men when he sees me. “Didn’t think you had to pay for it, Hastings.”

With a loud crack, my fist slams into his smiling, asshole face. The mic hits the ground, amplifying the bang as he falls.

I’m on him fast. “You’re a cunty, dickish waste of oxygen.” My voice is a savage growl through clenched teeth. “I’d buy her anything…”

His shirtfront is in my fist, and I pull him up as I punch him again and again. The slippery warmth of blood coats my knuckles, and satisfaction expands in my chest with every howl, every grunt, every time he begs me to stop.

“Stephen, stop this at once!” Bex claps her hands from somewhere close by, and the bouncers she summoned finally catch me by the arms, pulling me off the piece of shit I’m beating into the hardwoods.

I notice they gave me a few minutes before they stopped me.

“You’re going to pay for this!” Burt’s ragged screams are the least of my concern.

“If I see you again…” I sound like a savage, and my eyes lock on his. “You’d better run.”

My throat is tight, and I look all around, searching for Emmy.

She’s gone.





27





Emmy


Eli is asleep on the white couch when I arrive at Stephen’s townhome.

Helga looks up from where she’s reading a Jack Reacher novel and gives me a tight smile. “You’re back early.” She says it like it’s an order.

“The party ended early.” I go to my son and lightly trace my fingers over his head. No regrets.

“He’s an angel of a boy.” Her compliment surprises me, coming from such an imposing figure.

“Thank you.” I smile, allowing my love for him to ease the pain of public humiliation.

“I’ll be going then.” She stands, and I see her to the door.

Returning to the couch, I lean down and lift my son onto my shoulder. His knit cap pressing against my neck reminds me how close we came to losing him as I slowly climb the stairs.

Tomorrow, I’ll pack his things, and we’ll head back to our place in the Village. We haven’t been here long enough for it to be much of a job.

Once he’s settled in bed, I climb the last flight of stairs, allowing the tears to flow down my cheeks. My insides are numb. I’m completely humiliated, and I just want to go somewhere far away from here, from Burt’s cruelty.

As sick as it was, his stunt was the wake-up call I needed. I had allowed myself to get attached to Stephen, and I forgot everything we agreed to before I said I do.

Looking down, a piece of hair falls on my damp cheek as I fumble with the zipper on my dress. Sliding it down, the enormous gown drops to the floor. I step out of it and into thin sweat pants. I pull on a long-sleeved tee, and slip my arms into a cropped hoodie then I walk to the bathroom.

Sadness aches between my shoulder blades, but it’s time to clean up this mess.

Show’s over.

I wash my face, cleaning the black streaks off my cheeks and stop crying. I hang my beautiful dress in the closet, and I slip the platinum wedding band off my finger. I’d been using it to hold the still too-big diamond engagement ring in place.

Carefully, I place them in a small tray on the mahogany desk by the window. I’m standing there looking down when I see his car squeal up to the curb. Stephen dashes out, and my stomach tightens. I’m not sure what he’ll say, but I know what I have to say.

Loud footsteps on the stairs, I brace myself for his appearance. I’m just not prepared for him to take my breath away when he bursts through the door. I should be used to him by now, but I’ve never been fully prepared for Stephen Hastings.

“Why did you leave without me?” He strides across the room, pulling me to his chest.

I’m surrounded by his arms, my face against the fine fabric of his custom-made formalwear. Everything about him is perfectly tailored, custom made, organized, and planned. Stephen Hastings is always in control.

Until now.

“I had to leave.” My voice is strangely calm, considering my insides are bleeding. “I’ll pack our things tomorrow—”