As weird as it sounds, she is right. I’ve just found out my boyfriend was a man-whore for a few years and that he has only recently stopped after screwing hundreds of girls. Brain reminds me I’m still alive. Still in one piece. It’s Heart that’s in pain.
We get back to the hotel and Izzy throws the rental car keys to the valet. I unfasten my seatbelt as she opens the door for me and offers her hand.
“Come on, sissy. Let’s get minibar-drunk and hate on Ty in detail.”
I let her swoop me out of the car, nuzzling into her hair so no one will see just how messed up my face is. I hear Izzy’s cell pinging with a text, followed by another one.
Then another. Now it rings—and we’re not even halfway to the foyer. Izzy stops to inspect the number flashing on her screen with a frown.
“Should I answer?”
“Don’t answer any unknown numbers until we leave Vegas,” I plead quietly.
“Bitch, I’m a supermodel. I don’t do unknown numbers, in or outside of Vegas.”
I force my lips into a smile and let my twin usher me to the elevators.
“Nana Marty, brace yourself. The Stern sisters are coming to your wedding.” She presses her lips into my ear, her arm hooked around my shoulders. “And we’re going to be oh so drunk.”
Dearly beloved, we’re gathered here today to pay our final tribute of respect to my deceased Heart. Heart started off as a casual dude not ready for commitment. It was often bullied by Hormones and pushed aside by Brain. But once Ty took over it, I knew we were both f*cked.
A flashback of Ty standing in the empty XWL classroom, telling me he’s not going to hit me, but still going to hurt me, gives me goose bumps.
I drain another plastic cup of whatever-the-heck alcohol Izzy has placed in my hand. Nana Marty is getting married tomorrow evening, and I’m getting shitfaced in my hotel room, crying uncontrollably like I just found out my family died in a grotesque plane crash.
Izzy tries to lift my spirits by playing wedding dress-up. She puts me into a vintage Valentino peacock-green dress, with a sweetheart neckline top and matching, emerald heels, and arranges my hair in a French twist. I should feel like Beyonce, but instead, I feel like St. Paddy’s Day.
“How many messages and missed calls?” I sniff afterward, lying on the king-size bed in my Valentino and clutching my empty Solo cup, teary-eyed. Ty is wondering what the hell is up, and he's been calling Izzy pretty much nonstop since he realized my phone is dead. Though seeing as I smashed it against his precious car, I'm guessing he already knows I'm here, and that I am clearly ten shades of pissed off with him.
“Eight messages, four missed calls.” She glances at her phone, sitting in front of the vanity table and straightening her perfect hair. “Do you want me to answer it next time and tell him to piss off?”
“No. Let him squirm.”
I hear a firm rap on the door and cover my face with my forearms. Izzy shoves her chair as she gets up to answer.
“Who is it?” Izzy sing-songs.
“It’s Tyler. Get Blaire.”
I put the pillow over my head and hear Izzy’s heels clicking in my direction. He found out. How did he find out that I'm here?
“No,” I say flatly underneath the pillow.
“He sounds crazy worried,” Izzy says carefully.
“Well, I'd be even crazier if I decide to listen to his excuses. No, Izz.”
The banging on the door becomes louder and firmer, and it’s distracting me from wallowing in self-pity.
“Blaire, open the f*ck up. Let me in.” The urgency in his voice makes the hair on my skin stand up. I’ve never heard him so…panicked?
“He sounds desperate. I should open the door.” Izzy chews on the corner of her lip, going back and forth. She is wearing a canary yellow Vera Wang.
“Don’t open the door. He won’t strangle you. I will,” I warn.
“Fuck, Blaire, f*ck!” He punches the door hard.
I hear a door open down the hallway. I hope it's not my parents. Maybe it’s not them. Maybe it’s someone else. Just because someone is yelling their daughter’s name, doesn’t mean it’s them. Have faith, Blaire.
“Excuse me?” I hear my mother asking Ty, and by the low, throaty coughs, my father is by her side.
Screw you life, we’re done.
Izzy yanks me by the elbow and we both shoot to the door, she is placing her ear against the cool wood to hear how this one plays out. I wince, hoping he isn't going to make more of a jackass of himself.
“Mr. and Mrs. Stern, right?” Ty's tone goes down a notch. “Not the kind of introduction I wanted to have with Blaire’s parents. I’m her boyfriend, Ty.” He presents himself assertively. “What I’m about to do here is going to get you worked up, so let me start by promising I’ll try and change your mind about me after this crisis is over. Obviously, I’ll pay for the damage too.”
I can feel his presence on the other side of the door. The heat. The passion. But also the man who f*cked me over and kept me in the dark about him humping HUNDREDS OF WOMEN FOR CASH AND CAREER OPPORTUNITIES.
“Blaire, Izzy, open up in five seconds or I’m breaking this shit down. Five.”
Izzy’s eyes bug out at me, and I shake my head no.
“Four.”