TWENTY-THREE
GWYNETH
I stood there, the key poised against the lock, and breathed deeply, preparing myself for whatever was about to happen. When I finally opened the door, I saw Mitchell pacing the living room floor.
He stopped short when he heard me enter, his breathing quick and heavy as if he’d been running a marathon.
I probably should have felt guilty for leaving him to wonder all night, but I didn’t.
“Gwyn! God, where have you been?” He rushed toward me but stopped before getting close enough that we touched. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“I needed to think.”
He went still, his face paling before my eyes. “Think about what?”
I swallowed suddenly feeling nervous.
“Us. I needed to think about us, Mitchell.”
“Before you say anything,” he said, moving around the furniture to sit on the edge of the couch. “We need to talk. There are some things I need to tell you, and well, I fucking screwed up, Gwyn. I screwed up so fucking badly.”
I turned in his direction, surprised. I’d never heard Mitchell talk like that before, and something told me this wasn’t just about cheating on me.
“I know, Mitchell.”
He frowned. “You know? What do you know?”
“I know you’re seeing Marissa Lovato.”
He was up off the couch before I could say anything else.
“How do you know? Who told you?”
“You did!” I snapped. “Yesterday morning with the way you acted after seeing her in that article.”
He stood still staring back at me, and I could see the contemplation in his eyes. He was trying to figure out if he should come clean, which made no sense to me since I was sure we both knew it was already over.
“Don’t try to deny it, Mitchell. I don’t want to hear any lies. You don’t have to explain. Let’s just take this for what it is … a mutual thing.”
Confusion moved across his expression, and he shook his head.
“Look, I’m sorry, Gwyn. It was stupid. I was stupid. I don’t know why I did it, but it just happened.”
I hated that excuse.
I didn’t know why.
It didn’t just happen.
How did a person not know why they cheated? I knew why I’d slept with Dylan.
Did it make it right?
No.
But at least I knew why I did something that could potentially hurt someone else.
“I ended things this morning.” He was going on, moving to stand in front of me. “It’s over. I’m never going to do it again, I swear. Please, please don’t leave me, Gwyn.” His fingers felt hot against my skin as he gripped my hands.
His eyes were begging for something I knew his heart didn’t want.
Why did he want me to stay if he didn’t love me?
Because of my father?
For appearances?
None of these answers would make this marriage work.
I pulled my hand free, sidestepping him and moving to the other side of the living room. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my engagement ring and set it on the table in front of me. His eyes watched my every move.
“I’m sorry, Mitchell, but I can’t stay with you,” I confessed.
His face dropped with my words, and a tiny bit of guilt moved through me.
“Gwyn.” He moved toward me, turning me forcefully, and his fingertips bruised my skin under his grip. “Please, I promise I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”
I shook my head. “I can’t stay with you because … I cheated on you, too, Mitchell. I mean, when I left the apartment yesterday, I knew things were over between us.”
He released me, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. “You … what? With who?”
I took a deep breath. My confession was so much worse than his, despite the fact that mine was only one night and his had probably been going on for at least a year.
What kind of person slept with their fiancé’s best friend?
“With Dylan,” I confessed. “I’m so sorry.” I finally looked up at him, his face red with fury.
“You slept with Dylan? That bastard lied to me!” He looked murderous, the vein in the side of his neck pulsing like a time bomb.
I was about to move in and soothe him, but then I digested his words, and everything stopped.
“Wait. What are you talking about? What do you mean he lied?”
My heart began drilling behind my ribs as a bad feeling swept over me.
Mitchell turned to me, grabbing my arm and tugging until I felt as though he would pull it from my body. I pulled back.
“Stop it, Mitchell!”
“You think you’re going to leave me and have a happily ever after with that fucker? With my best man, Dylan.”
It was like Mitchell had become someone else, and his face twisted almost sinisterly.
“You think he loves you, Gwyn? You think he wants you? Dylan doesn’t love you. He was paid to fuck you.”
My heart came to a screeching halt before speeding up, taking my breath away completely. The blood drained from my face, leaving me feeling dizzy and sick to my stomach.
“What are you talking about?”
He laughed, his free hand going through this wild hair and tugging.
“You heard me. He was only with you because he was paid.”
I choked on the breath rushing from my lungs and tugged my arm away. He was lying. He had to be lying.
“You’re lying.”
He grinned. “I’m not.”
His serene expression, the stillness of his body, and the pleasing grin on his face told me he was being honest and he was enjoying the pain he was causing me.
“Paid by who?”
Again, he chuckled, shaking his head like I was asking questions I should already know the answers to.
“Who do you think? Me. I paid him to fuck you so I could walk in on the two of you and catch you.”
The bastard was enjoying my pain. He was loving every second.
He was a selfish prick and only cared about himself.
How had I not seen it before?
I couldn’t even respond. What did you say to someone who’s done something so unspeakable?
“You … I don’t understand. Why?”
“Because I didn’t want you, and the only way I could get what I wanted and be rid of you was to pay someone else to pretend to want you.”
Things weren’t lining up anymore. Maybe he wasn’t telling the truth.
“I don’t understand. You paid your friend to sleep with me?”
“Oh, my God. Wake up, Gwyneth! He’s not my fucking friend. He’s just a penis I paid to play nice with you.”
No.
It was real. The way he looked at me last night. The way he touched me. All of it was real.
Mitchell was lying, and I wasn’t going to stand there and listen to his crap.
I turned on my heel, but Mitchell caught my arm and twisted, nearly pulling it out of the socket. I turned, and with a speed that surprised even me, I slapped him as hard as I could across the face.
He pulled back with shock on his face.
“Don’t touch me. Don’t you ever fucking touch me again.”
I turned and started toward the bedroom. It was time he got his shit and got out.
“Where are you going?” he screamed at my back. “Do you think he’s actually going to want you if he’s not going to get a paycheck?”
“Get out of my apartment before I call my father, Mitchell,” I said over my shoulder. It was the one threat I knew would shake him to his core.
“Gwyn! Don’t fucking walk away from me!”
Slamming the bedroom door, I cut off the rest of his rant. I stood there listening to him from the other side, my heart breaking with each word he yelled. It wasn’t until I heard the slam of the front door that I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew the last thing Mitchell wanted was for me to involve my father.
Honestly, the last thing I wanted was to involve my father in this entire mess. There was no way I would survive the embarrassment or the shame if Mitchell was telling the truth, and if he had, in fact, paid Dylan to … I couldn’t even think it.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and brought up Dylan’s name and number. Pushing send, I listened as it rang once before he answered.
“Hello? Gwyn?”
“Hey,” I said, holding back all the questions that threatened to fly from my mouth.
There was brief silence, and I knew he was trying to decipher my voice.
“Is everything okay? Did you talk to Mitchell?”
I nodded even though I knew he couldn’t see me through the phone.
“Yes. It’s over.” My voice was completely monotone; any emotion I had felt when I stepped into my apartment had been ripped out of me and taken away with Mitchell.
“You should have waited for me. I wanted to be there … I wanted to …”
“What? You wanted to what?” I gripped my phone tightly.
He stopped, and I heard him sigh through the phone.
“Can I come over? I want to see you.”
Part of me wanted time to digest things, but the other part of me couldn’t wait to know the truth. I wanted to see his face. Watch his expression when I asked him whether what we had was real. Whether my fiancé had paid him to sleep with me.
It was too much.
I needed to know now.
“Yes. Come over.”
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“Okay.”
I didn’t even say goodbye before disconnecting the call. I felt like I was in a really bad nightmare after having a dream night with him.
I wanted to call him back and ask right then. The hurt of the possible truth was building inside me, making it hard to breathe, but finding out if Dylan was paid to sleep was me was not a conversation I wanted to have over the phone.
I needed to see him.
I needed to understand.
And if what Mitchell said was true, I needed to know why and how he could do such a thing.
How could I let this happen to me?
It was like I was cursed to spend my life with men who didn’t want or need me. First, with Mitchell, who I didn’t think I ever really loved, and now with Dylan, who had shown me a night of absolute perfection.
It was like I was determined to get my heart broken. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone and fallen in love with a man who was paid to break hearts.