It's a Fugly Life (Fugly #2)(23)

“Wait, but…”

He was gone with a jingle before I could finish, leaving behind only the angry static in the air.

So…Max thought I was pregnant with Patricio’s baby and he still wanted me. Patricio thought I was pregnant with Max’s baby and then called me a whore and dumped me.

Wow. Just wow. But my brother had been right. The baby variable really had shown me their true colors.

“Well, you’re right about one thing, Patricio. We are finito,” I mumbled to the closed door. I would never let a man speak to me like that in English or any other language. He hadn’t even given me the opportunity to explain. Still, I needed to set the record straight. I couldn’t have him going after Max or taking some sort of revenge.

I slid out my phone to text Patricio.

Me: I’m not pregnant, you idiot. But, yes, we are over. Arrivederci!

I set down my phone and covered my face. Dammit. How had things gone so quickly from walking up a hill toward a happier place in life to sliding down back into the muck?

But as I stood there, looking around my empty store, at ten past the hour—not a customer in sight—I felt that churning in my stomach. Discomfort, knotting, nausea. It was like my body wanted to tell me something that my mind didn’t want to accept. Could it be the fact that I had been seriously considering marrying Patricio without really getting to know him? Was it that I’d opened this store, knowing my chances of making it a success were nearly impossible? I had ignored the facts because I’d been focused on having something of my own, something to control, perhaps? Or was it the fact that I kept lying to myself, looking for distractions and pretending I was over Max when I really wasn’t?

I groaned. “I need my shrink.”





“So you’re having doubts about your recent choices.” Sitting in a brown armchair in front of me, notebook in hand, Clara looked over her black reading glasses at my face. “Tell me more about that.”

I looked out the window to our side, which overlooked her English garden and the stone pathway leading to a small dirt lot on the other side. It was the one thing I loved about Clara’s home office, the whimsical countryside charm as you approached the separate back entrance of her two-story cottage-style house. It made a person feel like they were somewhere safe and happy. Even her clothes—white cardigan, jeans, and flip-flops—made me feel more relaxed, like I was only talking to a friend. Who charged one hundred bucks an hour.

“It’s more than that,” I said. “It’s like a part of me knows I’m going in the wrong direction, but I don’t know what the right direction is.” Even now, as we spoke, I felt all twisty inside. “And the other part of me feels angry as hell because this isn’t me. I don’t do self-pity. I don’t wallow.”

“What do you do?” She pushed her dark bangs off her forehead.

“I focus and go after what I want. I fight. I knock down barriers.” It was the only way I knew how to live.

“Maybe you need to use that same wonderful drive of yours and focus it inward for once. Use it to figure out what you really want—actually, strike that. Use it to figure out what you need. But, Lily, promise me you’ll take some time and really think about what your stomach is trying to tell you before throwing yourself into something.”

“You mean something like Max?” I asked.

“You can’t deny you have very strong emotions for him.”

“No, I can’t. But I’m not going to risk getting hurt like that again, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I merely said you should take time to really think about what you need. You’ve been through a lot, and it’s not unusual for people in your position to distract themselves with work or new relationships instead of addressing the real issue.”

“The issue is that Max and I will never work out. I’m here, and he’s there.” I held my hands apart as if showing her the size of a big fish I’d caught. “I mean, that man…” I sighed. The way he’d looked at my brother. The way he’d run off and started a “Lily” company. He was so…so…ugh. I didn’t know. “He’s not good for me.” But I couldn’t deny the attraction and the sexual power he had over my body. It remembered him, craved him, and went full-blown gaga in his presence.

“You two never truly had closure. I recommend talking to him. Tell him calmly what you feel, and then say goodbye if it’s really what you want.”

Again, she was right. I kept hanging on to Max because we hadn’t really ended things. Six months ago, I’d made a mess of his life—and mine—then I asked for his forgiveness and he’d basically said see ya. I needed to really end things with him—a) so he could move on, and b) so I could, too.

“Thanks, Clara. I appreciate you making time for me last minute.”

“That’s what I’m here for. Let me know how it goes.”

It’s going to go like shit and you’re going to feel like shit, because your head is up your ass. Max is too good for you. And you know that’s the issue.

Thank you, * voice.

I grabbed my purse from the floor and stood, feeling annoyed with myself for allowing such ugly thoughts to kick me while I was already down.

“At what point will I stop being my own worst enemy?” I asked.