Always the Last to Know(79)
“It’s beautiful,” said the woman from the next table.
“Thank you,” Alexander and I said in unison.
“Hey, Alexander, I have a quick question for you, babe.”
“Sure, babe.”
“When you came to my mom’s dinner party, did you remember Gillian?”
“Uh . . . the one with the baby?”
“No. That’s Mickey. The very pretty woman?”
“Other than you, babe?”
“The one you made a pass at last May. At the yacht christening party she mentioned.”
He blinked. “I think she . . . no. I’ve never met her.”
“She said you pressed her against a wall, kissed her neck, gave her your room key to the Madison Beach Hotel. Where we then spent the night after she turned you down.”
His neck was getting red. “She must have me confused with someone else.”
“You said you’d ‘rock her world.’”
He didn’t answer.
Luciano came with our desserts. “The bomboloni for signorina, the cheesecake for signore.”
“Thank you so much,” I said sweetly. He left. “Anything to say, Alexander? You made a pass at a woman and then called me as your B-list fuck. Why would you do that? You were going to cheat on me!” My voice may have risen a teeny bit.
“Look,” he said, glancing around, his hands up in the universal male sign for don’t make this a big deal, you hysterical female. “We never said we were exclusive.”
“What? We were exclusive! We’ve been dating for two years! We spend holidays together!”
“Calm down,” he said.
“How dare you tell me to calm down!” But yes, people were staring.
“I never said we were exclusive,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
“What does that mean? You get to sleep with other women?”
“Yes.”
The bald-faced admission was like a bucket of ice water. “Do I need to get tested?” I hissed. Thank God we’d always used condoms and the Pill. But I did. I’d need to get tested. Good God!
“Look.” He glanced around. “It’s not like I’m promiscuous, okay? I’m not on Tinder. But yes, I have two other relationships.”
“What?” There was the screeching again. Luciano was huddled with the ma?tre d’ in the front, casting us concerned looks, so I lowered my voice. “Explain yourself.”
He looked at the restaurant ceiling, clearly aggrieved. “There’s Toni in San Diego and Paige in North Carolina. I’ve been seeing Toni for four years, Paige for three.”
“And me for two.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m the other woman?”
“No, no. Well . . . yes, I guess so. I don’t see it that way.”
“How do they see it?”
“They don’t know about you. Why would I tell them, right? When I’m in San Diego, I see Toni. When I’m down south, I see Paige. But mostly, there’s you, babe.”
“Do not call me babe. Ever again.”
“Listen, Sadie. You’re my favorite,” he said, leaning forward with a smile.
“I proposed to you,” I hissed.
“And when I get married, you’ll probably be my first choice. You know. When I’m ready.”
Jesus. I stood up and threw my napkin on the table. “I’ll send you the bill for my STD panel,” I said loudly. “Make sure you leave Luciano a thirty percent tip. And I’m keeping this necklace.” I looked down at the table. “And these little donuts.”
* * *
— —
Luciano patted my hand and waited for the cab with me, as I was busy crying (and eating the bomboloni), the shock of what I’d learned settling in.
Shit. It was so obvious now. The three days in San Diego turning into five. The many times North Carolina had thunderstorms that shut down the airport (not that I bothered to check the Weather Channel, because I was trusting and an idiot). The “turned-off” phone. All those yacht emergencies. How tired he could be after coming home from schmoozing and screwing his other girlfriends. The holiday weekends when he was traveling, or visiting his “mother.” The truth was, he was probably taking Paige or Toni on lovely weekend getaways, same as he’d done for me.
I’d have to find them through his Facebook page or Instagram and tell them.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I went to Carter’s apartment and spilled. He made the appropriate noises, cursed occasionally, ate my remaining donuts and made me drink water.
“I know it’s too soon to say this, honey, but you’re better off without him,” he said as I hiccuped and clutched his aging, obese cat to my chest. “Now go to bed. Uncle Carter’s giving you some Motrin and water, and don’t even think about puking in the guest room. Janice just redid it. I’ll make you a nice big breakfast in the morning, okay?”
“How’s Josh?” I asked, remembering that my friend was happy, and we talked about how Sister Mary had invited the guys over for dinner and told them to get married and not live together first.
Good. There was love in the world, even if I was a jerk.
I got in my pajamas, washed my face and brushed my teeth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and got into the wonderfully soft bed.