My Despicable Ex (Book 1) (2 page)

“
I-I don’t know.” My heart
was beating a million times a minute. “He’s not coming,” I
repeated, my voice barely able to tremble out the words.

She gripped my shaking hands. “What do
you mean?”

“
He’s pulling the plug on
our wonderful life,” I barely choked out, “and he just told me to
never contact him again.”

“
That’s crazy,” she
retorted. “Why?”

“
He says he can’t…that he’s
not ready,” I gasped between sobs. “I feel like I’ve just been hit
by a semi, and I didn’t even see it coming!”

“
He’s despicable!” Nadia
shouted, pulling me into a close embrace.

Emotion flooded through me,
more like a monsoon this time, and I let out a sob so loud that I
was sure the entire church had heard it. I’d never felt pain and
grief rip through me like that.
How could
he dump me at the altar? He couldn’t have told me this last night,
before all the guests came, before I got all dressed up like some
stupid fairytale princess in this ridiculous dress? Who needs all
these beads and lace anyway?

I shouted. I cursed. I cried. He was
everything I wanted and more, and now I’d never have
him.

No, no, no, no, no, no,
no, no! Brides are supposed to run away, not grooms! Didn’t he ever
see that Julia Roberts movie?

I couldn’t breathe.

I fell into a pit of
despair as my world crashed down around me. I couldn’t help
wondering what the heck had happened. We’d seen each other the
night before, and everything had seemed fine, perfect as always. As
usual, we couldn’t stop staring into each other’s eyes. When we
talked about the wedding, he’d seemed more excited than me. As a
matter of fact, it was all he talked about, and he said more than
once that he couldn’t wait to see me in my wedding dress. I thought
we shared such a deep connection, that we’d forever be madly in
love.
Why would he just throw it all way?
For what? Why? And why won’t he even talk to me about
it?

“
Nadia,” I said,
sniffling.

“
Yeah? What is it,
sweetie?”

“
I’ve changed my mind. This
is the absolute worst day of my life.”

* * *

Weeks passed, and I
continued to mourn my loss of Jake. Every breath and movement took
effort. Some days, the pain was so overwhelming that I couldn’t
breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t function, and couldn’t control
the tears. No one understood what I was going through, but everyone
tried to be of some comfort on the rough days, and I appreciated
that. On other days, I felt like I could manage. I hardly ate and
woke up in cold sweats left over from my nightmares. I knew I’d
never get over the loss of Jake dumping me, and I’d learned the
hard lesson that in the blink of an eye, one’s whole world could
take a swan dive; the elevator from heaven to hell was a
fast-moving one. One minute, my life had been perfect. I’d been a
princess with her Prince Charming. Then, in the next, I was a
damsel in distress all over again.
How
will I ever move forward?
I wondered. My
heart was torn.

Sometimes the grief was so paralyzing
that I had to remind myself to breathe. I knew there was no roadmap
to get me through the throes of pain, but I hated that it hurt so
damn much and for so damn long.

“
I love you, Jake…and I
miss you,” I whispered. “Not a minute goes by when I don’t think
about you,” I muttered, recalling his beautiful face, those
captivating features that I missed so much.

Everyone told me it would get easier
in time, but it hadn’t—not after all those weeks. Knowing I’d never
feel Jake’s touch, see his beaming smile, or hear his laugh again
was almost unbearable. I missed the way he said my name, and it
pained me that I wouldn’t feel his hand in mine. I’d never be able
to look into his beautiful blue eyes again. There would be no more
romantic dinners under the stars, no more slow dances, no more
romantic birthday celebrations. All of that had been stolen away
from me, leaving a giant, gaping hole in my heart.

I could still hear his voice in my
head, could still feel his touch. It was something like that old
country song I’d heard on the radio somewhere: I couldn’t stop
loving him. I simply didn’t have the strength. As I went through
his clothes, I could still smell him. All of my senses told me that
he was right there in that room with me, that nothing had changed,
but it had. It had all changed for the worst.

Chapter 2

Five years
later…

I crossed my legs and glanced out the
window, watching the sheets of rain pelt the glass and the ground
and the trees. I’d buried my mother three months ago, and I’d
finally summoned the courage to hear the reading of her Will.
Losing her to cancer was like having my heart ripped out. She’d
always been such a strong, guiding, domineering force in my life.
Sure, she always criticized my friends, choices, and lifestyle, and
she totally controlled my dad. She always nagged me for everything
she found inappropriate, which was everything from fast food to a
minor curse word to a skirt above the knees. In fact, she found
fault with me no matter what I did, but I didn’t care. She was my
mother, a damn good one, and I loved her for it. Beneath that hard
exterior of hers, I knew she always had my best interests in mind,
and even during her hard-fought battle with that cruel disease,
she’d tried to look out for me.  

A tear slipped down my face, like the
raindrops on the windowpane, as I met my lawyer’s gaze. “Can we
please get started? Being here is just making all of this more
painful.”

It was seven p.m., and I’d spent the
better part of the day taking high-fashion photos of glamorous
models in designer gowns. I still had to review the pictures and
write up the article. As a fashion journalist and photographer, I
always seemed to have to take work home with me. Honestly, after
the day I’d had, I just wanted to take a hot shower and curl up
with a good book and an even better glass of wine—anything to take
my mind off the pain and loneliness of having yet another precious
person ripped out of my life. After her death, I’d cried every
night and even at work in the bathroom. In the midst of those
emotional meltdowns, I felt the world crashing all around
me.

My attorney looked down at his watch.
“He’s late.”

“
Who’s late?” I
inquired.

“
Your mother left very
specific instructions, and we have to abide by them,” he
said.

I hoped he’d give me a little clue
about who our mystery date was going to be, but he remained
secretive and mysterious. Mr. Shelby had been my mother’s lawyer
for thirty years, and she’d trusted him completely. I knew there
was more to the whole thing than he was telling me, and I could
tell by his nervous twitch that he was up to no good.

“
Please tell me what’s
going on, Mr. Shelby,” I begged. “You know how much I hate
surprises.”

Lifting a brow, he recited
robotically, “I’m sorry, Miss Roberts, but according to the terms
of the decedent’s Last Will and Testament, I am not permitted to
mention his name.”

“
But who else would she
include? All of her closer friends and the rest of my relatives
have already received whatever she bequeathed them. I thought I was
the only one left.”

He picked up a file and smiled a grin
that looked even faker than his toupee. “Please just be patient a
while longer.”

My mind raced with questions. I was
really the closest person to my mother. My father had died two
years earlier from a heart attack, and I had no siblings. My mother
had been a lonely child, so I just didn’t get it. We were just a
small close-knit family, so it didn’t make sense that she’d brought
in an outsider.

Mr. Shelby looked at me. “You may want
to check your face. It seems your mascara is running.”

I rolled my eyes. “Well, excuse me for
crying. This is very difficult for me.”

“
That’s understandable,” he
said softly, sounding surprisingly human and handing me a
tissue.

I pulled out my compact and stared in
the little round mirror at my bloodshot, hazel eyes. I looked so
tired and beat. I used the tissue to wipe the blackish-gray rivers
from my cheeks and to touch up my raccoon eyes with the Samsonite
under them, then fixed the long brown strands of hair that had
insisted on falling out of my long French braid. Fortunately, my
clothing had stayed pretty much intact; I’d opted for a
long-sleeved, covered placket blouse tucked neatly into fashionable
black slacks.

A knock on the door made me glance up,
eager to see who we’d been waiting for.

“
Come in,” the lawyer
said.

When the heavy walnut door
creaked open, my jaw dropped. There, standing before me, was my
high school sweetheart, though he somehow looked like a stranger.
Speechless, I stared at his beautiful face. His rain-soaked black
locks fell around his shoulders in silken ebony waves.
My eyes slid up his towering body, gliding over
his high cheekbones and the d
ark stubble
shading his sharp jaw.

I felt like I’d been struck by
lightning. My breath froze in my throat, and my stomach clenched.
The last time I’d seen the man was when he’d stood me up on my
wedding day, five years ago. Now, all that loneliness rushed right
to my head again, leaving me lightheaded. All over again, I felt
like that broken girl in the fluffy white gown, shooing guests away
from the ceremony that was not meant to be. I had no idea how to
react to such an unexpected intrusion. I couldn’t breathe, and the
attorney’s office seemed to suddenly grow smaller and
hotter.

He just stood there, staring at me
with those baby blues, those eyes I thought I’d spend the rest of
my life getting lost in. He was casually dressed in a white t-shirt
that stretched over his broad shoulders and tucked into a tight
pair of jeans. He was all grown up, far more muscular than the last
time I’d seen him. He was more manly, more masculine, but that
didn’t stop me from wanting to punch him right in the jaw, just to
make him feel the pain I’d felt on the most horrible day of my
life. I’d never been more humiliated, shocked, and devastated. It
had felt like a bunch of Romans had taken a battering ram and hit
my stomach a thousand times. When he’d run away like a coward, when
he’d abandoned me, he had, quite literally, knocked the wind right
out of me.

We’d spent days, hours,
minutes, and countless seconds talking about our new life together,
and it was all supposed to be perfect. We’d planned the perfect
wedding and the perfect reception. I’d even found the perfect
wedding gown, and Nadia had pinned up my hair and perfectly draped
my dangling curls around my tiara. We were supposed to ride off
into the sunset and live happily ever after, but he had prevented
that. I would never forget those questions that ran across my mind
for months after that dreadful, embarrassing, heartbreaking
day:
Why wasn’t I good enough? Pretty
enough? Smart enough? Sexy enough? What’s wrong with me? Aren’t I
enough of a woman?
I had collapsed into my
mother’s arms, sobbing, and the memory of that stung all the more
now that she was gone.

“
Ashly,” Jake softly
said.

As anger flooded through me, I lunged
at him and slapped him in the face. “You! You betrayed my love and
trust. You’re nothing but a spineless, gutless, pathetic coward,
Jake! You dumped me, your fiancée, and didn’t even bother to call
to check on me or see how I was,” I said sternly, hoping my slap
had stung him as much as his betrayal had stung me.

His frown deepened. “I apologize.
Truly. From the bottom of my heart.”

I just stared at him in
disgust.

“
You’re probably wondering
what I’m doing here.”

“
Yeah, you could say that.
My mother hated you after what you did to me, so I don’t see why
she’d leave you anything, and I couldn’t blame her, you lying
son-of-a—”

“
Look, I’ve got no idea
what I’m doing here either. I’m just as confused as you are,” he
said, cutting me off.

“
If you’ll have a seat, Mr.
Connors,” the attorney said, “we’ll get started.”

My heart rate doubled, then tripled,
until I thought might just burst out of my chest. Seeing him again
was too much, too painful. Nausea rose from the pit of my stomach.
I decided that if I had to vomit, I’d aim for Jake’s shoes. I stood
and reached for my purse. “No, I don’t think I can do this.
Sorry.”

“
Uh…would you like to
reschedule?” Mr. Shelby asked.

“
I think that would be
best,” I said, my voice cracking like an adolescent
boy’s.

As I started to walk to the door, Jake
gently reached for my arm, and I shuddered from his touch. I hated
that he could still make me feel that way, especially since I
despised the man.

“
Please…” he
begged.

“
I just can’t,” I said,
throwing those dreadful words back at him, the three little words
he’d spat at me on our would-have-been wedding day, instead of the
“I love you” he should have said.