PROLOGUE

“The limo will be here in a few minutes, Jules,” Brandon said, walking from the living room into the small bedroom. A wave of nervous nausea rolled over his stomach, as he fumbled with the cufflinks, biting his lip as he struggled to get them fastened. “Christ, I am not cut out for this shit. Tuxedos and cufflinks, and whatever the fuck this thing is …” He touched the cummerbund at his waist.

He checked the mirror over the dresser he and his fiancée shared. His hair—God help it—had reached an awkward stage and the waves seemed to have a mind of their own. Brushing against the tops of his ears, the strands flipped in this way and that, and he groaned to himself, as he tried to fix it by pushing it back with both hands.

“Babe! I need some of that hair stuff you—Jules?” He glanced into the living room to see his fiancée, the tall, blonde bombshell of a woman, emerging from the bathroom. His eyes narrowed at the sight of her long legs; not because he particularly cared to stare—although there certainly was that, made evident by the stirring inside his uncomfortable pants—but she was still wearing those little shorts she wore to bed. “Uh, why aren’t you dressed?”

Julia was silent, and she didn’t bother looking at the man she had spent eleven years with as she dropped herself onto the old garage sale couch. Her hand reached for the remote and tucked her legs under her bottom, making herself comfortable to spend a night watching TV.

“Jules, what are you doing?” She continued her vow of silence, as the behemoth of a man approached her in that stupid tuxedo. She twisted her lips in disapproval when he snatched the remote from her hands. “I said the limo is going to be here in a few minutes.”

She sighed, rolling her eyes up at him. Standing over her, she saw the beautiful face of the man she lived with. Chiseled jawline, deep blue eyes in the dim light of the seedy apartment, straight nose that would have been perfect had it not been for that deviated septum; a feature that she had once overlooked, but lately it screamed at her as a spotlighted imperfection. But still, there was no denying that he was gorgeous, and her body agreed with her mind with a rush of passionate warmth between her legs.

The chill in her heart was another story.

“I decided I’m not going,” she announced, reaching to wrench the remote from his hands.

“What?” Julia watched as Brandon’s face fell with immediate concern, and he eased himself down on the arm of the mismatched recliner. “Are you okay? You feel alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she replied. Her voice carried an edge that brought him to wince.

The room was brightened by the blue glow of the TV; the flat-screen he had bought a few years ago, with one of his checks from FIT. He had landed himself a pretty good deal as a nude model, one the girls and gay guys could appreciate. Julia remembered a time when she would laugh at his stories of being hit on, and she would swell with pride, knowing he had come home to be with her.

She couldn’t remember when it was she began to wish he’d stop coming home altogether.

Brandon reached over to touch the back of her slender neck. She flinched at his touch, and he noticed with a bite of his lip, but he said nothing.

“You know this is a big deal for me.” He spoke gently, ignoring his rapid heartbeat. “I really need you there.”

Julia snorted a laugh. “Oh, I think you’ll manage just fine.”

He recoiled, holding his hands in his lap. His brain raced, trying to remember the last time she smiled at him. “So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or …?” How many times would he ask that question before he finally got a response, he wondered, and ran a hand through his annoying hair.

Little did he know, he was about to get his wish.

Julia shot a stone-cold look at him, her mouth twisting with bitter anger. “If you stepped outside of yourself once in a while, then maybe you would know what’s wrong.”

“I’m not a fucking mind-reader.”

“Well, that’s for damn sure.”

He looked to the ceiling, regretting he ever brought it up. The limo would be there to pick him up at any second, and he’d have to leave. Alone. Goddamn her, he thought, as his fists clenched on his lap. The Julia he once knew would have never asked him to do something like this alone. “Is it … Is it the wedding? Are you stressed out about that, because I told you, I’d—”

“For fuck’s sake, Brandon, it’s not the goddamn wedding, okay?” She catapulted off the couch and stomped toward the bedroom, where she proceeded to slam the door that never quite closed. It boomeranged, opening as soon as it was shut, and she growled in frustration as she threw herself on the bed. “Goddamn that fucking door!”

He stood up, walking slowly into the room and examined the door. “It’ll be nice once we’re in our new house, right? I swear, all the doors close.” He smiled down at her weakly, hoping that she could find the strength to smile back. “I checked.”

She gripped the edge of her pillow, and her mouth twisted around the angry words that felt so good to say. “Your new house, Brandon. I didn’t sign a fucking thing.”

His mouth fell open with a sudden realization. “Is that what this is all about? The money? ‘Cause Jules, I told you, it’s—”

He was verbally poking her; prodding, probing for the information he was desperately seeking. He wanted to fix things. He wanted to see her happy. He wanted her to smile again. He wanted her to talk to him. He wanted to shower with her, to have sex that didn’t feel like a chore, to eat dinner that wasn’t shrouded in silence.

He just wanted her.

“I don’t want to be supported by you!” Julia bolted upright in bed, shooting daggers in his direction with eyes that were once filled with so much love. “Maybe if you weren’t so fucking busy kissing the ass of your precious publisher, you would know what this is all about.”

Brandon’s eyes squinted at her, shaking his head with disbelief. “Kissing ass? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You and your little seven-figure book deal.” She spoke the words with sour rage, staring right at the beautiful face that appeared so ugly under her veil of envy. “It was supposed to happen for me.”

It was as though a lamp had been turned on somewhere, and his bright blue eyes widened to take in the light. “Julia, we were supposed to do this together, and that includes when one of us—”

“No! Nobody can convince me that your Dungeons & Dragons bullshit is more deserving of this than my work. You probably fucked that bitch. I saw the way she looked at you. You probably—”

“Jesus Christ, Julia, you know that’s—”

“Shut up!” Julia’s fist contacted the lumpy surface of the unmade bed, startling him and bringing his mouth to clamp shut. “You want to know something? You want the truth? Here you go—I never wanted this for you. I humored you, and I pitied you, and now …” She shook her head with a short burst of laughter, and he continued to stare at a woman he no longer recognized.

“You’re jealous of me,” he stated in a low voice. The limo honked from the street below, but it no longer seemed important. All that mattered in that moment was the realization that everything he had ever wanted had destroyed everything he had needed.

“Jealous?” Julia laughed, shaking her head in protest, although that was exactly how it was. She was jealous. She had been jealous ever since he received that letter almost a year ago, and that jealousy grew as it became more and more evident that his success was only just beginning—but hers? She still couldn’t find a job that didn’t involve waiting on tables. “No, Brandon. I’m not jealous of you. I hate you. I hate you and I hate everything that is fucking happening for you, because you don’t deserve it. And you know what else? You and your little dragon books don’t deserve me.”

The knife twisted in his heart, and his eyes watered. He told himself he wouldn’t cry, he told himself he was stronger than that, but when she pulled the ring off her finger and threw it at his chest, a tear wriggled its way out and slid through his stubble. The clink seemed to resonate through the little apartment, and he stared at it, lying between his feet. He saw it then as all that had held his relationship together. Now, with the bond severed, his mouth twisted with anger.

“Fuck you.” He managed to speak around the boulder in his throat.

In the eleven years they had been together, he had never once wished he could slap her—until that moment. He wanted to use his size, shove her against the wall, and whip his hand across her beautifully ugly face. But he was a good man, and control kept his hands from wrapping around her neck, as she stood from the bed defiantly and walked right up to him.

Her eyes looked up to him, as her finger prodded his chest, and she found it amazing how easily she could act upon the hatred she felt so deeply. “No, Brandon. Fuck you.”

He grabbed her hand, startling her. For the first time, she saw the seven inches he had on her as a threat, and she pulled herself from his grasp and took a step backward toward the bed. His eyes looked to her, through his eyelashes, and his lips curled into a snarl. “Get the fuck out of here right now.”

With a smirk, she knelt beside the bed, reached underneath, and pulled out two bags she had already packed. How had he not noticed that? He swallowed at his tears.

“Don’t worry, babe,” she said condescendingly, her blonde brows lowering, “I’m leaving.”

Despite the February chill, she shoved her feet into a pair of sandals—the only shoes she hadn’t packed—and pushed her way past Brandon in that stupid tuxedo. She didn’t bother asking him for help with the two large suitcases, nor did he offer as he continued to stare unseeing into the bedroom. She grabbed her coat, throwing it on over her pajamas, and turned to look at the life she was leaving. The stack of books on the little table—those goddamn books—stood as a symbol of what her life could have been; the beautiful house, the luxury cars, the celebrity friends, the rich lifestyle she always felt she was destined to have.

But what did it matter if it wasn’t her name on the New York Times list of bestsellers? 

“What are we going to tell everybody?” Brandon called from the bedroom, and he emerged with his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. “The wedding is—w-was—in two months.”

Julia cocked her head to the side and feigned a pout. His eyes fell upon her bottom lip, remembering all at once the thousands of times he had bitten it, and his heart seemed to lurch to his throat.

“You seem to be doing fine on your own. You’ll figure it out,” she said, and she opened the door.

“So, this is it?” He took a step forward, hoping he could keep it together for just a few seconds longer. “Ten minutes’ worth of fighting, and you’re just going to call it quits after eleven years?”

She laughed, shaking her head. Tears stung her eyes, and he was grateful to see that there was still something human left inside her. “Oh, Jesus Christ, Brandon. I called it quits a long time ago. You were just too busy to notice.”

Brandon hung his head and ran a hand through his hair. He thought about all those people waiting for him at the release party; the big PR bash his publisher had insisted was necessary. He thought about the wedding he alone had to cancel and all the people he was going to disappoint. He thought about the career that he had so desperately wanted his entire life, and how it had pulled the only person he wanted to share it with out from under him.

He decided then that he was alone, and forever would be, because if he couldn’t have Julia, who else was there?

Then, the door slammed, and the limo continued to honk.