Page 3 of Where There's A Will
They. Were. Kissing.
I blinked several times, to be sure it wasn’t a figment of my starved imagination creating hallucinations.
Nope. Still kissing.
As I was getting closer to them the truth hit me hard like a cold slap in the face.
Hugo had no intention of proposing tonight.
He was going to dump me.
I’d been replaced.
The options for how to handle this started whizzing around in my mind.
If I confronted them, I’d have to hear his excuses, and she’d fix me with a piteous look in her scheming, boyfriend-stealing eyes.
If they saw me, Hugo would only go on at me about not trusting him—um, I think he’d just proved that, right there.
Nausea roiled up in my throat, and I retched a little, not loudly enough for them to hear, so caught up were they in their embrace.
I’d taken a few steps into the hall, so it was easy enough to duck out back into the main restaurant. I couldn’t watch them any longer and turned on my tail.
On the way back to our table, I stopped at the bar.
It was as busy as it had been earlier when Hugo and I were sitting there. I’d been so full of hope and enthusiasm for the evening and now I felt… Actually, I didn’t know what I was feeling. Anger was definitely high up the list. Not to mention absolute, bone-crushing disappointment.
The spectrum of emotions I’d already gone through during the evening was enough to make me start blubbering and once the tears started, I feared they may not stop. Blinking them back, I made eye contact with the barman who had served us earlier.
Without a word, he passed me a tissue.
“Thank you,” I managed.
“Would you like a drink?” he asked.
Mutely, I stared at the bottles on the shelves behind him as people jostled me from either side, trying to push in front of me as I tried to make a decision.
I didn’t need a dainty drink or a frou-frou cocktail.
I needed a shot.
Something that would hit me hard, and fast.
I was going to need something to get me through the rest of this shitty meal, because I was about to create one helluva scene when Hugo finally got back from the restroom. And because I was usually so classy and sophisticated, it was going to be totally out of character. Hugo wasn’t going to know what hit him. I was pretty sure I was going to have to restrain myself.
The bartender took the initiative and placed a glass of Goldschlager in front of me. He quirked an eyebrow as I drained it in one. “On the house,” he said, filling up the glass again, then turning to the woman on my right.
Another tear descended down my cheek as I sucked down the second shot, trying not to gag on the gold flecks. This wasn’t how I’d expected the evening to turn out. By now, I should have been calling Bree with the fantastic news and trying to get hold of my parents. I shouldn’t have been crying into a cinnamon schnapps liqueur.
Hugo still hadn’t made his way back up the hallway. He would have passed right by me if he had. And I had to return his phone. There was no way in hell I was going back down that hallway, so I composed myself, and returned to our table. I took Hugo’s phone out of my bag, staring at the locked screen with the picture of us at Central Park Zoo a couple of months back. Happier times. Or were they? Suddenly, I wished I had the code. Who else had he been seeing behind my back? Was the hostess’s number in his contacts? How long had it been going on for? Surely he hadn’t simply chanced his luck tonight?
With a heavy sigh, I placed his phone in the same position he’d left it.
I debated whether to message Bree again. As I checked my watch, I realised she’d be mid-date and, much as we were best friends, I figured she didn’t need me blubbing and ranting at her right now.
Tapping my fingers on the table, I chewed the inside of my cheek, the effects of the champagne and Goldschlager starting to kick in. I needed to eat something. And soon. To distract myself, I picked up my phone and opened social media. I scrolled through my accounts, looking at the posts and pictures of Hugo and I, happy and carefree. To the onlooker, all was fine in our relationship. No indications of anything amiss. I racked my brains, trying to think if things had changed between us, but came up empty-handed.
The waitress appeared. “Any closer to ordering?” Her tone was light, but I knew underneath she’d be seething. We’d been at the table close to twenty minutes without ordering a single thing.
