บททั้งหมดของ My Dismissive Fake-Love Marriage: บทที่ 151 - บทที่ 160

“Oui,” Jacqueline says unapologetically. “And I insured that your designs were . . . well, less than they already were.” She presses her perfectly lined lips together as she gloats, as though she was trying to keep from laughing out loud—at Monica. Monica crosses her arms, glaring at her. “You needed to learn what you refused to see. My nephew is a man of appetites and expectations, and you meet neither. With your designs, or with . . . yourself.” She looks down her nose at her, scanning Monica from head to toe, making her feel like a slug unworthy of oxygen or her presence. It’s as though Monica can hear her thoughts . . . You are not good enough. Not for Jackson—he deserves better. Not for House Corbin—inexperienced, unimaginative hack. You are nothing but a small-town girl who should know her place, which is at most as the Apple Saucing Queen. That voice was all too familiar—it was her mother’s, but amped up, playing to the insecurities she holds at her core. Monica have fought ha

“You did this, didn’t you? What in the world were you thinking?” Jackson snaps in angry disbelief. But he believes Tobias whole-heartedly, and that says something ugly about his only aunt. Jacqueline sips her wine and sets it down, totally unruffled. “You will thankme one day.” She looks at him with almost . . . disappointment in her eyes. “You will realise that this was for the best.” She sounds so sure of herself, completely apathetic that she has broken him apart. And like Humpty-Dumpty, he doesn't think he will ever be put back together properly again. He was already broken but had managed some degree of repair over time, with stitches made of distrust and a protective barrier to keep people at arm’s length. Monica barreled right through the barrier and climbed in between the stitches to make herself at home in hid heart, though, and now . . .he was destroyed from the inside out. Yet Jacqueline sits there, prim and proper as you please, with a smirk on her face like she hasn’t

Jackson doesn't know how that’s remotely possible, but he was not one to turn down Madame Laurent’s bread or her advice. So he takes it from her shaking hand andpress an appreciative kiss to her cheek. When she’s not looking, he drops a bill in the can she uses to hold her cash. “Merci, Mademoiselle.” She smiles at the slight improvement in his tone and the smart flirt. “Oh, you are much too young for a woman like me, but perhaps you are exactly what Monica needs.” She winks and shoos him off down the road. Somehow, Jackson does feel better. Or at least like he still have a mission—find Monica. Then what? He doesn't know, but they have to talk this out. If it doesn’t work, he will have to find a way to accept the loss, but he won’t do that without trying. Monica and he deserves to have that, without anyone else’s interference. At the office, he falls into his chair and take a bite of the baguette as he gauges how long it will take him to pack up. No more than an hour, which is ridic

Still, talking with Claire helps Monica get to the office, even if she was a little late. But everything feels dreary,especially with Nora being a happy, bouncy ball of pregnancy hormones.N“Oh, thank you!” she says gleefully when she hands her the decaf coffee. “I know it’s just a mental thing, but I miss these so much when they’re not part of my morning! And don’t tell Clay, but wherever he was going, or whatever he was ordering, was nothing compared to this.” Clasping her cup in bothhands, Nora looks at it affectionately. “Glad I could do something right.” “You do lots of things right. That’s why I’m so glad to have you back. Wish it were under better circumstances, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” They talked over the weekend so she would know to expect her back at the office, and she spilled her guts to her more fully than Monica did with Claire. Nora knows everything. “You did. I’m sorry I didn’t listen,” Monica admits. “I’m not. It sucks, I know it does, but what’s that

“Uh, hey. What are you . . . I mean, hey, Molly!” Monica tries to inject some excitement, but she was shocked and was kinda looking forward to curling up on the couch alone for pity party round ten tonight. She have got Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince already cued up to watch and her book on the coffee table so she can follow along and point out all the differences. Belatedly, she stands and hugs her. To her surprise, it feels good to have Molly’s support, even if it’s out of the blue. She was there, she knows what it was like . . . at least a little bit. “Are you fucking with me? ‘Hey, Molly!’ is all you have got for me? I flew across the Atlantic for you, to New York City, during the hell months of heat, you know?” Monica cracks a smile at that. They used to say their favorite season in New York is fall, because it’s cool and pretty, and that’s when fashion week is. Right now, it’s hot outside and a walk down the street can leave you wetter than a good fuck. Not that she w