“Still?”
He merely smiles.
I’m not prepared for this hell, but I force myself to shower and get dressed. The new dress is white and sleeveless, high necked, but tightly fitted. Gazing at myself in Mateo’s bathroom mirror, I consider the irony that he’s dressing me in white now that I’m sullied beyond redemption.
For shoes, he had my Louboutins brought in. I didn’t think anything could make me stop loving those damn shoes, but boy, he managed to find a way.
It’s the first I’ve really seen anybody in four days, so I guess it’s not surprising that everyone I come across stares before awkwardly saying hello. Despite my dark mood, I managed to pull it together physically, and I don’t look as horrible as I feel.
I expect Cherie to hate me, since she’s Vince’s sister, so I’m surprised when she wraps an arm around me in the kitchen and asks, “You okay?”
I shrug. “I guess so.”
Francesca avoids my gaze, and when it’s time to serve the food, I understand why.
I grab two plates, dropping Mateo’s cranberries on his, and none on the salad for Vince.
As gently as I think she can, Francesca takes Vince’s plate. “I got this one.”
I close my eyes, bracing myself on the edge of the counter. I get it now, why Vince was so pissed about it before. Not only have I been stripped of my relationship, now I’m going to walk out there and his entire family is going to see the evidence.
Worse, they’re going to see me only serving Mateo now.
Steeling myself for whatever’s about to come, I grab Mateo’s salad and head for the dining room. My eyes find Vince immediately, expecting him to have moved, but he’s in the same spot as always, my seat open next to him. My heart skips a beat, realizing they didn’t move my spot, so I’ll still be stuck between them.
Perfect.
Vince looks up when I walk in, hurt transforming his features at the sight of me. His gaze moves over my body, unfortunately prominently displayed in this tight-ass dress, and comes to settle on the single salad plate in my hand.
I feel like I’m stepping on his heart with the heel of my stiletto when I stop by Mateo, putting it down in front of him.
Vince’s hands are clenched into fists on the table, and I see him squeeze, his jaw locked so tightly it looks painful.
I go back and get my salad, even though there’s no chance I’ll be able to eat.
I slide into the seat next to Vince, scooting forward, willing myself just to push the food around as long as I have to.
I don’t expect Vince to speak to me, so I’m more than a little surprised when he says, “You look pretty.”
I dare a glance in his direction, but his eyes are glued on the glass of alcohol on the table in front of him.
“Thank you,” I say, quietly.
My stomach pitches and turns like a ship caught in a storm. After a few bites, I give up on the salad and turn to wine. I know I’ll be in Mateo’s bed again tonight, and maybe I’ll feel a bit better about it if I manage to get drunk first. I wish I had the nerve to take what Vince has, but the sexist assbags only give women wine at dinner, no hard liquor.
Which, I call bullshit, because we need hard liquor to deal with them.
Once Mateo finishes his salad, I push back and stand to clear his plate.
Vince’s hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist before I’m all the way up. I freeze, not sure what to expect.
“I want you to bring my dinner,” he states.
Swallowing, hating the impulse, I look to Mateo. I catch mild surprise on his face before he clears it, his gaze moving to mine, watching to see what I’ll say.
“Okay,” I say uncertainly.
Mateo, probably not pleased with my response, meets Vince’s gaze. “Why?”
Vince’s eyes meet his, full of resentment. “Why not?”
Not one to be challenged, Mateo gives a deceptively casual shrug. “Well, I’m the one fucking her each night, I’m the one waking up with her tangled in my arms every morning, doesn’t seem to me there’s much reason—”
Vince’s chair flies back and I jump, gasping. Mateo already had the attention of half the table with his boastful assholery, but the few at the far end who hadn’t been looking are now.
“Fuck that,” Vince says lowly. “Fuck. That.”
“Vince,” I say, glancing over at Mateo. I don’t disagree, but I don’t think it’s even safe to make a scene telling Mateo to fuck off at family dinner. I envision Mateo pulling out his gun, the one that’s been inside me, and shooting Vince without remorse, just because he fucking can. I envision shocked faces around the dinner table, but all of us too afraid to defy Mateo, so we finish our dinner while Vince’s body grows cold right there on the ground next to us.