I breathe out and stare down at Mum’s wedding finger, remembering some of Dad’s words about love, which I often do. Even if they were total mush and would never apply to me, they made me smile because they applied to Mum.
Wait for that ping of your heart, Tyler, son. Wait for the moment you struggle with what to say and question every move you make. Wait for her, and it will happen, my boy. All she’ll want from you is utter devotion, and it’ll be so natural for you to give it to her. That’s how you’ll know. You won’t even have to think about how to love her. You just will.
I smile. “He was mad about you, ah, Mum?” I say, and her nose wrinkles cutely.
“Who me?” she asks, and I roll my eyes. She knows. Their love was the most gorgeous kind. Pure, real, and rare. “I have a message for you,” she says, releasing my hand and going to her bag, obviously keen to change the subject before her emotions get the better of her. “I’m sure I put it in here.”
“A message?” I ask, clearing my throat and pulling myself together.
“Yes, a message.”
“From who?”
“Your cousin.” She pulls out an envelope and passes it over, wiggling it in midair for me to take.
I frown, but do as I’m bid, relieving Mum of the message. “Annika?” I ask, opening the envelope.
“Yes. You haven’t RSVP’d to her wedding invitation, and she’s tried calling you but got no answer.”
It comes to me. The wedding invitation I ignored. Because she will be there. My teeth immediately start to grate and my heart—damn my fucking heart—starts to speed up. Why the fuck does it do that? Why the fuck do I care? It’s been over seven years.
I swallow down the growing anger and straighten out my thoughts, unfolding the message and reading Annika’s plea for me to join her on her special day. “That came around quickly,” I mutter feebly, dropping my cousin’s note and picking up my menu, burying my face in it.
I hear Mum sigh. “It’s next month, darling. Text her. Tell her you’ll be there. You and Annika grew up together.”
“She invited her,” I seethe, taking my drink from the waiter’s hand before he has a chance to place it on the table. In fact, she more than invited her. She made her a fucking bridesmaid.
“They’re old friends, darling.”
“I’m family.” I can see Anika’s wedding invitation now, lost in one of my desk drawers, stuffed away safely. Ignore it and it’ll go away. That’s what I told myself. No such luck.
“It’s been years, Tyler.”
“Yes, I know. And I’m not likely to forget, am I? You know, since she walked out on me a week after my father died.”
“I know as well as you do that Annabella leaving you was the best thing that could have happened. She was bad for you, son. Demanding and precious. Anyway, you were leaving her, if I recall.”
“Yes, but Dad dying kinda postponed that.” I sink into my chair. “I was distracted from leaving her precious arse because I was grieving.” Annabella. Fucking Annabella. I detest the woman. I can’t stop the burning resentment from churning in my gut every time her name is mentioned. So what if I was planning on leaving her? The fact of the matter is, she left me. A week after my father died. She then waited to file for divorce until after Dad’s last will and testament was read and his estate released. And to add insult to injury, I found out she was screwing a decrepit old has-been behind my back. She left me. Me, for Christ’s sake. For a retired loser who lived in a ten-bedroom mansion in Holland Park. I nearly vomit over the table just thinking about it. I had the looks, the physique, and the charm back then. But I was missing two important assets—according to Annabella: bucket loads of cash and a name people knew. I lacked a personal fortune, and Christianson Walker was only in the dream phase. The old prick she ran off with had the money, and clearly that made up for his lack of everything else. My ex-wife, the gold-digging whore, didn’t only take my pride with her, she took half the inheritance my father left me, too. It wasn’t millions, but it had been enough to set up my firm with Sal. Until she took half. My skin prickles with potent hatred. But she didn’t get the last laugh. Thanks to Mum’s loan to get my dream back on track, I’m now minted, successful in my own right, self-made, and it backs up all my other qualities perfectly. That’s karma, you fucking bitch.
My success now is undoubtedly why she’s been sniffing around again. The call to my office, the burn of my blood when I heard her voice for the first time since I walked out of that courtroom all those years ago. Jesus, the woman knows how to send me off the deep end. I remember swearing down the line at her and slamming my phone down with such force it smashed to pieces on my desk. I remember landing in the bar and drowning the burning anger with liquor. I remember being mortified when poor Gina had to pick me up from the fucking police station the morning after, because I was arrested for being drunk and disorderly. Annabella’s fucking fault. I fucking detest her, and I detest that she still pulls that kind of hatred from me.