Page 30 of The Road to You
And then he speaks. “What? No! I want to talk about your Italian escapades.”
I freeze. For a second, I think I must have misheard him.Hecheated onme, got caught, and publicly humiliated me. But now he wants to policemylife? Have I stepped into an alternate reality, without realizing it? I can’t have spent four years of my life with this asshole.
“You can’t be serious,” I say, my voice flat.
“Of course I’m serious. The news reached the States, Lena. Your little European vacation is plastered all over the gossip sites.” His voice is laced with barely restrained anger.
I knew that already, Greta told me, but the sheer audacity of this man still manages to stun me. He is so self-absorbed that he doesn’t even contemplatemyposition in all this mess thathedumped on me. He could have told me he fell for another person, and I would have been heartbroken, but I would haveunderstood it. Instead, he chose the easy way out without taking responsibility, and now he’s making me out to be the bad guy.
I let out a sharp laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “I caught you screwing another man because youraffairwas all over the magazines. And you’re pissed atme?”
Michele’s head snaps up at my raised voice, his brows knitting together in silent concern. I turn away, gripping the phone tightly. I don’t want him to see me this upset over a man who doesn’t deserve any of my time anymore.
“Don’t make this about me,” Preston snaps. “I called to tell you to come back and stop making me look like a fool, or else…”
I pause, and my breath catches in my throat. This man. This selfish, delusionalasshole. How could I have been so blind to stay with him for four years?
“Or else what, Preston? Is that a threat? You thinkyoulook like a fool?” My voice trembles with fury. “You humiliated me in front of theentire worldand didn’t even have the decency to apologize. You deserve a lot worse than just bad press.”
He scoffs. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. You’re on vacation in Italy, Lena. How bad can it be?”
I swear, if he were standing in front of me, I would throw him into the nearest fountain. How dare he judge me? The nerve this man has is ludicrous. I want to end the conversation right now and tell him to go to hell, but I also feel he owes me an apology, even if I know it will never come.
“I’m in Italy because the paparazzi chased me out of the countrybecause of you,” I spit.
I glance at Michele and see his worried face scrutinizing mine. I want to tell him that everything is okay, but he’ll know it’s a lie. Michele is everything but stupid and has a sixth sense for understanding when something is bothering me. And this time, there’s nothing to guess. I can feel my face contorting in rage. I can’t hide it.
“Well, it doesn’t look like you’re wasting any time getting over it. Asoccer player, Lena? Seriously? That’s such a cliché.” His words are laced with venom. “I thought you had standards, but I guess a set of abs is all it takes to make you forget…”
I see red. Every ounce of humiliation, every shred of lingering hurt, dissolves under the weight of my rage.
“Oh, you’re right,” I say, my voice dangerously sweet. “Idohave standards. Which is why I finally realized I wasted four years of my life on a self-absorbed, cheatingwormlike you.”
And with that, I hang up. I’m so furious, my heart pulses in my ears. My hands tremble as I unlock my phone and pull up my chat with Greta.
Bury him. Drag Preston through the mud. No more playing nice. I’m done being reasonable. He just called and threatened me, saying if I don’t go home and play the good, heartbroken ex…well, I don’t know what he’ll do, but I don’t trust him, not one bit.
It takes her all of five seconds to respond. I know she’s usually glued to that phone, but this is a record even for her.
Say no more.
I exhale slowly, shoving my phone back into my bag.
Michele steps closer. “Are you okay?” he asks in a gentle voice.
I won’t lie to him. I shake my head. “No. But I will be.” I force a smile, even though anger still simmers beneath my skin.
I don’t know if he understood what the phone call was about, but he seems worried nonetheless. That expression grounds me a bit, letting me regain a bit of composure after having the rug pulled from under my feet by Preston. It’s strange how Michelecan shift my entire existence just by asking how I feel. I’m so used to my answer being irrelevant to the men I’ve been with that the concern on his face feels huge.
He studies me for a beat. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrug and shake my head. Do I want to? Maybe, but I don’t even know what to say without feeling like a complete idiot for being with my ex for so long. Now that all the hurt I felt when I discovered his betrayal has disappeared, I can clearly see just how gullible I’ve been. Preston is not the eccentric artist directing edgy movies I believed he was. He’s just an entitled asshole adored by many because he can make or destroy careers in Hollywood.
“Just my ex being a raging asshole and me wondering why I wasted so much time on him.” I grimace, wondering what he thinks about me.
Michele smirks. “Well, at least now you’ve got another reason to tell him to go fuck himself.”
Just that. No excuses, no pity, no judgment.
