Page 95 of Love to Defy You
He’s fine, and I’m devastated.
I stare at the engagement ring on my finger, and when I tug on it, the tiny spikes dig into my skin, and a small droplet of blood leaks out. I pull on it harder, but it only makes the ring cling tighter, and I cry out before giving up. A steady stream of blood seeps from beneath the band and falls onto the light wood of the vanity.
Alek said his wedding band would have the same design and that his shredded finger would be the physical representation of his broken heart. Except he isn’t wearing his yet, which isn’t fair.
Instead of pulling the ring off, I lift my heart and dagger necklace out from my T-shirt. When he gave this to me, did he know he would be shoving a knife through my heart after proposing to me?
With a hard yank, the clasp opens, and the chain falls into my hand. I open the top drawer of my vanity and drop the necklaceinside, but just before I slam it shut, a pill bottle rolls to the front. It’s one of the antidepressants I used to take.
When I first started on them after Mom died, it made me dissociate for the first couple of weeks until my body adjusted to them. Since I haven’t taken it in a while, it would probably have the same effect.
I knock one back without water and then another. They’re expired, so I take a third for good measure, which should be enough to make it work the way I want.
My heart hurts so much. I clutch my chest to help alleviate it, but it’s no use. I want to numb the pain and dissociate from my body.
I hate that Alek has this much power over me. I went from being so fucking happy a few days ago to rock bottom. Alek was—is—my reason for living, and when his father forced us to break up, I wrote him a suicide note. But when we found our way back to each other, he breathed life back into me and made me want to stay. For him.
But my reason for living is slipping away from me again.
The wedding ceremony took place earlier at a small chapel in Olininburg, but the reception is outdoors at a venue on the outskirts of town. The tables and dance floor are set up in a clearing surrounded by pine trees, and as the sun dips below the treetops, the dense forest gets darker.
I watch Ivan—my dad’s driver/security detail—dance with his wife and their three-year-old son on the dance floor, surrounded by couples swaying beneath the crisscrossed bistro lights.
Dad and Galina haven’t shown up yet, and I don’t want to think about what they’re doing in the back of the limousine they’re arriving in.
I grab my glass of white wine and knock it back, but when I stand up to go to the bar for another, my heel catches on a rock, and I stumble.
“Whoa, careful there.”
I stumble into a wall of muscle, and for a fleeting moment, it feels like I’m in Alek’s arms. But when I look up, Enzo’s dark eyes are staring back at me, and his aquatic cologne takes me back to that night at the fondue restaurant when he watched Alek touch me under the table.
“You made it,” I say.
“You’re blushing.” Enzo’s voice is gruff.
“Oh, um, it’s the wine.” I hold up my empty wineglass. “I was going to get another.”
“I’ll accompany you.” Enzo places his hand on the small of my back and leads me over to the bar, which is situated on the opposite end of the clearing from my table. I’ll bet Dad did that on purpose to make it inconvenient for me to access the booze.
I rest my elbow on the bar top and slump as Enzo orders for us. He’s wearing a fitted navy suit, with a white button-up shirt, and...
“Your tie.”
Enzo glances down and adjusts the tie clip. “What about it?”
“It’s the same color as my dress.” I play with the hem of my pink tea-length dress, running my finger along the seam.
He grins. “Aw, we match. We’re so cute.”
“Shut up.” I bump my shoulder against his, and he chuckles.
The bartender hands us our drinks, but as we carry them back to our table, quite a bit spills over the rim from my swerving, unsteady gait.
Enzo pulls out my chair for me, and I melt into it like liquid. He takes the seat next to me and leans forward. “Are you drunk already?”
I narrow my gaze at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He holds his hands up in surrender. “Hey, I don’t judge.”
