Chapter 5

I glared at my fiancé, tapping my foot as I watched him make the decision, but I should have known.

He walked over to me, so close that I got a whiff of the Roja Haute Luxe, the one I had gifted him years ago and had once been my favorite, the one that I always went feral about whenever he fucked me and I breathed his scent.

Yea, that one, and my nose flared, inhaling deeply, because who was I to resist the scent? Only I felt his lips on my forehead, and my brain began to fire the danger alert.

“I love you,” he whispered, checking the Cartier wristwatch that I also gifted him because I was just awesome. “We will talk when I get back.”

And he walked out of the house, leaving me staring into empty space.

For a moment, I was blank. Then my eyes closed and opened, and I repeated the action again until I confirmed that truly, my fiancé had chosen the other side and left me.

Then it blew up.

Heat rushed up my neck, going straight to my cheeks, and it colored itself there while my fingers tightened, pressing so hard into my skin, but then I remembered my need to be spotless, and I released it.

My nostril flared, like I was a fire-breathing dragon, and I prayed I was because I would have burned down the man I was going to be married to.

Or maybe not.

But I was livid right now, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath and my brain began to work.

I hated being angry because then I made stupid decisions, like trying to get my fiancé’s mother to come down here, a decision I should have rethought, but I had already picked up the phone, my legs tapping furiously on hardwood flooring as I reached someone.

‘Bitchy birth giver of my love’ flashed on the screen, and against my wish, my lips pulled into a little smile.

Davy and I had fought about my name choice for his mother, but it was one thing I was adamant on, especially when it so matched her description.

She was infuriating and annoying, and I had only had to put up with her because of Davy. But at least she was not close to us.

She picked at the third ring because it was the ‘proper’ thing to do, and I braced myself for what was to come.

“Sinclair,” she began in the uppity voice that just announced she was ten times better than anyone. “You understand that you are eating into my rest time?”

I rolled my eyes, reminding myself that I was only doing this for Davy, and I forced air into my lungs, just enough that would carry me through this conversation.

“You win.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked, and I could almost imagine her sitting on the patio, receiving the so-called vitamin D even though it is way past the time for it, and sipping tea from the mug the queen gifted her.

“You can plan the wedding however you want. I will not be doing that anymore.” I said, and I cut off the phone, feeling much better now that I had the upper hand.

But of course it wouldn’t be so easy to back out of the plan because some hours later, after I had eaten and retired to my room, I heard the loud knock on the door.

I peeked up, hoping it was Davy that had realized his wrongdoing and came out for me, and I was rushing down the stairs, eager to meet him.

My fingers curled on the doorknob, and I opened the door to meet the non-smiling face of Margaret, clutching her overly large purse in her hand, her face etched like a woman on a mission.

“Good afternoon?” I trailed off, unsure of what time it was, and she gave me a once-over. Her nose was always permanently stuck high up whenever she was near me, the look of disapproval written in her eyes.

“Where is my son?” She asked, a slight curl of her lips as she saw me. She hasn’t been on board with me moving in, as she still firmly holds on to her religious beliefs.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring her rudeness and holding the door for the three behind her, and they murmured their greetings as they entered.

“He is at work; he had an emergency.”

“Hmm.” She shuffled, marching towards the sofa and sitting on it. She looked like she belonged here, with her hot pink suit, ironed to be crisp, and her beautiful nude kitten heels, and I ignored the hate and let myself admire her.

In her late fifties, she was still a beaut, with Davy bearing so much resemblance to her. Only everything in her was strong. From the firm set of her lips pulled in a frown to her laminated brows giving her that stern look, she was the lady you would want to avoid.

“Start working on her measurements; we don’t have time to spare. I need to ensure she is properly fitted before the main day.” She ordered, and I watched as the seamstress rushed, eager to do her bidding.

Margaret was Margaret, and I had expected nothing less from her, not even when she came barging in with her people. Instead I stood, letting them prod and prick me whilst I chanted the word in my head.

Endure, endure, endure…