My Ex chose My Twin, I Married His Billionaire Stepuncle

I had come to surprise Marco.  He told me he was working late and I was bringing his favorite take out. But there he was, lounging in a booth with three of his college buddies, a beer in his hand and my name on his lips like it was some kind of joke. "Come on, man. "Three years with Valentina and this is what you tell us now?" his friend Derek laughed.

I halted behind the pillar at the entrance. I tightened my grip on the paper bag. Something inside me said to stay. To listen. 

My heart plummeted down to my stomach.

“They're twins. What did you expect?" Marco shrugged. “I couldn't take it when Serena left. Then I saw Valentina at that fund raiser and it was like seeing her again, all over again. “Same eyes. Same grin. I thought it might feel the same, that's all."

"No." He didn't need to think twice. "Not ever.”

I leaned back against the pillar. I held the takeout bag with trembling hands, but I couldn't feel my fingers. 3 years. Three years of getting up early to make his oatmeal. Three years waiting up for him. Three years of saying he loved me in his own quiet way.

"Serena is back in town, bro.”

Marco stayed quiet a long time. “I don’t know. I still think of her every single day. But Valentina has not done anything wrong. I can’t just throw her out.”

“So you’re keeping one because you feel guilty, and you want the other because you really love her? That's fucked up."

I know it's jacked up. "You think I don't know that?"

I didn't wait to hear the rest of it. I turned and left that bar, and threw the takeout in the first trashcan I saw. The cold air in my face told me I was crying. Not the noisy sort. The quiet kind that hurts more.

I walked until I came to the river. The water was black under the night sky and the city lights shimmered on the surface like shards of something broken. I sat on the bench and took out my phone.

My father answered on the second ring.

“Valentina? It's late, baby. Are you all right?

"Dad."  My voice broke and I hated it. "I'm ready to go home.”

There was silence on the other end for five seconds. Five long seconds. "You mean the engagement? With Dante?”

“I never wanted to be right about this, little girl.” he said, in a low voice. The kind of soft that made me cry even more. “Come home as soon as you can. The door was never closed.”

I lingered by the river for another hour before going back to the apartment at last.

When I came in I heard the shower going upstairs. Marco was at home. I put my bag down and saw his laptop open on the kitchen counter. The screen was still on.

I told myself: don't look. I did. Absolutely.

But my hands moved by themselves and there it was. A chat window.  Serena’s name at the top with a little red heart emoji next to it. 

“I just landed. Can you come and get me? I missed you so much Marco. My love for you was never over. Not for a single day.”

The message was sent twenty minutes ago. 

I looked up. Every line turned my stomach.  She had texted him for weeks. Weeks.  And he’d been answering all of them. Late-night texts. Voice memos. Photos of places they’d go together.

The shower was still running but I could hear his phone buzz on the counter next to the laptop. There was a new message from Serena on the notification bar.

"Do you love me still?"

Water turned off upstairs. I heard him go out, I heard the wet steps crossing the bathroom floor. Then I heard the unmistakeable sound of him picking up his phone from the bedroom.

He was responding to her. Now. He stood there in our bedroom, soaking wet, and stopped everything to answer her.

I thought about how many times during the day I had texted him, waiting hours for a reply. All the times he said he was too busy for. All those times I excused him, because I thought, that's just the way he is. A quiet man who expressed love in a different way.

But he did not shut up. He had no practice. He just wasn’t any of those things for me.

I shut the laptop softly. I didn't hit it. I didn't shout. I went into the kitchen and got the bowl of oatmeal I had prepared for his morning and sat at the table. I ate it myself, spoon by spoon, slow and slow” The same recipe I’d been making him for two years, because he’d once said he liked it.

It tasted like nothing at all.

Fifteen minutes later Marco came downstairs, his hair still wet, in his best jacket. The one he wore when he wanted to look good. He grabbed his keys and barely looked at me. “Hey, I’m going. Maybe I won't be back tonight. Don’t be awake.

I said, "All right."

He passed through the door, without a backward glance.

I sat there a long time after he left. My phone buzzed. Dante's message. "My father called me. I just want you to know when you’re ready, I’ll be here.No pressure. No hurry. Just know that you’re not alone, Valentina.”

That night I smiled for the first time. It was small and weary but it was real. “Thank you, Dante. I’ll be back soon.”

That night Marco didn't make it home. I didn't stay awake.

The next morning I woke up to a text from my friend Bianca inviting me to her birthday party that night. I wanted the diversion. I dressed and went out and spent an hour picking out a gift I knew she would love. A vintage bracelet from the little shop she always raved about.

The party was at a roof top lounge downtown. Music. Laughter. Fairy lights strung across the railing. I went inside, and there was Bianca at the bar.

"Happy birthday Bee!" I hugged her and handed over the gift bag.

"Val!  Oh my god, you actually made it!” She hugged me close. “Good to have you here.”

I smiled and opened my mouth to say something but a ripple ran through the crowd by the entrance. I looked around me.

Marco entered.

And there on his arm was a woman I had never seen before.

His eyes found mine across the room and his muscles went rigid. His smile faded. His hand stopped beside her.

He didn’t expect me to be here.