Yeah, right.
“What’s wrong with his apartment?” Ryker asks.
I guess he still doesn’t know Violet and I are neighbors.
“Nothing,” I answer. “I was thinking about moving somewhere else, but I do like The Mistral. Maybe you should move in.”
“And be your neighbor?” Ryker shakes his head. “No way.”
I give him a puzzled look. Why not? It’s not like I have a pet skunk or throw orgies every night.
That threesome last week doesn’t count as an orgy, does it?
“You grew up in the room next to mine,” I remind him.
Which means he was my first neighbor. Ethan was in the room at the end of the hall.
“Exactly,” Ryker says. “I’ve had enough of living next to you.”
I snort. This brat.
“Besides, I like my apartment,” he adds. “Not too big. Not too small.”
“Oh, are we making dick jokes now?” I tease him. “Because I thought we weren’t drunk enough for that yet.”
Ryker frowns. “Well, some of us aren’t.”
“So you’re staying in your apartment?” Ethan asks me.
“Yes,” I answer.
I was there first. There’s no reason why I should leave.
“Happy now?” I ask him.
Before Ethan can answer, his phone rings. He takes it out of his pocket.
“I thought no phones,” I say.
He ignores me and answers the call. A second later, he leaves the stool beside me and heads out to the balcony.
“That must be Stella,” Ryker says what I’m thinking.
I turn my attention back to my drink. “So he shows up but he’d rather be at home with her.”
“Just be grateful he did show up. Isn’t that what you wanted?”
I wanted things to go back to the way they were, but I guess that’s not an option anymore.
I drink. Ryker takes out his phone.
For a moment, I consider reprimanding him, but I decide not to. Ethan’s already on the phone. Ryker’s always on his phone lately. Maybe we should just do away with that rule.
“How are the preparations for Joel’s wedding going?” I ask him instead.
“Okay,” Ryker answers. “I think. I’m his best man, not his wedding planner.”
Right. I go back to drowning my thoughts in alcohol only to have them interrupted when a woman occupies Ethan’s seat. I move my glass away from my lips.
“I’m sorry, miss, but—”
The rest of my sentence vanishes as I find myself staring at a familiar face. Painfully familiar. I may have lost count of how many women I’ve slept with and forgotten most of their names, but I’ll never forget the name of the first woman I slept with.
“Farrah West,” I say it as I put my glass down. “I must say I never thought I’d see you again.”
What was that quote from Casablanca? ‘Of all the bars in the world, she had to walk into mine’ or something like that. Fate can be mischievous, indeed.
“Asher.” She gives me a tentative smile as she fidgets with the heart-shaped pendant of her necklace. “How are you?”
I look away. “You can drop the niceties. I know you’re not nice.”
I finish my drink.
“I was actually hoping I’d never see you again.”
After everything she did to me, I thought I would hit her for sure the next time we met. Strangely, right now, I don’t feel angry, just a little annoyed.
I signal to Glenn to pour me another martini before eating my olives.
“By the way, that seat is taken,” I tell her.
“Right.” She vacates it. “I was just going to order drinks and go back to the table I’m sharing with my husband. He’s here on business and—”
“I’m not interested, Farrah,” I cut her off.
She nods. “Right.”
She walks off, but then she returns to my side. I see the anxious expression on her face reflected on my empty glass.
I glance over my shoulder. “What?”
Why can’t women just leave me in peace?
She draws a deep breath. “I know this is probably too little too late to undo any damage I’ve done, but I just wanted to say I’m sorry for what I did seventeen years ago. I was a child.”
“So was I.”
I was only sixteen.
“I’ve spent a long time regretting it,” she adds.
I look into her brown eyes. I try to remember what I used to see in them all those times we had sex, before everything turned into a mess. I can’t. All I can remember is the hatred that burned in them when she tried to drag me to hell.
“You’re right,” I tell her. “It’s too little too late.”
I turn my head away and pick up my next martini. As I drink, Farrah remains standing behind me. What? Is she not yet done? What is she waiting for?
Finally, she leaves.
“Who was that?” Ryker asks as soon as she’s gone.
I don’t answer.
Moments later, Ethan comes back to his seat. He glances over his shoulder.
“Who were you talking to?”
I set my glass down and snarl, “I thought we weren’t talking about women.”
And I’m glad I made that rule, because right now, I don’t feel like talking about Farrah or Violet, the only two women who’ve managed to drive me mad. In fact, I want to forget about them both and just enjoy what’s left of my evening if at all possible.
I let out a sigh before picking up my glass again.
Women.
Chapter Ten
Violet
“Men,” I grumble as I pop another piece of popcorn into my mouth.
I couldn’t sleep so I decided to watch a movie. To save time, I just closed my eyes and picked one randomly from my list, which is how I ended up with Ever After.
Right now, it’s at that scene where the Prince is all alone on a balcony staring at the pouring rain, feeling dejected after Danielle left the ball in tears.
Correction. After he sent her away from the ball in tears.
He could have taken her side. He could have kept her from leaving. Instead, he cast her aside. One minute, he was so madly in love with her that he was willing to endanger foreign relations, and the next he wanted to swat her like a fly.
Why? What is it with men that they can change their minds so easily? They say women change their minds as frequently as they change clothes. Maybe that’s true when it comes to what they want to eat, their taste in fashion, what color they want the new sheets to be. But when it comes to feelings, women don’t turn them off as easily. When they have a crush on someone, they have that crush for a long time. When they fall in love, they cling to love for as long as they can, even after the other person no longer cares about them. At least, that’s what I’ve observed.
Maybe it’s not so much changing minds as having a change of heart.
Whatever it is, it seems it doesn’t take much to make a man turn cold. In the Prince’s case, he can probably be forgiven because he was deceived. But Asher? What did I do to him to make him stop caring?
I leave my hand inside the bowl as I pause to recall how I’ve treated Asher in the past few weeks. I was cold to him when I first arrived at the airport. I refused his apology. I threw his present back at him. I kicked him in the balls.