CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Sadie
I chose the restaurant in which I planned to dump Alexander, and I made sure it was as expensive as I could find, which was really saying something in New York City.
He was there already, handsome, charming . . . shithead.
“You look beautiful, as always,” he said, leaning in for a kiss. I gave him my cheek. The maître d’ showed us to our table, which was in a corner, because Alexander always asked for a great table. The restaurant was everything I hoped it would be—sleekly decorated, Michelin starred, quiet, with well-dressed people murmuring and drinking.
I didn’t plan on murmuring, but first, I did want to order pretty much everything on the menu. Alexander, my soon-to-be ex-boyfriend, wasn’t getting out of here without bleeding money.
The waiter came over. “Hello!” I said, as was my way. “How are you tonight?”
“I’m quite well, signorina. My name is Luciano, and it is my pleasure to serve you tonight.”
“What a beautiful name,” I said. “Please tell your mom she chose well! Luciano, I’ll have the Fiorentino, please.” I pointed to the drink that cost, yes, forty-nine dollars. Only in New York, folks.
“I thought you didn’t like brandy,” Alexander said.
“I’ve grown and changed.” I smiled brightly. “What are you having, hon?” The endearment felt like poison on my lips.
“I’ll have the Dante,” he said.
“Very good, signore,” Luciano said.
“Oh, and we’ll have a bottle of Cristal with dinner, okay?” I said, smiling my sparkliest smile.
“Excellent! Which year?”
“Surprise us. It’s a special night.” I’d studied the champagne list after picking this place. The cheapest bottle of Cristal cost six hundred dollars, and the most expensive was well over a thousand.
“Babe,” Alexander said, “uh, that’s kind of expensive.”
“Oh! We can call him back, then, babe.” I raised my hand, knowing he would stop me. It would look like he couldn’t afford it, and he would hate that, especially here.
As predicted . . . “No, no, it’s fine. A special night, like you said. How are you, babe? How was your week?”
“So good, Alexander. So good.”
He smiled, not picking up on the venom in my voice. “Well, it’s great to see you. I hope you can stay a few nights. I’ll be in town for four days. We could have a lot of fun. The Guggenheim has a new show, and—”
I stopped listening.
He had made a pass at another woman. He wanted to sleep with her in the hotel where we’d had sex. That image of him kissing her on the neck . . . it was kind of a specialty of his.
I wished Gillian had kicked him in the nutsack.
When the waiter came back, I was ready. “I’m starving!” I announced cheerfully to both men. “It’s been a tough couple of weeks, Luciano, and I haven’t been in the city in ages, and I think I want a bite of everything! How about the sea urchin with pickled fennel, the Chinese caviar, maybe . . . hmm . . . the red prawn antipasto, and the garden salad, and oh! That lobster risotto sounds great! And for my main course, the sirloin, please. With the roasted potatoes, please. And heck, throw in those wild mushrooms, too.”
Luciano was in love with me now. “Excellent choices, signorina. For the signore?”
Alexander looked incredulous. “Are you sure you can eat all that, babe?”
“I’m super hungry, babe.” Sparkle sparkle. “Plus, you know how these Michelin-star places are. Every plate is basically two bites of food.”
Luciano chuckled warmly. “Signorina, you are correct. Just enough to whet the appetite for the next course, si?”
“Si,” I said, beaming.
“Signore? For you?”
“I’ll have the sea bass,” he said.
“Oh, come on!” I said. “You can’t let me sit here and eat all those courses and just have one! This is an Italian restaurant! To eat is to love, right, Luciano?”
“Si, signorina. The beautiful lady is correct, of course.”
I winked at him. Alexander had flaws, but being a shitty tipper was not among them, and Luciano would leave here with hundreds of dollars from our meal alone.
Alexander ordered a pasta course and the grilled octopus. I would also be ordering dessert. Possibly a dessert martini. Carter had already been notified about my romantic drama as I drove to the New Haven train station, and had ordered me to sleep over tonight, bless him.
I drank the cocktail, wincing a little at the taste but appreciating the warmth.
How could Alexander do this to me? Why? Wasn’t I the easiest, most laid-back girlfriend in the world? Had I ever complained about his travel schedule? Ever insisted he come to a school event or birthday party? Before my father’s stroke, he’d only visited Stoningham once. I was always cheerful and upbeat around him because I was those things, goddamnit.
Luciano brought our courses. I ate, laughed, murmured in the appropriate places. The food was amazing. At least there was that. Also, the champagne, my God. So good. I might even order a second bottle.
As I watched Alexander, I saw it. The performance. The need for validation. He was working hard to make sure we were The Couple To Be at this swanky, sophisticated restaurant. When I fake laughed, he’d glance around to make sure people saw that he had the power to bring humor. He smiled a lot, and where my dorky brother-in-law also smiled a lot, Oliver was . . . sincere. He loved my sister and his daughters. He adored my parents. He even loved me, not that I’d given him much reason to.
We ordered dessert (though I was going to go into a coma soon if I ate much more).
“Babe,” Alexander said now, “I know this has been a rough couple of months for you.”
“You, sir, are absolutely right.” I was tipsy and enjoying it. It was fueling my rage.
“So I wanted to give this to you, and hope it will make things a little happier.”
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a little velvet box.
Shit. If there was an engagement ring in there, I knew it would be big, and I’d want it, and I wouldn’t be able to have it, and everyone in here would feel bad for the poor guy who proposed and got shot down. Cringing internally, I waited for him to get down on one knee.
Thank God, no. He just passed it across the many plates and smiled.
“Aw. So sweet of you!” I opened it and, shit, it was a beautiful necklace. A chunky bezel-set diamond surrounded by pink gold with a matching chain. “I love it.” I did, damn it. I’d keep it, too. I could sell it and pay for something in my house. “Thank you. How much did it cost?”
“Oh, babe. Whatever it cost, you’re worth ten times that much.”
“So . . . what are we talking? A thousand dollars?”
He grinned. “More. Significantly more. Here, let me put it on you.”
Ass. I allowed it. He sat back down, smug and pleased (glancing around to see if everyone had noticed).
“It’s beautiful,” said the woman from the next table.
“Thank you,” Alexander and I said in unison.
“Hey, Alexander, I have a quick question for you, babe.”
“Sure, babe.”
“When you came to my mom’s dinner party, did you remember Gillian?”
“Uh . . . the one with the baby?”
“No. That’s Mickey. The very pretty woman?”
“Other than you, babe?”
“The one you made a pass at last May. At the yacht christening party she mentioned.”
He blinked. “I think she . . . no. I’ve never met her.”
“She said you pressed her against a wall, kissed her neck, gave her your room key to the Madison Beach Hotel. Where we then spent the night after she turned you down.”
His neck was getting red. “She must have me confused with someone else.”
“You said you’d ‘rock her world.’”
He didn’t answer.
Luciano came with our desserts. “The bomboloni for signorina, the cheesecake for signore.”
“Thank you so much,” I said sweetly. He left. “Anything to say, Alexander? You made a pass at a woman and then called me as your B-list fuck. Why would you do that? You were going to cheat on me!” My voice may have risen a teeny bit.
“Look,” he said, glancing around, his hands up in the universal male sign for don’t make this a big deal, you hysterical female. “We never said we were exclusive.”
“What? We were exclusive! We’ve been dating for two years! We spend holidays together!”
“Calm down,” he said.
“How dare you tell me to calm down!” But yes, people were staring.
“I never said we were exclusive,” he repeated through gritted teeth.
“What does that mean? You get to sleep with other women?”
“Yes.”
The bald-faced admission was like a bucket of ice water. “Do I need to get tested?” I hissed. Thank God we’d always used condoms and the Pill. But I did. I’d need to get tested. Good God!
“Look.” He glanced around. “It’s not like I’m promiscuous, okay? I’m not on Tinder. But yes, I have two other relationships.”
“What?” There was the screeching again. Luciano was huddled with the maître d’ in the front, casting us concerned looks, so I lowered my voice. “Explain yourself.”
He looked at the restaurant ceiling, clearly aggrieved. “There’s Toni in San Diego and Paige in North Carolina. I’ve been seeing Toni for four years, Paige for three.”
“And me for two.”
“Yes.”
“So I’m the other woman?”
“No, no. Well . . . yes, I guess so. I don’t see it that way.”
“How do they see it?”
“They don’t know about you. Why would I tell them, right? When I’m in San Diego, I see Toni. When I’m down south, I see Paige. But mostly, there’s you, babe.”
“Do not call me babe. Ever again.”
“Listen, Sadie. You’re my favorite,” he said, leaning forward with a smile.
“I proposed to you,” I hissed.
“And when I get married, you’ll probably be my first choice. You know. When I’m ready.”
Jesus. I stood up and threw my napkin on the table. “I’ll send you the bill for my STD panel,” I said loudly. “Make sure you leave Luciano a thirty percent tip. And I’m keeping this necklace.” I looked down at the table. “And these little donuts.”
Luciano patted my hand and waited for the cab with me, as I was busy crying (and eating the bomboloni), the shock of what I’d learned settling in.
Shit. It was so obvious now. The three days in San Diego turning into five. The many times North Carolina had thunderstorms that shut down the airport (not that I bothered to check the Weather Channel, because I was trusting and an idiot). The “turned-off” phone. All those yacht emergencies. How tired he could be after coming home from schmoozing and screwing his other girlfriends. The holiday weekends when he was traveling, or visiting his “mother.” The truth was, he was probably taking Paige or Toni on lovely weekend getaways, same as he’d done for me.
I’d have to find them through his Facebook page or Instagram and tell them.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
I went to Carter’s apartment and spilled. He made the appropriate noises, cursed occasionally, ate my remaining donuts and made me drink water.
“I know it’s too soon to say this, honey, but you’re better off without him,” he said as I hiccuped and clutched his aging, obese cat to my chest. “Now go to bed. Uncle Carter’s giving you some Motrin and water, and don’t even think about puking in the guest room. Janice just redid it. I’ll make you a nice big breakfast in the morning, okay?”
“How’s Josh?” I asked, remembering that my friend was happy, and we talked about how Sister Mary had invited the guys over for dinner and told them to get married and not live together first.
Good. There was love in the world, even if I was a jerk.
I got in my pajamas, washed my face and brushed my teeth, avoiding my reflection in the mirror, and got into the wonderfully soft bed.
As I lay there, slightly drunk, tears leaking into the pillow, feeling as dumb as I’d ever felt, I had two overwhelming thoughts.
The first was that I missed my dad so, so much. That he would’ve known more than anyone how to make me feel better about this—less ridiculous, less like the younger, stupid Frost daughter.
The second was that Noah wouldn’t have cheated on me with a gun to the back of his head.