Page 23 of The Sting of Love
I’m an asshole. I don’t even remember putting that thing in this jacket. I pull out the bracelet and look at it. In the bright sunlight, it sparkles, and the crystals turn blue as they catch the reflection of the sea. The blue reminds me of Willow’s eyes.
I gotta get this chick out of my head.
She’s doing a fucking number on me, and I can’t have that. I can’t keep this thing if every time I see it, it stirs up some memory of her.
Things like that aren’t good. I scrunch it up in my palms, ready to launch it into the sea, and I raise my hand to do it but stop myself.
What if it was important to her?
Like an heirloom or something. Maybe it’s sentimental. I couldn’t just throw it away.
Maybe I’m just thinking of shit, but if the shit’s real, then I should give it back to her. It’s not mine to keep, and it’s not cheap fashion jewelry crap. The crystals are real.
She should have it back, and yes, maybe I am thinking up an excuse to see her. It’s better, though, that I give it to her than do anything else, and I shouldn’t keep it. I didn’t realize how close she got to me.
So close I already shot myself in the foot by checking up on her. I shouldn’t know where she lives or that she’s staying with her aunt.
One trip. That’s it, then I’m done.
Who knows what shit I might have stirred today. Women are a weakness I can’t afford. I can’t have this doll on my mind. I worked too long and hard for an opportunity like this to blow it by not being a hundred percent focused.
Chapter Seven
Willow
God, please give me strength to talk to this man. Please don’t let me breathe fire.
“I’m taking the things out of the building today, Willow,” William says for the tenth time.
He’s doing that thing where he’s ignoring what I’m saying like an asshole and just repeating himself like a broken record. It’s an argument I know I won’t win.
“You didn’t give me enough time. How can you do this? Bastard.” This is today’s shit.
Dad called me earlier to let me know William closed the gallery last night and told all the staff not to come back. The building is all taped up like it’s part of a crime scene. Dad sent pictures, and William isn’t cooperating with anybody.
“Like I keep saying. I’m taking the things out today,Willow,” he repeats again with emphasis on my name. “You had time. Porsha called you on Saturday. Today is Wednesday. I thought the minute you knew the building would be sold, you’d take measures to get your things out,” he argues.
“You can’t do this. That’s my business. I expected a conversation to take place so I could make proper arrangements to get my things out and inform my staff. How can you be so evil?” I bark. I’m shouting now, sounding like I’ve lost my damn mind. I don’t care though. This is shit. He’s sunken to a new low, and I can’t wrap my head around it.
It’s all happening too fast, and all I know is that my stuff is going to be thrown away.
“It’s not evil. It’s my building, and I have people interested in buying the place. The workmen will remove your things in the next few hours. If you want to get someone down here, I’ll let them in, and they can sort through your shit.”
Tears run down my cheeks. I’m crying again. Fucking hell. This man is such a jerk. Such an asshole. I can’t believe I was ever with him.
“You won’t even give me a day?” I try.
“No. I won’t. I don’t care what you believe. You and I broke up months ago. Why the fuck would I want you in my building?”
“You prick, you bought it for me!”
“Well, I’m taking it back. This conversation is over, Willow. I have to go.”
The line cuts, and I don’t get the chance to respond.
My hands tremble as I look down at the phone, and I shake my head at the situation.
I manage to send Dad a message asking him to get my stuff, and then I break down. Once again, I’m the fool. My escape to Italy shouldn’t have happened. I should be there.
